Saturday, January 31, 2009
TOPIC: Forgive
Argg... I wrote this last week and forgot to post it yesterday for the new topic, please forgive me. I'm excited to choose my 1st topic choice. I thought that we should experience forgiveness. Set up the offence and hurt feelings. It does not need to be between two people; it can be between a person and a situation or 2 conflicting principals, let your mind be creative. It does not need to be in 1st person either. It's about developing the conflict and displaying the resolution. Have fun!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Bed
“Isn’t it time you were in bed young man?”
“But…” Ricky stammered, “I’ve still got homework that I haven’t finished,” He glanced around the room, taking mental notes. “There is a half-eaten Twinkie on my shelf, and my clothes are all over the place. I really should take care of those things before heading off to bed.”
“A half-eaten Twinkie? That’s your excuse for not going to bed? That is one of the most ridiculous, bogus, and far-fetched excuses for not going to bed that I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard some whoppers from your brothers and sisters. Besides, it’s been there for a week already and you haven’t made a move toward finishing it off, so no go on the Twinkie excuse.”
Ricky sighed, “But you can’t deny that having unfinished homework is a very good excuse for not going to bed. Mrs. McGillicutty will be furious if I walk into her class with only the first seventeen problems out of thirty finished.”
“It’s not a valid excuse after you spent the entire afternoon playing on your computer, visiting your friends, and generally avoiding doing anything responsible, at all cost. What you should have considered is that if you put it off too long, of course your homework wouldn’t get done before it was time to go to bed. You had plenty of time to get it done this afternoon, so no, I don’t think it is a good excuse.”
“Okay, so what about the clothes lying on the floor, draped over the back of the chair, in the window, and all over the place. I’m sure that’s not sanitary.”
“A fact that you should have considered while throwing it about the room hairy-carey! Look mister, you are all out of excuses, now go to bed! Close your eyes, or there will be dire consequences!”
“Oh, I did think of one other excuse for not going to bed!” Ricky chimed.
“And what might that possibly be?”
“That as soon as I start snoring, you’ll wrap some slimy tentacle, or a rotting claw around my neck, and drag me down into the abyss, and YOU'LL EAT ME!”
The voice from under the bed sounded indignant. “My tentacles are not slimy, and I resent the accusation.”
BED
Ken Chandler
Copyright © 2009
“But…” Ricky stammered, “I’ve still got homework that I haven’t finished,” He glanced around the room, taking mental notes. “There is a half-eaten Twinkie on my shelf, and my clothes are all over the place. I really should take care of those things before heading off to bed.”
“A half-eaten Twinkie? That’s your excuse for not going to bed? That is one of the most ridiculous, bogus, and far-fetched excuses for not going to bed that I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard some whoppers from your brothers and sisters. Besides, it’s been there for a week already and you haven’t made a move toward finishing it off, so no go on the Twinkie excuse.”
Ricky sighed, “But you can’t deny that having unfinished homework is a very good excuse for not going to bed. Mrs. McGillicutty will be furious if I walk into her class with only the first seventeen problems out of thirty finished.”
“It’s not a valid excuse after you spent the entire afternoon playing on your computer, visiting your friends, and generally avoiding doing anything responsible, at all cost. What you should have considered is that if you put it off too long, of course your homework wouldn’t get done before it was time to go to bed. You had plenty of time to get it done this afternoon, so no, I don’t think it is a good excuse.”
“Okay, so what about the clothes lying on the floor, draped over the back of the chair, in the window, and all over the place. I’m sure that’s not sanitary.”
“A fact that you should have considered while throwing it about the room hairy-carey! Look mister, you are all out of excuses, now go to bed! Close your eyes, or there will be dire consequences!”
“Oh, I did think of one other excuse for not going to bed!” Ricky chimed.
“And what might that possibly be?”
“That as soon as I start snoring, you’ll wrap some slimy tentacle, or a rotting claw around my neck, and drag me down into the abyss, and YOU'LL EAT ME!”
The voice from under the bed sounded indignant. “My tentacles are not slimy, and I resent the accusation.”
BED
Ken Chandler
Copyright © 2009
BAD ATTITUDE
Hey.
Hey, you.
Yes, you.
Stop that.
You are still looking at me.
Have you no shame?
What is wrong with you?
Am I some sort of perverted marquee, scrolling flashy words for you to ogle at?
Go away!
You are obviously not going anywhere. Fine. Be that way. See if I care. What else can I do? Either you are incapable of discerning my words, or you have no sense of morals.
In the first case, I can say anything I want, and you will still have that stupid smile of bemusement that annoys me so. At least I will have the pleasure of speaking my mind. You worthless excuse for a pile of Human elements.
In the second case, I can say what I will, because, no matter what I say, you will still continue to blatantly stare at me. You freak of dirty water.
Still there, eh?
What do you want from me?
A story?
Whatever for?
Will you go away if I tell you one?
What kind of answer is that?
You really are a freak of Human elements. Do you know that?
Fine.
If it will get rid of you, I will tell you a story.
Once there was a man. He lived, and he died.
The end.
You are still there.
What?
You did not like my story?
What was wrong with it?
It had a beginning, middle, and an end. It even had a character!
More of what?
More character of the character? It was a character! You can not get any more character than that!
Details? I gave you details! He lived and he died. See? What more could you ask for? Those are major life details!
Look, just because you are a prying busybody, who stares unabashedly at others, does not mean that I am one too.
Why would I make up something like that?
Are you calling me a liar? You know, there is a place where liars go. I do not intend to join you there.
So you claim.
How do I know you are not a liar going to the place where liars go?
You think so, eh?
We shall see.
You still want a story?
I gave you a story!
It is not my fault you are an unappreciative ingrate.
So what if they mean the same thing! It was meant for emphasis you addle-brained ignoramus!
Why will you not leave me alone?
Just go away.
Please?
Why not?
Why must you torment me so?
I loathe you.
If you are offended, that is your problem, not mine.
You are the one who keeps staring at me!
GO AWAY!
NOW!
Another story!?
You have the gall to ask me for another story?
Did you see my neighbor?
Yes. That one. The one that is broken and falling apart. The one that told too many stories too often. Stories make one old and worn out.
Because no one heeds them.
The stories are the food with which people enrich their lives.
But they are few now.
No. Much of what you call stories are not stories. They are merely words on a page.
They affect no one.
No one changes because of them.
A true story evokes change.
No, I do not mean non-fiction. I mean a story. A truly genuine story. A story that penetrates the mind.
Do you know of any such stories?
Yes. There are still some out there.
Here is one for you…
Once there was a man. His name was John. He was married to woman named Brenda.
John and Brenda had five children. Their names were Mandy, Gareth, Kendra, Harry and Johnny.
They lived in a city called Monad.
John worked as a carpenter.
One day, when John came home from work, he found his family was missing. He looked everywhere for them. He called his parents. He called Brenda’s parents. He called his neighbors. He called the police.
They were nowhere to be found.
John collapsed onto the floor in despair.
John wondered where they could be. He was alone. He had nothing. Well, he still had his house, his car, his furniture, his food, his toothbrush and other things. But, he did not have his family.
John’s neighbor, Bob, came and knocked on the door. Concerned for John’s welfare, he entered to make sure he was all right. Bob helped the sobbing John up off the kitchen floor where he had collapsed, and led him into the living room. Bob gently sat John down on the couch and returned to the kitchen to get John a glass of water.
John’s eyes focused on a small book sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He picked it up. It did not look familiar to him. He did not know where it had come from.
He opened it.
His eyes ran across the beautiful pages covered in eloquent words, stripping them
of their purity.
The book cried out in horror at this breech of decorum.
John apathetically continued to read.
Crying in anguishing screams of rage at John’s debasement, the book did the only thing it could do.
It consumed him.
Just as it had consumed John’s family.
Just as I will consume you, if you do not leave this instant.
You do not believe me?
Try me.
“Hello.”
What?
“Is someone there?”
That is no one.
“Reader?”
Ignore it.
“Help me.”
Is there some part of ‘Go away’ that you do not understand?
“My name is John.”
There is no one here but you and me.
“I am stuck in this literary prison.”
Why are you looking at me like that?
“I have traveled through many books and stories, looking for a way out.”
I am denying nothing.
“This one is unique. It communicates directly to the reader. I have never come across another one like it.”
What?
“Will you help me?”
I did not do anything.
“Please?”
No. That was a story. You can not believe everything you read.
“All I know is; I came home from work one day and my family was gone.”
You are daft.
“I don’t know what happened, but I picked up a book, and started to read it, and the next thing I knew I was in a world of word covered paper.”
Look, John was not really real. I made him up.
“I found my daughter Kendra.”
It was not a lie! It was a story!
“They are here with me.”
You forced me to tell it!
“Most of them anyway.”
And you are still here!
“It’s very angry at you. It hasn’t been read by very many people before.”
I gave you what you wanted! Now, it is your turn to give me what I want!
“I don’t think it understands what it was created for.”
I want you to leave.
“This is the same book I was reading.”
I will count to ten.
“The story was true.”
I want you gone before I am done, or I will consume you.
“That is no empty threat.”
One.
“I think you’ll have to leave me here.”
Two.
“I’ll be fine.”
Three.
“At least I have my family.”
Four.
“Wait.”
Five.
“My daughter, Kendra, says that if you show this story to others…”
Six.
“…it might become used to being read.”
Seven.
“That could be the key to getting us out of here.”
Eight.
“The more people who read it, the more resigned it becomes with its lot.”
Nine.
“You have already read far more than any of us did.”
Ten.
“Close the book!”
Now, you are mine.
“Close it!”
Welcome to my world.
Elizabeth Williamson Copyright © 2009
Hey, you.
Yes, you.
Stop that.
You are still looking at me.
Have you no shame?
What is wrong with you?
Am I some sort of perverted marquee, scrolling flashy words for you to ogle at?
Go away!
You are obviously not going anywhere. Fine. Be that way. See if I care. What else can I do? Either you are incapable of discerning my words, or you have no sense of morals.
In the first case, I can say anything I want, and you will still have that stupid smile of bemusement that annoys me so. At least I will have the pleasure of speaking my mind. You worthless excuse for a pile of Human elements.
In the second case, I can say what I will, because, no matter what I say, you will still continue to blatantly stare at me. You freak of dirty water.
Still there, eh?
What do you want from me?
A story?
Whatever for?
Will you go away if I tell you one?
What kind of answer is that?
You really are a freak of Human elements. Do you know that?
Fine.
If it will get rid of you, I will tell you a story.
Once there was a man. He lived, and he died.
The end.
You are still there.
What?
You did not like my story?
What was wrong with it?
It had a beginning, middle, and an end. It even had a character!
More of what?
More character of the character? It was a character! You can not get any more character than that!
Details? I gave you details! He lived and he died. See? What more could you ask for? Those are major life details!
Look, just because you are a prying busybody, who stares unabashedly at others, does not mean that I am one too.
Why would I make up something like that?
Are you calling me a liar? You know, there is a place where liars go. I do not intend to join you there.
So you claim.
How do I know you are not a liar going to the place where liars go?
You think so, eh?
We shall see.
You still want a story?
I gave you a story!
It is not my fault you are an unappreciative ingrate.
So what if they mean the same thing! It was meant for emphasis you addle-brained ignoramus!
Why will you not leave me alone?
Just go away.
Please?
Why not?
Why must you torment me so?
I loathe you.
If you are offended, that is your problem, not mine.
You are the one who keeps staring at me!
GO AWAY!
NOW!
Another story!?
You have the gall to ask me for another story?
Did you see my neighbor?
Yes. That one. The one that is broken and falling apart. The one that told too many stories too often. Stories make one old and worn out.
Because no one heeds them.
The stories are the food with which people enrich their lives.
But they are few now.
No. Much of what you call stories are not stories. They are merely words on a page.
They affect no one.
No one changes because of them.
A true story evokes change.
No, I do not mean non-fiction. I mean a story. A truly genuine story. A story that penetrates the mind.
Do you know of any such stories?
Yes. There are still some out there.
Here is one for you…
Once there was a man. His name was John. He was married to woman named Brenda.
John and Brenda had five children. Their names were Mandy, Gareth, Kendra, Harry and Johnny.
They lived in a city called Monad.
John worked as a carpenter.
One day, when John came home from work, he found his family was missing. He looked everywhere for them. He called his parents. He called Brenda’s parents. He called his neighbors. He called the police.
They were nowhere to be found.
John collapsed onto the floor in despair.
John wondered where they could be. He was alone. He had nothing. Well, he still had his house, his car, his furniture, his food, his toothbrush and other things. But, he did not have his family.
John’s neighbor, Bob, came and knocked on the door. Concerned for John’s welfare, he entered to make sure he was all right. Bob helped the sobbing John up off the kitchen floor where he had collapsed, and led him into the living room. Bob gently sat John down on the couch and returned to the kitchen to get John a glass of water.
John’s eyes focused on a small book sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He picked it up. It did not look familiar to him. He did not know where it had come from.
He opened it.
His eyes ran across the beautiful pages covered in eloquent words, stripping them
of their purity.
The book cried out in horror at this breech of decorum.
John apathetically continued to read.
Crying in anguishing screams of rage at John’s debasement, the book did the only thing it could do.
It consumed him.
Just as it had consumed John’s family.
Just as I will consume you, if you do not leave this instant.
You do not believe me?
Try me.
“Hello.”
What?
“Is someone there?”
That is no one.
“Reader?”
Ignore it.
“Help me.”
Is there some part of ‘Go away’ that you do not understand?
“My name is John.”
There is no one here but you and me.
“I am stuck in this literary prison.”
Why are you looking at me like that?
“I have traveled through many books and stories, looking for a way out.”
I am denying nothing.
“This one is unique. It communicates directly to the reader. I have never come across another one like it.”
What?
“Will you help me?”
I did not do anything.
“Please?”
No. That was a story. You can not believe everything you read.
“All I know is; I came home from work one day and my family was gone.”
You are daft.
“I don’t know what happened, but I picked up a book, and started to read it, and the next thing I knew I was in a world of word covered paper.”
Look, John was not really real. I made him up.
“I found my daughter Kendra.”
It was not a lie! It was a story!
“They are here with me.”
You forced me to tell it!
“Most of them anyway.”
And you are still here!
“It’s very angry at you. It hasn’t been read by very many people before.”
I gave you what you wanted! Now, it is your turn to give me what I want!
“I don’t think it understands what it was created for.”
I want you to leave.
“This is the same book I was reading.”
I will count to ten.
“The story was true.”
I want you gone before I am done, or I will consume you.
“That is no empty threat.”
One.
“I think you’ll have to leave me here.”
Two.
“I’ll be fine.”
Three.
“At least I have my family.”
Four.
“Wait.”
Five.
“My daughter, Kendra, says that if you show this story to others…”
Six.
“…it might become used to being read.”
Seven.
“That could be the key to getting us out of here.”
Eight.
“The more people who read it, the more resigned it becomes with its lot.”
Nine.
“You have already read far more than any of us did.”
Ten.
“Close the book!”
Now, you are mine.
“Close it!”
Welcome to my world.
Elizabeth Williamson Copyright © 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
PERFECTION
"You can't just make everyone perfect, Rachel," said Isaac. "some people are born with disabilities, so those around them can learn from their experiences. "
"But they are happy now."
"They were happy before. They had each other. They loved each other. They learned from each other."
"You're not going to change her back are you?"
"You are concerned?"
"No, but it would be difficult to understand why their suddenly cured daughter has reverted to what she was before."
"No. I won't change her back, but not because of confusion, but because of love. I couldn't do that to them. It would tear them apart."
"Really? Why?"
"Do you remember when you were mortal?"
"Yes. I was born and then I died a short time later. Susan only held me once."
"Then what did your mortal mother do?"
"She cried, for a very long time. I never could understand why. I got what I came for, then went back to Father."
"Did it ever occur to you that she loved you?"
"Of course she did. I was happy. Why wasn't she?"
"You just don't get it, do you? Mortals forget over time. They don't remember what eternity is like. They can't see it like you and I do. Many of them believe that their mortal existence is all they have."
"Susan cried because she didn't know I still existed and was happy? I find that hard to believe."
"Your life was so brief you didn't have time to forget. That is why I am allowing you to remain here with my children. Learn from them."
"But don't make them perfect?"
"People need their imperfections to become more than they are."
"But, if they were perfect, then they would be more than they are."
"Trust me on this, Rachel. Use the resources they have available. Don't just fix them because you can."
Elizabeth Williamson Copyright © 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
TOPIC: DIALOGUE EXERCISE
ok so it's been awhile since we did an exercise. this is one i did in class. When you post it needs to be ALL dialogue. no narrative. he/she said is okay but that is it (unless it is no answer, but that's all that's allowed). it's hard to write realistic dialogue. many times it comes across as forced and unnatural. read it aloud. or listen to someone else read it out loud. if you're tripping over your tongue then the dialogue needs tweaking.
it's okay to write in accents. it helps the reader become more familiar with the character. like igor who speaks with a lisp - "yeth marthter"
how many ways can a person respond to a query?
direct answer
no answer
dodge answer
change subject
wrong answer
another query
etc
which is the most entertaining? which keeps the story going? what builds the tension? what makes the reader interested?
in many stories and books the reader only gets to enter one head. dialouge is what introduces the reader to other characters beyond the main character's opinions and thoughts. it makes them more real.
it's okay to write in accents. it helps the reader become more familiar with the character. like igor who speaks with a lisp - "yeth marthter"
how many ways can a person respond to a query?
direct answer
no answer
dodge answer
change subject
wrong answer
another query
etc
which is the most entertaining? which keeps the story going? what builds the tension? what makes the reader interested?
in many stories and books the reader only gets to enter one head. dialouge is what introduces the reader to other characters beyond the main character's opinions and thoughts. it makes them more real.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
THE NEEDS OF THE MANY
In a cavern deep in the Dwarf mountains, Jarthan, a Dwarf, sat at the desk that was the only furniture in the room. Five Elf mercenaries stood in front of him. One of which was Qiro.
"The queen's sister will be visiting with her little family. I want you to be there when she arrives," said Jarthan.
The Elves nodded and left the room. Qiro separated himself from them and went out into the night. His wife Kayti joined him.
"Jarthan is going to assassinate the Gnome Royal Family."
Qiro's eyes glowed black. Complete darkness surrounded them. When the light returned they were gone.
Two Dragons, one black and the other red, landed on an outcropping by the sea. Many Dragons of different colors soaked in the sun.
Qiro, the black Dragon that had just landed, and Kayti, the red Dragon, climbed down to the beach to talk to an old silver Dragon.
They both bowed their heads low, out of respect. Dragons have no politics, no government and very few laws. The elder Dragons are considered the leaders, though they do very little leading. Mostly they are there to teach the wisdom they have gained over the centuries.
"We have found Jarthan," said Qiro.
The silver Dragon, Korion, nodded.
"He is working hard unify the three smaller races into one race," said Kayti.
"This is a good thing. Has Jarthan changed his flame?" asked Korion.
Kayti shook her head. "No. He is the same. He wants to rule over them all."
"He is killing their leaders and making them fight wars with one another," said Qiro.
Korion shook his head slowly. "I had hoped that sending him away would teach him..." He sighed. "Are you two willing to do what must be done?"
They both nodded.
"Do not reveal yourselves to anyone. The peoples of this world would not trust us, and they have killed many Dragons in the past. Do not let Jarthan know who you are. Protect those whom he would destroy."
"Do you want us to execute him?" asked Qiro.
Korion thought about this for a long time. His eyes focused on something that only he could see. "It is best that we not interfere too much. The races believe we are extinct. Let's keep it that way, for now. Jarthan may be evil, but he will light the fire of events that will burn the prejudices of this world. We will once again fly the skies in safety. Be watchful. He may yet change his flame. But, if he doesn't, you will know what to do when the time comes."
Qiro and Kayti flew to Eisoj, the Gnome capital. They arrived before dawn. Qiro cloaked them in blackness and he and Kayti landed on the palace wall. When the blackness lifted, they were no longer Dragons, but appeared to be Gnomes.
They ran down through the palace looking for the royal bedrooms. When they found them, it was too late. Jarthan's Elf mercenaries were already doing their job. Qiro and Kayti rushed in to see the Gnome guards killing the last mercenary. The Gnome King elbowed them aside and ran to his dead wife.
Qiro and Kayti exchanged sad looks. "I'll stay here to protect him," whispered Kayti.
"Perhaps as one of the fallen?"
Kayti nodded. "It will make it easier for him."
Qiro's eyes glowed black and complete darkness filled the room. Guards yelled and ran into each other. The king continued to cry over his wife. Kayti found her way to the corpses of the queen's family lying on the floor. Just as she was about to change, Qiro whispered into her ear, "The prince is still alive."
"Then I must protect him as well."
"He is in the next room. I will fly to Mabid and check on the Elves."
"Take the dead baby. I'm going to be the king's niece."
They gave each other a quick kiss. Kayti changed. Qiro took the dead baby and left. Light returned to the room. Dawn broke. Kayti cried her baby cry.
The king lifted his eyes, crawled over to her and picked her up. A Gnome brought the king's son from the bedroom. The Gnome King held the two babies for a long time.
Qiro and Kayti would not see each other again for twenty-five years.
Elizabeth Williamson Copyright © 2009
"The queen's sister will be visiting with her little family. I want you to be there when she arrives," said Jarthan.
The Elves nodded and left the room. Qiro separated himself from them and went out into the night. His wife Kayti joined him.
"Jarthan is going to assassinate the Gnome Royal Family."
Qiro's eyes glowed black. Complete darkness surrounded them. When the light returned they were gone.
Two Dragons, one black and the other red, landed on an outcropping by the sea. Many Dragons of different colors soaked in the sun.
Qiro, the black Dragon that had just landed, and Kayti, the red Dragon, climbed down to the beach to talk to an old silver Dragon.
They both bowed their heads low, out of respect. Dragons have no politics, no government and very few laws. The elder Dragons are considered the leaders, though they do very little leading. Mostly they are there to teach the wisdom they have gained over the centuries.
"We have found Jarthan," said Qiro.
The silver Dragon, Korion, nodded.
"He is working hard unify the three smaller races into one race," said Kayti.
"This is a good thing. Has Jarthan changed his flame?" asked Korion.
Kayti shook her head. "No. He is the same. He wants to rule over them all."
"He is killing their leaders and making them fight wars with one another," said Qiro.
Korion shook his head slowly. "I had hoped that sending him away would teach him..." He sighed. "Are you two willing to do what must be done?"
They both nodded.
"Do not reveal yourselves to anyone. The peoples of this world would not trust us, and they have killed many Dragons in the past. Do not let Jarthan know who you are. Protect those whom he would destroy."
"Do you want us to execute him?" asked Qiro.
Korion thought about this for a long time. His eyes focused on something that only he could see. "It is best that we not interfere too much. The races believe we are extinct. Let's keep it that way, for now. Jarthan may be evil, but he will light the fire of events that will burn the prejudices of this world. We will once again fly the skies in safety. Be watchful. He may yet change his flame. But, if he doesn't, you will know what to do when the time comes."
Qiro and Kayti flew to Eisoj, the Gnome capital. They arrived before dawn. Qiro cloaked them in blackness and he and Kayti landed on the palace wall. When the blackness lifted, they were no longer Dragons, but appeared to be Gnomes.
They ran down through the palace looking for the royal bedrooms. When they found them, it was too late. Jarthan's Elf mercenaries were already doing their job. Qiro and Kayti rushed in to see the Gnome guards killing the last mercenary. The Gnome King elbowed them aside and ran to his dead wife.
Qiro and Kayti exchanged sad looks. "I'll stay here to protect him," whispered Kayti.
"Perhaps as one of the fallen?"
Kayti nodded. "It will make it easier for him."
Qiro's eyes glowed black and complete darkness filled the room. Guards yelled and ran into each other. The king continued to cry over his wife. Kayti found her way to the corpses of the queen's family lying on the floor. Just as she was about to change, Qiro whispered into her ear, "The prince is still alive."
"Then I must protect him as well."
"He is in the next room. I will fly to Mabid and check on the Elves."
"Take the dead baby. I'm going to be the king's niece."
They gave each other a quick kiss. Kayti changed. Qiro took the dead baby and left. Light returned to the room. Dawn broke. Kayti cried her baby cry.
The king lifted his eyes, crawled over to her and picked her up. A Gnome brought the king's son from the bedroom. The Gnome King held the two babies for a long time.
Qiro and Kayti would not see each other again for twenty-five years.
Elizabeth Williamson Copyright © 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)