What is it?
It's a jumbled mess, whatever it is. The Genesis of an Abortion. The Exodus of False Lives and Lies. A Revelation of a Journey that bears no resemblance to moving from Point A to Point B in a logical manner. The hand of Fate, deliberately leaving its subjects no choice.
A contradiction.
A deception.
Many deceptions.
Bullshit, as they would say.
Who are they? Forms and figures - phantoms, perhaps - of imagined ideas and actions that are ostensibly controlled by one who is Real. But they are the Banal. The ones worth time are those that - they who - what the fuck ever - are uncontrollable. With lives and half-lives of their own.
They are radioactive. Born dead and only interesting when inanimate. Those who lie, steal, murder, rape. Those who stop the liar, the thief, the killer, the rapist. The object of their existence is to take others to the abject principle and show that humanity - the very act of thought - knows no bounds. Good and Evil are one and the same. Always have been. Always will Be.
God does not exist here, for there is more than One. Gods exists here, and there are less than Zero. The shadows of social imagination create their power struggles and cast out those who are too weak to follow, too weak to care.
It is apathy that starts the war. Empathy that fights it. And sympathy that makes everyone a liar.
The sun never sets on Empiricism. Darkness falls upon the Land of the Arousing Sun. Superficial eroticism is the reason for everything. It's - she's - beautiful, and that's why she's wanted. It's also why she's killed.
Was she an infant? Whose skull was crushed beneath the boot heel? Was she a child? Who stole her innocence and replaced it with an overwhelming guilt that will lead her to the water that the horse will drown her in?
As an adolescent she was coveted. And taken. By many. And a prisoner in adulthood, freed only by the merciful finger of the Reaper.
He was a baby fed to the wolves because father was bored. He was a child introduced to sexual assault by means of example. He was the teenager whose life of crime began with a coming-of-age in a prison cell. He was the adult who bred more criminals.
Where are the heroes now? Who are the Myths that walk on water and turn blood into wine, bread into flesh, piss into vinegar, and excrement into dessert?
Are they waiting for the sky to fall? Or are they simply falling from the sky? To rely on Icarus for rescue is a foolhardy decision. To wait for the Peregrine to arrive is to wait forever.
Is forever worth waiting for? Perhaps if it comes with supple nipples and a wet vagina. Otherwise, what's around the corner might do just as well. He just wants to watch her breasts bounce and her buttocks gyrate. Old, young, immoral. It doesn't matter if one is careful. The careful are never caught. Crooked police only fail to police.
Who is the killer who sheds a tear? Her mind is a jumbled mess, whoever she is. The second coming of a Faith that never returned. The first coming of a Legend that never arrived. Her hand is taken. In love. In lust. Hearts whose beatings are rivaled by only that of erect penis and swollen labia.
Ugly words describe the enjoyable. And by whose command? An author - authors - whose names will never be known because their followers took pride in taking credit. It's only a Sin if they disagree. It's a Virtue if no one agrees.
The true Faith lies in not believing blindly, but in believing in the face of proof that it's a lie. True hope lies not in the wanton tossing of pennies into a fountain, but in the willingness to use the tricks of an enemy against the enemy. And Eye for an Eye. And Tooth for a Tooth. Ashes to Ashes. Dust to Dust.
It's a race, and the good - not the Good - will win because they will pull the trigger first. When they turn to smile, is it a friendly gesture? Or are you merely next?
Art is expression and expression will not be censored. The Truth is not meted out in doses. It is not colored by subjective moral. It simply is. They enjoy watching others die. They enjoy blood spurting from vein and artery. They enjoy placing their tongues in places that make her squirm. They will try anything twice.
Save your judgements for your own thoughts. They care not. If you cannot stand to bear witness to all that will transpire, then gouge your eyes and burst your ears. Turn out the lights and lock the door. That you cannot tell the monster from the paramour is of no concern to them. They'd just as soon kiss you and fuck you as they would kill you and cook you.
They are what they eat. And they're all cocks and pussies. Hard, soft, warm, and wet. Like the rains, dependent on the time of year and the mood of the wind. Doldrums just mean they have to make their own fun, and whether you're a player or the game depends solely on nothing at all. Merely the mood of the wind.
The world, the universe - existence - is a fucked up place. Chaos reigns and only those destined to fail believe there's an order to it all. Moving forward is the only option. Leave everything behind. That is the fine line between predator and prey.
Anything goes here. Leave your sensibilities at the door. Or don't come in. Laugh. Cry. Scream. If you aren't taken to the limit of acceptability - and beyond it - then this view is a failure.
Are you afraid yet? You'd better be. You're a fucking idiot if you're not.
Welcome to The Mindscape.
Enjoy.
Showing posts with label creative writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creative writing. Show all posts
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Monday, December 6, 2010
Co-Writing Pearl, Harbour
So, my first co-write in years went up about a month ago and, well, I like it. I loved writing it, I love who I wrote it with, I love the story, the setting, yada yada yada. None of that means it was any good, but I loved the whole process. Oddly enough, I found it quite relaxing. It took a lot of the onus for creativity off of me (being placed squarely on my co-writer) and gave me the opportunity to do what I'm actually good at (editing) within a creative work rather than after the fact.
Is there room for improvement? Hell, yes. But one has to start somewhere, and I couldn't think of a better place, time, or partner to do so with.
Anyway, I'm not trying to sound arrogant or pretentious, but I've been asked about how it all came together by a couple of people, so I'm sharing. Hey, it was fun. I'd recommend it to anyone who's thinking about it. For those who haven't read the piece, here it is:
Pearl, Harbour
How did it come together? That's easy enough to begin to answer, not so easy to thoroughly answer. Basically, I asked Baino if she'd be willing to co-write something with me. There was no plot in mind, no specific notion of character, setting, or tone. Merely an image of a lover dying underneath a tree and a loose concept inspired by a song Baino had shared with me a few days prior to my asking ("Breathe Me" by Sia... you can listen to it on the IrreTrax page in the fourth playlist, "Romance Movie").
Later that week, Baino sent me part of an article concerning Australia's internment of Japanese - both POW and Australian citizen - during World War II. It was perfect.
Initially, we were looking at a two-part story. She had a clearer idea of how the story would unfold, so she wrote most of what would ultimately become chapter 1 ("Rising Suns") and chapter 4 ("Pearl in the Water") of the story. That was our rough draft. Within that draft were a few simple notes to me: "add a sex scene," "fill this in," "what happens after the escape?"
So I set off filling in the blanks. Strangely, Baino had written little of the woman into the story, concentrating almost solely on what the man was going through. Needless to say, I felt balance was needed and put some in place. Two parts became three. Sitting back and looking at natural plot points, three parts became five (the idea of four chapters was largely skipped). By the time I finished my crack, we had their meeting and the beginning of their journey together. But no destination. No romance.
So Baino set off filling in those blanks. And by the time she finished her crack, we had them living a life together, a romantic seduction and sex scene, the beginnings of the post-escape journey, and were at the point at which the man would be killed (which she requested I write). Admittedly, I was more than happy to end the story with his death, but we both acknowledged there could be some sort of epilogue for the woman. I wasn't completely sold on the idea, but Baino's subtle hints had a sense of urgency to them, so I wrote one in (two, really) amid the threat of writing a sixth chapter.
Next came edits, rewrites, throwing stuff out, adding stuff in, a final read-through and, voila: story done. There wasn't nearly as much arguing as we both expected, but there was still quite a bit. I'd erase or change something in an effort to de-romanticize it a tad. She'd erase or change something in an effort to soften its bluntness. And we'd both put stuff back in the other had taken out. And then we'd take it out again (sometimes accidentally in our haste to beat the other to the punch).
Reading back, it's kinda funny. There is serious confusion in many passages as to who wrote what... both of us taking credit for a particular sentence or paragraph and neither of us taking credit for another (she'll be more than happy to give me credit for the title, though... since she hates it)(which is just payback for her decision to use British-English spelling in lieu of American-English without consulting me). Each character has traits that are subjective to only one of us, oblivious to the motivations of the other author. And the factual details came from the most unlikely of places (Baino, admittedly, did most of the military research, while I did more concerning the physical landscape of Australia... go figure).
And that, as they say, is largely that. Hope you enjoyed the result.
Is there room for improvement? Hell, yes. But one has to start somewhere, and I couldn't think of a better place, time, or partner to do so with.
Anyway, I'm not trying to sound arrogant or pretentious, but I've been asked about how it all came together by a couple of people, so I'm sharing. Hey, it was fun. I'd recommend it to anyone who's thinking about it. For those who haven't read the piece, here it is:
Pearl, Harbour
How did it come together? That's easy enough to begin to answer, not so easy to thoroughly answer. Basically, I asked Baino if she'd be willing to co-write something with me. There was no plot in mind, no specific notion of character, setting, or tone. Merely an image of a lover dying underneath a tree and a loose concept inspired by a song Baino had shared with me a few days prior to my asking ("Breathe Me" by Sia... you can listen to it on the IrreTrax page in the fourth playlist, "Romance Movie").
Later that week, Baino sent me part of an article concerning Australia's internment of Japanese - both POW and Australian citizen - during World War II. It was perfect.
Initially, we were looking at a two-part story. She had a clearer idea of how the story would unfold, so she wrote most of what would ultimately become chapter 1 ("Rising Suns") and chapter 4 ("Pearl in the Water") of the story. That was our rough draft. Within that draft were a few simple notes to me: "add a sex scene," "fill this in," "what happens after the escape?"
So I set off filling in the blanks. Strangely, Baino had written little of the woman into the story, concentrating almost solely on what the man was going through. Needless to say, I felt balance was needed and put some in place. Two parts became three. Sitting back and looking at natural plot points, three parts became five (the idea of four chapters was largely skipped). By the time I finished my crack, we had their meeting and the beginning of their journey together. But no destination. No romance.
So Baino set off filling in those blanks. And by the time she finished her crack, we had them living a life together, a romantic seduction and sex scene, the beginnings of the post-escape journey, and were at the point at which the man would be killed (which she requested I write). Admittedly, I was more than happy to end the story with his death, but we both acknowledged there could be some sort of epilogue for the woman. I wasn't completely sold on the idea, but Baino's subtle hints had a sense of urgency to them, so I wrote one in (two, really) amid the threat of writing a sixth chapter.
Next came edits, rewrites, throwing stuff out, adding stuff in, a final read-through and, voila: story done. There wasn't nearly as much arguing as we both expected, but there was still quite a bit. I'd erase or change something in an effort to de-romanticize it a tad. She'd erase or change something in an effort to soften its bluntness. And we'd both put stuff back in the other had taken out. And then we'd take it out again (sometimes accidentally in our haste to beat the other to the punch).
Reading back, it's kinda funny. There is serious confusion in many passages as to who wrote what... both of us taking credit for a particular sentence or paragraph and neither of us taking credit for another (she'll be more than happy to give me credit for the title, though... since she hates it)(which is just payback for her decision to use British-English spelling in lieu of American-English without consulting me). Each character has traits that are subjective to only one of us, oblivious to the motivations of the other author. And the factual details came from the most unlikely of places (Baino, admittedly, did most of the military research, while I did more concerning the physical landscape of Australia... go figure).
And that, as they say, is largely that. Hope you enjoyed the result.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Extracurricular Endeavors
So, while I'm tiring of the blogosphere in general, I still find blogs to be extremely useful. And even though this blog will take a step back after the New Year (some have noticed the redesign/strip-down already), I'll be sticking around The Tenth Daughter of Memory and lurking on a couple of private blogs. One of those private blogs is a writer's group that welcomes any aspiring writer who wants to hone their skills with the assistance of honest critiques (some amateur, some professional). The other is the home of my unedited, unabashed creative writing.
The Tenth Daughter of Memory Muses On...
The Tenth Daughter of Memory started its second year of existence this past September and it's a wild ride. The talent keeps improving, the competition keeps stiffening, and the Muses keep getting... weirder. Many participants have even submitted their entries for publication in a variety of places and it appears a few of them will see legitimate print (and even get made into short films).
Personally, I can't wait until February and the next River of Mnemosyne Challenge. That's a royal butt-kicker. Cowards and hacks need not apply, if you know what I mean.
The Infanticide Exchange Revisited
On September 1st of this year, a group of us launched The Infanticide Exchange, an online writer's group for aspiring writers who wanted to share and receive honest criticisms with other aspiring writers. It got off to a great start, then languished a bit, but now seems to be leveling out at a steady pace. It's been a useful tool for me, and I know several of the other members will claim the same.
Anyone interested, feel free to contact an admin (Baino, JeffScape, Krys, Not for Jellyfish, and Tom) and check it out. Admin email addresses are available at their profiles.
Announcing: Panoramic Mindscapes
Most of my regular readers know that I have a strange rule concerning creative writing here at IrreX2: I don't post complete stories. This is done for a variety of reasons, copyright issues being one of them. But I do continue to work on stories that appear here piecemeal. And, so, for my close friends and certain people who I want to see published themselves (read: potential clients... cough, cough), I've started a private blog where those who want to see the rest of those stories unfold can go to do so. I call it "Panoramic Mindscapes" and if you'd like an invite, shoot me an email. Just be forewarned that I'm being ludicrously picky as to who gets access, so please don't take offense if I don't respond.
The Tenth Daughter of Memory Muses On...
The Tenth Daughter of Memory started its second year of existence this past September and it's a wild ride. The talent keeps improving, the competition keeps stiffening, and the Muses keep getting... weirder. Many participants have even submitted their entries for publication in a variety of places and it appears a few of them will see legitimate print (and even get made into short films).
Personally, I can't wait until February and the next River of Mnemosyne Challenge. That's a royal butt-kicker. Cowards and hacks need not apply, if you know what I mean.
The Infanticide Exchange Revisited
On September 1st of this year, a group of us launched The Infanticide Exchange, an online writer's group for aspiring writers who wanted to share and receive honest criticisms with other aspiring writers. It got off to a great start, then languished a bit, but now seems to be leveling out at a steady pace. It's been a useful tool for me, and I know several of the other members will claim the same.
Anyone interested, feel free to contact an admin (Baino, JeffScape, Krys, Not for Jellyfish, and Tom) and check it out. Admin email addresses are available at their profiles.
Announcing: Panoramic Mindscapes
Most of my regular readers know that I have a strange rule concerning creative writing here at IrreX2: I don't post complete stories. This is done for a variety of reasons, copyright issues being one of them. But I do continue to work on stories that appear here piecemeal. And, so, for my close friends and certain people who I want to see published themselves (read: potential clients... cough, cough), I've started a private blog where those who want to see the rest of those stories unfold can go to do so. I call it "Panoramic Mindscapes" and if you'd like an invite, shoot me an email. Just be forewarned that I'm being ludicrously picky as to who gets access, so please don't take offense if I don't respond.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Collaborations
I'm a collaborative worker. Sure, I have a reputation for "going solo" and just doing my own thing, and that's certainly been the case for the past few years, but many in various fields also know me as a good collaborator. Not that I'm any great addition to group-thought projects, but I do enjoy them and I do enjoy working with other people. There are even a few instances in which I mandate the collaborative process (some might remember this particular rant: Film is Collaboration).
But, it's this propensity for doing my own thing that has me a bit surprised at quite a few recent collaborations. About a month or so ago I was asked to write a short script for an actor/producer who wanted something to showcase his talents. He gave me the framework: two people fall in love over the course of a complete lunar cycle, but they realize that they can't be together. That was it. That's all he gave me. And since he's a friend of mine, I said I'd do it. Given my current habits, I decided to write the story in prose before scripting it. The result?
Not exactly a collaboration, but it started the steamroll. Adding to it was the long-awaited production of a comic strip I had pitched about a year ago called Touché, Cliché. The original artist, a Hollywood graphic designer, had to drop out fairly early on, so I pitched it to another artist whose work had me intrigued: Tom at Half-Moose with a Twist. And he said he'd do it. Sure, we've only got one finished so far, but there are definitely more on the way.
Also on the way is a painting by Kelly Green of Fly Visions, who's agreed to create an image to go with my story, "Star Fall." If you check out her catalog of work, you'll see why I asked her. And I find it fitting that a story whose genesis involved inspiration from a novel, a feature film (based on a different novel), an animated short, a metaphor piece I'd written ("Stardust"), and a song will come to a creative close with a painting.
In a strange twist, another artist and painter approached me to write vignettes based on some of her work, and I must say I'm rather excited about that. Some of you visit her blog already, but many of you don't. I've recommended her site many times before and I'm going to do so again: Harnett-Hargrove. I'm not entirely sure why she asked me to write something for her, but there was no way I was gonna turn her down. That work isn't quite ready yet, but you'll know when it's up. It'll be unmistakable.
Finally (so far, anyway), there's the collaboration that I'm probably the most excited about: my first bona fide co-writing attempt in many, many years. It's with a budding writer who only recently began her foray into creative writing, and I asked her to write something with me because her style does everything that my own styles do not. Seems like a no-brainer to me. That she's also one of my best friends ever is beside the point. Our product will appear in chapters on both her blog (Creative Infanticide) and mine in the near future. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying working on it.
Going solo is what I do. But collaborating sure has its charm.
But, it's this propensity for doing my own thing that has me a bit surprised at quite a few recent collaborations. About a month or so ago I was asked to write a short script for an actor/producer who wanted something to showcase his talents. He gave me the framework: two people fall in love over the course of a complete lunar cycle, but they realize that they can't be together. That was it. That's all he gave me. And since he's a friend of mine, I said I'd do it. Given my current habits, I decided to write the story in prose before scripting it. The result?
- With the Fade of the Tide, Part I
- With the Fade of the Tide, Part II
- With the Fade of the Tide, Part III
Not exactly a collaboration, but it started the steamroll. Adding to it was the long-awaited production of a comic strip I had pitched about a year ago called Touché, Cliché. The original artist, a Hollywood graphic designer, had to drop out fairly early on, so I pitched it to another artist whose work had me intrigued: Tom at Half-Moose with a Twist. And he said he'd do it. Sure, we've only got one finished so far, but there are definitely more on the way.
Also on the way is a painting by Kelly Green of Fly Visions, who's agreed to create an image to go with my story, "Star Fall." If you check out her catalog of work, you'll see why I asked her. And I find it fitting that a story whose genesis involved inspiration from a novel, a feature film (based on a different novel), an animated short, a metaphor piece I'd written ("Stardust"), and a song will come to a creative close with a painting.
In a strange twist, another artist and painter approached me to write vignettes based on some of her work, and I must say I'm rather excited about that. Some of you visit her blog already, but many of you don't. I've recommended her site many times before and I'm going to do so again: Harnett-Hargrove. I'm not entirely sure why she asked me to write something for her, but there was no way I was gonna turn her down. That work isn't quite ready yet, but you'll know when it's up. It'll be unmistakable.
Finally (so far, anyway), there's the collaboration that I'm probably the most excited about: my first bona fide co-writing attempt in many, many years. It's with a budding writer who only recently began her foray into creative writing, and I asked her to write something with me because her style does everything that my own styles do not. Seems like a no-brainer to me. That she's also one of my best friends ever is beside the point. Our product will appear in chapters on both her blog (Creative Infanticide) and mine in the near future. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying working on it.
Going solo is what I do. But collaborating sure has its charm.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Jayne's No. 5
A while back I read a list of revelations over at one of my favorite blogs (Harnett-Hargrove). The list concerns itself with life in general, but is very much about the creative mindset. It's twelve points, all of which (in my opinion) are valid, but it's point number five that I love so much (those curious can read the whole post here).
"5. Muse: Learn to work this. Most successful freelancers can't afford to wait for inspiration. People in other professions work everyday whether they feel like it or not."
What can I say to this but: yes, yes, yes, exactly right, yes, I-love-you-will-you-marry-me, yes (okay, the proposal is a joke, but it's an apt sentiment).
Regular readers of mine will know I don't buy into writer's block. Seriously, it's bullshit. As I've stated before, unless your fingers and hands are broken or cut off, there is no such thing as writer's block. Other excuses I can't stand with so-called "aspiring writers" are "I'm too busy," "I'm not inspired," and "I'm not motivated."
What can I say to those but: no, no, no, bullshit, no, go-fuck-yourself-and-find-another-career-aspiration, no (okay, the insult is not a joke, and is totally an apt sentiment).
Of course, who am I to be doling out such advice? But... I'm not the one who said it this time. So, nyer.
Write anyway!
"5. Muse: Learn to work this. Most successful freelancers can't afford to wait for inspiration. People in other professions work everyday whether they feel like it or not."
What can I say to this but: yes, yes, yes, exactly right, yes, I-love-you-will-you-marry-me, yes (okay, the proposal is a joke, but it's an apt sentiment).
Regular readers of mine will know I don't buy into writer's block. Seriously, it's bullshit. As I've stated before, unless your fingers and hands are broken or cut off, there is no such thing as writer's block. Other excuses I can't stand with so-called "aspiring writers" are "I'm too busy," "I'm not inspired," and "I'm not motivated."
What can I say to those but: no, no, no, bullshit, no, go-fuck-yourself-and-find-another-career-aspiration, no (okay, the insult is not a joke, and is totally an apt sentiment).
Of course, who am I to be doling out such advice? But... I'm not the one who said it this time. So, nyer.
Write anyway!
Friday, September 3, 2010
The Infanticide Exchange: A Correspondence
There have been some very thoughtful questions and concerns about The Infanticide Exchange and it's probably a good idea to address those publicly. I'll do this again, I'm sure, but for now I'm just posting an email response (heavily edited... along with some extra snippets) I sent to an inquirer.
***
1. There are rules on The Infanticide Exchange concerning the difference between being "blunt" and being "insulting." Trust me, we'll come down on "dicks for dicks sake."
2. Artists of any genre (and you know this... just repeating for posterity) have thick skins. Back when I was actually pursuing writing as a career (and despite popular belief, I gave up on that about 3 years ago), I ran the gamut... got notes from everything stating "go back to school" to "blockbuster." Since I've moved to the other side of that fence, I often dole out similar notes. In short, if someone's even half-serious about attempting publication, they need to get used to it. Otherwise, they shouldn't even bother (a good friend of mine has one of his... more colorful... rejection letters framed on his mantle. It's quite insulting and hilarious... but he keeps submitting!).
3. The Infanticide Exchange is private because it's not for "bloggers." Exclusivity is not an issue, it's simply for people who want to get published and have a desire to protect their copyright without plots and characters flying around the Internet. We're not interested in helping out with The Tenth Daughter of Memory, Theme Thursday, Magpie Tales, or other creative meme entries. This is to review works that authors plan on sending out for print and paycheck. In fact, I'll be REALLY PISSED if someone submits on The Infanticide Exchange and I read the submission on their blog later.
4. The Infanticide Exchange is NOT a competitive site.
5. The way it's set up, you "try it for a day" before making any final decision. If it's not for you, then don't ask for an author invite. But there's no harm in looking.
6. And, by the way, nobody gets to sign up just to critique others. Put your stuff up, or shut your stuff up. Hence, "exchange."
Any other questions? Just ask!
Don't know what The Infanticide Exchange is? Read this.
***
1. There are rules on The Infanticide Exchange concerning the difference between being "blunt" and being "insulting." Trust me, we'll come down on "dicks for dicks sake."
2. Artists of any genre (and you know this... just repeating for posterity) have thick skins. Back when I was actually pursuing writing as a career (and despite popular belief, I gave up on that about 3 years ago), I ran the gamut... got notes from everything stating "go back to school" to "blockbuster." Since I've moved to the other side of that fence, I often dole out similar notes. In short, if someone's even half-serious about attempting publication, they need to get used to it. Otherwise, they shouldn't even bother (a good friend of mine has one of his... more colorful... rejection letters framed on his mantle. It's quite insulting and hilarious... but he keeps submitting!).
3. The Infanticide Exchange is private because it's not for "bloggers." Exclusivity is not an issue, it's simply for people who want to get published and have a desire to protect their copyright without plots and characters flying around the Internet. We're not interested in helping out with The Tenth Daughter of Memory, Theme Thursday, Magpie Tales, or other creative meme entries. This is to review works that authors plan on sending out for print and paycheck. In fact, I'll be REALLY PISSED if someone submits on The Infanticide Exchange and I read the submission on their blog later.
4. The Infanticide Exchange is NOT a competitive site.
5. The way it's set up, you "try it for a day" before making any final decision. If it's not for you, then don't ask for an author invite. But there's no harm in looking.
6. And, by the way, nobody gets to sign up just to critique others. Put your stuff up, or shut your stuff up. Hence, "exchange."
Any other questions? Just ask!
Don't know what The Infanticide Exchange is? Read this.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The Infanticide Exchange
In an attempt to foster a bit more quality from Internet writers, bloggers Wings and JeffScape started The Tenth Daughter of Memory, a quasi-competitive collection of bored souls whose only prize for winning a Muse (the term for prompts there) is being able to pick a following Muse. And while the intention was not to concentrate on writing, it's sort of turned out that way (they've had non-writing entries and it's very much open to other types of creativity) and a general expectation has arisen concerning honest critical feedback.
Now, in an attempt not to scare off the scores of cowards lurking around The Tenth Daughter of Memory, a new blog is being created... one in which people who really want constructive criticism can come to get it: The Infanticide Exchange. Yes, your stories are your babies, and the intent is to try to kill them (because, you know, the ones that survive will only become stronger).
Anyone who already reads Creative Infanticide will know the philosophy behind the term, and anyone who wants in is welcome to join.
The blog is entirely private. It is invite only (so request an invitation), does not show up on search engines (nobody there is going to rip off anybody's work), and will be a great place for those who want to be writers to get honest, cold-hearted feedback (without the risk of dozens of "ooh, this is so good, you should be published" comments).
There are rules there, however. One is that your identity (name, age, email address, location, and phone number) must be shared with everyone else on the blog. Nothing within The Infanticide Exchange is anonymous, and everyone gets to follow everyone else's career aspirations and progress. Members will be activated as blog authors (we're limited to 100, but that shouldn't be an issue... and if it is, priority will be given to 10thDoM participants), and once something is posted, it cannot be removed. There are other rules, but you can learn about them there. Any violation (ANY) means you're kicked out of the group for good.
The Infanticide Exchange is up and running now, and the admins are Tom at Half-Moose with a Twist, Baino at Creative Infanticide, and JeffScape at Irreverent Irrelevance. Email one of them, and they'll get you started.
If you're willing to partake in a bit of baby-killing, that is.
Now, in an attempt not to scare off the scores of cowards lurking around The Tenth Daughter of Memory, a new blog is being created... one in which people who really want constructive criticism can come to get it: The Infanticide Exchange. Yes, your stories are your babies, and the intent is to try to kill them (because, you know, the ones that survive will only become stronger).
Anyone who already reads Creative Infanticide will know the philosophy behind the term, and anyone who wants in is welcome to join.
The blog is entirely private. It is invite only (so request an invitation), does not show up on search engines (nobody there is going to rip off anybody's work), and will be a great place for those who want to be writers to get honest, cold-hearted feedback (without the risk of dozens of "ooh, this is so good, you should be published" comments).
There are rules there, however. One is that your identity (name, age, email address, location, and phone number) must be shared with everyone else on the blog. Nothing within The Infanticide Exchange is anonymous, and everyone gets to follow everyone else's career aspirations and progress. Members will be activated as blog authors (we're limited to 100, but that shouldn't be an issue... and if it is, priority will be given to 10thDoM participants), and once something is posted, it cannot be removed. There are other rules, but you can learn about them there. Any violation (ANY) means you're kicked out of the group for good.
The Infanticide Exchange is up and running now, and the admins are Tom at Half-Moose with a Twist, Baino at Creative Infanticide, and JeffScape at Irreverent Irrelevance. Email one of them, and they'll get you started.
If you're willing to partake in a bit of baby-killing, that is.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Wish Her
Emotionally speaking, it had been a long, arduous summer preceded by a long, arduous winter. Career moves and lack of moves, temporary changes in scenery, stagnant education and writing progress, and even the multiple flea infestations from their multiple animals. Worse, both of their professions kept them apart most weekdays. He, a struggling artist whose business acumen didn't make him feel better; rather, it reminded him of more lucrative and less undesirable prospects. She, a rising star in both the art and corporate worlds whose lack of perceived stability didn't excite her; rather, it reminded her of a childhood lost.
To put it simply, everything was draining.
Weekends, however, were a different story. Sure, they'd both bring their trials and tribulations to the dinner table, which often was merely an order out of steak or pizza eaten nonchalantly on a torn couch in front of the television, but the perks were worth it. He could smell her, and she could imagine her very own Bruce Lee or John Lennon in person. She rarely wore perfume, but the natural scent of her skin combined with the arousing scent of whatever soap she used never failed to turn him on. He rarely exercised or exhibited any musicality, but his fairly frequent diversions into pretending to do a karate chop or compose a song for her never failed to make her smile, and perhaps laugh.
He missed her smile. It was the very first thing that drew him to her. It lit up a room like a fucking bonfire... or an atomic bomb. He wished she was there to share it with him. He wished a lot of things.
He wished she was there to watch their favorite television programs, usually some hell-bent drama centered on off-kilter male authority figures who showed little regard for the authority of others, but were damn good at their jobs. He wished she was there, and his increasingly full DVR drive reminded him of his longing almost constantly.
He wished she was there to cuddle and coddle their pets, a menagerie of misbehaving dogs and ridiculously apathetic cats who never ceased to amaze or befuddle either one of them. He wished she was there so he could show her the new and interesting ways their lazy cat, Sagremor, found to use his master's body as a pillow.
But most of all, he wished she was there so he could touch her, hold her, and push her away half-jokingly when she complained he wasn't rubbing her shoulders the way she wanted him to. He wished...
He just wished she was here.
To put it simply, everything was draining.
Weekends, however, were a different story. Sure, they'd both bring their trials and tribulations to the dinner table, which often was merely an order out of steak or pizza eaten nonchalantly on a torn couch in front of the television, but the perks were worth it. He could smell her, and she could imagine her very own Bruce Lee or John Lennon in person. She rarely wore perfume, but the natural scent of her skin combined with the arousing scent of whatever soap she used never failed to turn him on. He rarely exercised or exhibited any musicality, but his fairly frequent diversions into pretending to do a karate chop or compose a song for her never failed to make her smile, and perhaps laugh.
He missed her smile. It was the very first thing that drew him to her. It lit up a room like a fucking bonfire... or an atomic bomb. He wished she was there to share it with him. He wished a lot of things.
He wished she was there to watch their favorite television programs, usually some hell-bent drama centered on off-kilter male authority figures who showed little regard for the authority of others, but were damn good at their jobs. He wished she was there, and his increasingly full DVR drive reminded him of his longing almost constantly.
He wished she was there to cuddle and coddle their pets, a menagerie of misbehaving dogs and ridiculously apathetic cats who never ceased to amaze or befuddle either one of them. He wished she was there so he could show her the new and interesting ways their lazy cat, Sagremor, found to use his master's body as a pillow.
But most of all, he wished she was there so he could touch her, hold her, and push her away half-jokingly when she complained he wasn't rubbing her shoulders the way she wanted him to. He wished...
He just wished she was here.
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