The Christmas present ticked. "You got what for my mother?" my truelove said. "A Ticky Prompt Machine." "What on earth is that?" "It's not what it looks like," I said. "Okay, sweetie. Explain." "Well, you know your mother said she really hated the holidays?" "Yeah," he said. "She gets writer's block." "Not anymore," I said. "A Ticky Prompt Machine inspires at the touch of a button." "Excellent. I thought you had a bomb!"...
LadySharon, tell me your secrets to writing original pieces. Of course. I write stories in fragments...some good, some bad. I dream in color, rendering images I can see in the recesses of my psyche. Some nights, I’ll wake up with the not-so-reliable writing muses talking to me and I capture what they’re saying to me in a notebook. I don’t begin typing on a laptop until I have a handwritten rough draft in front of me. Then...
When I was fifteen, I wrote a poem that earned me a spot in a writer’s workshop. I didn’t submit it, a teacher did. I was the youngest person in the workshop. I did not know it at the time but a special arrangement had been made for me after some degree of protest. I didn’t even have to pay. There was a girl, she was seventeen and apparently gifted from the way her poetry read. She paid. The rest of them were pretty much...
You know that feeling that you wanna write, but you don’t know what, but you just open a word document and fucking write? That’s what I’m doing. I’m just gonna ramble. I know how much some of you like my rambling. I like it, too. Tyops! No, typos. They were all over the shop, but I edited them out. Apart from the one at the start of this paragraph, that was intentional. Speaking of shop, get onto Facebook and search for “...
I am a lover of words. I like What they do to my tongue.Each letter Whispers its own tune To me, When spoken together A song. Like love, How it opens the lips, Extends the tongue, Closes with a kiss, Sounds hopeful. How the letter O, When accentuated, Can leave you breathless. The entire face must work together To form it. Fuck…feel...fight…fun… How do you make Sex? You fall short of gritting your teeth. ...
(This was written several months ago) Today my father told me I shouldn't write at night anymore. That, unless it was a journal, I should stop writing; because all the stories I write I alone see. This broke my heart. I rarely say this, but, my dad is wrong. Yes, I write at night. Why? It's simple. The mind comes alive at night. in the darkness my mind begins to turn faster, see things clearer. Ideas are whispered from my...
Tiredness dripping from my eyes, I open my word processorand type.I type nothing,or perhaps something.A narration of what I’m doing.Presently lying on my side,typing this story.I say story because itain’t no poem.A poem uses rhymesand metaphor,scans and stuff.I write this way just because,really I don’t know why.I think this is the longestway of typing a lot without making a point.Yep, you’ve just wasted a little bit of t...
"So who are the best writers on the site?" "Interesting question." "I know. Interesting answers too." "The usual suspects, I suppose. The moderators. They must be good or they couldn't be moderators." "How about the most popular?" "Perhaps. But some of them are ignored by the cognoscenti." "That's the quantity versus quality dichotomy. Some of the most popular are considered to be outré. Some of the least popular are cons...
Hard it is to write down words, Already engraved In the blank books of my mind, Stored away and saved. Written for myself you see, Not for your critique Now and then I pick them up And once more take a peak. At the worlds that thrilled me then Worlds that still amaze. And sometimes I think it wrong; My own tales to praise. Still I foster fantasy And dwell within my tale Oft I like it better than The life in which I flail....
Lately, I find myself staring.A whole world and all I do is stare.But I’m not staring anywhere,not even into space.It’s all blank,I have no inclination,no inspiration.Even this poem is taking too long.I fear that I’ll stop writing,I fear I’ll go insane when that happens,I fear a lotWell... Not really.At the moment I feel unfeeling,but not in a bad way.I’m writing this to say:Andrew, get over yourself!You’re not going to s...
First piece of writing on my new laptop, this is. I wonder what it’ll be? Any ideas? A poem? A story? A musing? All three? Could be! But if it is a poem, it ain’t gonna be set out like one. I often find myself wondering why poems are set out in such a way. It would make just as much sense if it was set out in the same way as prose. Enjambement is another thing I don’t quite understand. I can understand starting a sentence...
So here I am, once again, sitting down and staring blankly at a blank screen. No ideas come to mind, my passion has gone away. So depressing in all truth, for I love writing and I am bound and determined to making something of it. Even if I have to force myself to write something completely random. So now there's the flower I have as the image of this musing. Pretty little thing, no? We have this one flower bed that is al...
A working laptop, a word processing program and some good music, that’s all I need. Right now it’s It’s Gonna Rain! By Bonnie Pink. I don’t quite know what it is about, but I think it’s about breaking up with someone. I did look up a translation (it’s in Japanese) but I don’t really trust them. Transliterations are better because they actually translate symbol-type languages, like Japanese, better than just translating. T...
Well, I think it’s time I wrote something. I’ve been out of the writing game for a while. Really just writing silly stuff, not really enjoying it. I’m not sure why. I suppose it could have been a collaborative story series I did recently, but I think it was just the fact that I could not be bothered.I still largely can’t be bothered, but I know that I have to, or I might just go insane. This is an unfortunate side effect...
Re: * GIFT * Ahhhh. A sharp hiss inward, a backward sigh, like a kiss being Took my breath away. From where my inscrutable shadows eclipse a heart sometimes The view - but such a life-affirming image. The water rushes back in. The oxygen returns, pulled into rotation. Gravitas. The planets dance. The stars keep their secrets. Life goes on. ----- Lovely gift! Thank you. XO - kmf (RedSonja) (after a shot of earthrise, half...
