so christmas is over. all of the rushing around is done, the presents have been given and received, too much food has been consumed, and life is beginning to show signs of returning to normal.
thank the gods for that!
it was a quiet day in the end - just me and hubby at my aunty's, along with my parents and great uncle. it was slow and lovely. as was the food. *happy sigh*
the following two days (today and yesterday) have been somewhat more trying though.
i have three grown-up stepchildren (aged from 17 to 21). eldest stepson and partner have an eight-month-old. they all have very long legs. and there is only seating for five adults in our front room. given that the main activity when they come round tends to be computer games, and we have one less seat than we need, i have spent most of the last two days in the kitchen, wandering around on the internet, and doing little of use. i tried to edit Cirque Du Seul, but the kitchen chairs are not the most cofortable in the world, and i just couldn't get into it.
tonight, they left, and the peace is bliss. i think Literary Kitteh was happy to see them go, too. the minute the front door shut behind them, he was happily curled up on the settee, snoozing as only a kitteh can. and i have been writing a little.
anyone who saw the last couple of posts will perhaps have seen comments and some excellent drabbles from Liz. this evening, she asked me for some different source words so, with an evil laugh, i gave her "ennui", "squamous", and "shriven". she then announced that she was upping the word limit to 250.
now ok - i'll admit that this bothered me a little. in art, conventions and rules can be bent and broken with gay abandon by whosoever should wish to do so - that's one of the glorious things about it. sometimes it produces genius, sometimes a big steaming pile of... well, never mind. you get the idea, i'm sure. but personally? i rather like artistic conventions. i find they give me structure and purpose when i would otherwise be flailing around and in steaming territory. clear parameters are something i find i need more than i would have thought possible. still in the playpen, you see.
anyway, i went and had a dip in wikipedia, and found that the definition of a drabble has become somewhat more loose than i initially thought. however, i still rather like the pushing and wriggling of trying to fit into the 100 word constraint. it's an interesting challenge. but there is, apparently, such a thing as a "droubble" or a double drabble (see the end of the article). exactly 200 words. so i put this to Liz, and she agreed. she suggested, though, that since this is double the word limit, we should have double the source words. fine by me. i'd actually already started writing my droubble by this point, but that's fine - it's a further challenge to see if i can crowbar the words into what i had in mind. but she has not, as yet, got back to me with those three extra source words, so i have finished the one i was writing, and await the arrival of the new words. when they arrive, i may, indeed, try and crowbar them in, or i may just (which is also more likely) write a whole new one. here's the droubble wot i wrote, anyway - along with a couple of drabbles that also happened this evening:
droubble
ennui/squamous/shriven
He had done everything. He had swum with dolphins, playing with them in the crystalline waters of the Caribbean. He had jumped from a high bridge attached to a piece of elastic cord. He had witnessed a sunrise from space, and a sunset from the top of a mountain. He had travelled through deserts and jungles and cities and tundra, drinking in all that was on offer from the landscape around him.
And then ennui had set in. Surely his odyssey had shown him all that this shrunken planet had to offer. After all, he had flown the length and breadth of the planet more times than he could count. What could there be that he had not already seen? He returned to his vast mansion set in its endless acres and gloomily flipped through his electronic photo library, looking for details that he may have missed. And then it hit him. Staring at an accidental picture of his shoe, his squamous eyes opened, and he felt shriven of the soul- weariness plaguing him. Rushing to his vast wardrobe, he grabbed the first pair of walking boots he could find, and set off into the world.
This time, on foot.
drabbles
effortless / doubt / propensity
She envied others' art. The seemingly effortless melding of incidents and accidents that produced things of great terror and beauty filled her with longing. The propensity to doubt her own abilities led her to dismiss those who told her she had talent, and to seek darker avenues to improve her own art.
Trading with demons in dark alleys, she swapped a piece of her soul for each new ability. At last, she had what she thought she needed. Exhibiting her works to the world, she proudly waited for reviews to flood in. A tide of comments containing one word:
"Soulless."
dissolve / books / revolution
The revolution had come and gone. It left in its wake a vague feeling of "Meet the new boss - same as the old boss". And one other difference. There were no more books. The glorious republic had decided that books were antiquated, had outlived their time. But no matter. There was all the new technology that still allowed storytelling without all of that cumbersome paper getting in the way. Now there was only the sharp clarity of electrical impulses speaking to each other. But without the feel, sight and smell of books, the culture began slowly, imperceptibly, to dissolve.
still waiting for those words, Liz... ;o)
.
(edit - added after comments posted)
so as you can see in the comments, i got my three extra words, and made this:
ennui/squamous/shriven/sniffle/evocative/muse
The ennui had passed.
The slithering, squamous creatures that haunted his dreams had ceased their vile hissing whispers. He'd laboured in darkness for seeming aeons, hacking and scratching with rusty pen and clotted ink at damp, spongy paper. Not an evocative word in sight. The moist chill in the air making him sniffle interminably, he'd pushed his way through the thorny vines of writer's block, wondering if his torment would ever end. He knew he'd brought it on himself. By allowing himself to become distracted by the worst dregs of popular culture, he'd alienated his sensitive and capricious muse, and she'd left. Her punishment was harsh. Unrelenting. He'd toiled for weeks on end to make amends - eschewing television, newspaper, magazine and radio, just to create sufficient space for her. He decorated the space with strange blooms, sumptuous fabrics, elegant sweetmeats and champagne. He carried it in his head as he hacked through the stinking, half-rotted vegetation of z-list celebrity and tabloid journalism, cradling it carefully and keeping it inviolate.
Eventually, a ray of golden inspiration hit him full in the face and, as he felt her pour into the space he'd so carefully created, he knew he was shriven.
.
Showing posts with label the tribe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the tribe. Show all posts
Monday, 27 December 2010
Sunday, 24 October 2010
three stories and an introduction.
once upon a time, there was a little boy who lived with his grandparents.
one day, when he was playing outside, he met a stray cat. he played with this cat, and they liked each other very much. when the boy was called in for his tea, he excitedly told his grandparents about this lovely little black and white cat he'd met, and how she had no home to go to and pleasepleaseplease could he keep her?
his grandad considered this, looking at his grandson's hopeful face and said: "all right - if you can go outside and find this cat, you can keep it."
the boy was thrilled, and rushed outside to find the little black and white cat. he searched and he searched, high and low, but he couldn't find the little cat anywhere. eventually, it got dark, and his grandma called him inside. he walked inside slowly, his shoulders drooping with dejection. he met his grandad in the living room.
"did you find the cat, then?"
the boy's shoulders sagged a little more. "no, i didn't"
"well never mind" replied his grandad, kindly. "go on upstairs and get ready for bed, lad"
the boy walked slowly and sadly into the hall, to the foot of the stairs.
where the little black and white cat was waiting for him.
it was only many years later, when he was telling his future wife the story of the little black and white cat, that he realised how the cat had got to the foot of those stairs.
---
once upon a time, there was a little girl who already had two cats.
it was a very bad winter. it was very cold, and the snow lay thick on the ground. she began to hear her mum and dad talking about "that bloody black thing" that, she gathered, was another cat that had taken to sneaking in through the cat flap at night, and sleeping on the kitchen table with the other two cats. her dad kept throwing his slipper at it, but "that bloody black thing" was very persistent and, eventually, the family gave in and adopted the cat.
she was, actually, a beautiful longhaired tortoishell, and turned out to have the sweetest, most loving nature of any cat the little girl had ever, or (she suspects) would ever, encounter. it was easy to tell when the cat was asleep, since that was the only time she ever stopped purring.
the little girl grew up with that cat, and they were very, very firm friends.
when the little girl was twenty, the beautiful cat died, and she was heartbroken. a dozen years later, she still missed her and, very occasionally, dreamed about her. when this happened, she would wake up crying, missing her friend terribly, wishing only to bury her face into that soft, sweet-smelling fur, and hear that thunderous, throbbing purr once more.
---
once upon a time, the little boy with the black and white cat grew up to have a son. one day, whilst the (now) man and his (now) wife were visiting the son, his girlfriend and their son, in their new house, the man and his wife went outside for a smoke (so they wouldn't damage the health of the man's grandson). whilst they were outside (along with the man's son and his other son, who was staying with his brother and family for a while), a big black and white cat jumped up on to the fence beside them and, with thunderous purrs and imperious and insistent headbutts, demanded as much fuss as they were prepared to give him. delighted with this amazingly sweet natured animal, the man and his wife questioned the young men about this cat. they were horrified to learn that the previous tennants had left the cat behind when they moved, and he was living in the garden of the abandoned house next door. the brothers had been feeding him, but that was as far as it went, as they were all on a very low income, and couldn't afford to do any more than that. and besides, living outside, the poor animal, of course, had fleas, and they didn't want the fleas in the house (especially with the baby) if they could help it, and couldn't afford to treat them properly.
the man and his wife's hearts melted.
they were on holiday that week, and were going away. they decided, however, that as soon as they returned, they would adopt this sweet and abandoned animal, and give him the loving home that he deserved.
---
ladies and gentlemen, i take great pleasure in introducing you to Max The Cat.
i never thought i would ever again meet a cat as sweet-natured and chilled out as my beloved and much-missed tortoishell.
but i think he comes pretty close.
this is the view i've had for much of the weekend, at least when i've sat still for more than five minutes, since he comes and lies contentedly on my chest:
one day, when he was playing outside, he met a stray cat. he played with this cat, and they liked each other very much. when the boy was called in for his tea, he excitedly told his grandparents about this lovely little black and white cat he'd met, and how she had no home to go to and pleasepleaseplease could he keep her?
his grandad considered this, looking at his grandson's hopeful face and said: "all right - if you can go outside and find this cat, you can keep it."
the boy was thrilled, and rushed outside to find the little black and white cat. he searched and he searched, high and low, but he couldn't find the little cat anywhere. eventually, it got dark, and his grandma called him inside. he walked inside slowly, his shoulders drooping with dejection. he met his grandad in the living room.
"did you find the cat, then?"
the boy's shoulders sagged a little more. "no, i didn't"
"well never mind" replied his grandad, kindly. "go on upstairs and get ready for bed, lad"
the boy walked slowly and sadly into the hall, to the foot of the stairs.
where the little black and white cat was waiting for him.
it was only many years later, when he was telling his future wife the story of the little black and white cat, that he realised how the cat had got to the foot of those stairs.
---
once upon a time, there was a little girl who already had two cats.
it was a very bad winter. it was very cold, and the snow lay thick on the ground. she began to hear her mum and dad talking about "that bloody black thing" that, she gathered, was another cat that had taken to sneaking in through the cat flap at night, and sleeping on the kitchen table with the other two cats. her dad kept throwing his slipper at it, but "that bloody black thing" was very persistent and, eventually, the family gave in and adopted the cat.
she was, actually, a beautiful longhaired tortoishell, and turned out to have the sweetest, most loving nature of any cat the little girl had ever, or (she suspects) would ever, encounter. it was easy to tell when the cat was asleep, since that was the only time she ever stopped purring.
the little girl grew up with that cat, and they were very, very firm friends.
when the little girl was twenty, the beautiful cat died, and she was heartbroken. a dozen years later, she still missed her and, very occasionally, dreamed about her. when this happened, she would wake up crying, missing her friend terribly, wishing only to bury her face into that soft, sweet-smelling fur, and hear that thunderous, throbbing purr once more.
---
once upon a time, the little boy with the black and white cat grew up to have a son. one day, whilst the (now) man and his (now) wife were visiting the son, his girlfriend and their son, in their new house, the man and his wife went outside for a smoke (so they wouldn't damage the health of the man's grandson). whilst they were outside (along with the man's son and his other son, who was staying with his brother and family for a while), a big black and white cat jumped up on to the fence beside them and, with thunderous purrs and imperious and insistent headbutts, demanded as much fuss as they were prepared to give him. delighted with this amazingly sweet natured animal, the man and his wife questioned the young men about this cat. they were horrified to learn that the previous tennants had left the cat behind when they moved, and he was living in the garden of the abandoned house next door. the brothers had been feeding him, but that was as far as it went, as they were all on a very low income, and couldn't afford to do any more than that. and besides, living outside, the poor animal, of course, had fleas, and they didn't want the fleas in the house (especially with the baby) if they could help it, and couldn't afford to treat them properly.
the man and his wife's hearts melted.
they were on holiday that week, and were going away. they decided, however, that as soon as they returned, they would adopt this sweet and abandoned animal, and give him the loving home that he deserved.
---
ladies and gentlemen, i take great pleasure in introducing you to Max The Cat.
i never thought i would ever again meet a cat as sweet-natured and chilled out as my beloved and much-missed tortoishell.
but i think he comes pretty close.
this is the view i've had for much of the weekend, at least when i've sat still for more than five minutes, since he comes and lies contentedly on my chest:
accompanied with affectionate headbutts to the chin, and a purr like the throb of an engine.
i think i'm in love.
.
Saturday, 27 February 2010
whatever works for you
there's been quite a few retweets of this link on the all-conquering twitter just recently. it's an entertaining read, not least because a lot of the writers seem to contradict each other, or there are exceptions cited for each rule, or other discrepancies. now, maybe i didn't read it carefully enough, but it seemed to me that there were few agreements on what you definitely should or should not do to produce good writing, whether novel, short story or shopping list. and it seemed to confirm something i've always felt about creative endeavour in general. everyone is different, everyone creates what they do from, ultimately, the inside of their own head. and the inside of every single person's head is sooo different, there's no way anyone can write hard-and-fast rules that everyone should follow. or maybe that's just the way i write? i'll always look at this sort of thing, if only because, somewhere in there, ther may just be a shining nugget of truth in there, amongst the other stuff (which i won't call dross, 'coz it ain't - just doesn't work for me. "You tell me your truth, and i'll tell you mine"...). seriously, you can take advice until the cows come home, but then you have to filter it through what works for you. try it, of course, but don't be disappointed or surprised if it doesn't. stay open. to incomings and outgiongs both. be prepared to let stuff go if it doesn't work for you. always stay open.
anyway - stating the obvious as usual. sorry
the much-abused isobel is still with the garage. no idea what stage she's at, as she'll be done when she's done, and there's NO WAY ON EARTH that we're going to do anything that could be perceived as putting any kind of pressure on to those that are fixing the hash they made the first time. such as phoning for an update.
*deep breath* *lets it out sowly*
patience, Squeaky, all will be well.
been utterly shattered again this week. the internal alarm clock is still WAY out, (gaah!). also, i've been doing this STUPID thing at work which i just haven't got the energy to rant about and, anyway, why bother? it is a feature of my workplace that some overpaid wanker will be drafted in to "improve the business" (n.b. it's not a business, ok? - that's just crappy management speak), and will reccommend the removal of a working system and replacement of said sysstem by something that...well...doesn't.
oops - rant-avoidance fail. oh well, at least it was only a little one, eh? *grin*
mind you, i've had a very restful day today. no mad typing marathons, and managed to stay in bed and doze until a proper, proper saturday morning time (i.e. 10:30-ish - not managed that for weeks). then, we went out and spent quite a lot of money (retail therapy - yeah!)
to begin with, we bought a new shower,as the one we have is probably 25 - 30 years old, and it's given its all. it is knackered, bolloxed, and utterly, utterly kaput. it is an ex-shower. it's never been exactly red-hot in cold weather, but this winter?
ok, i'm a wuss. i admit it. i love my Lushy showers, but i absolutely draw the line at lukewarm showers in winter. when it's cold outside, i want heat! i want steam, dammit! i want the bathroom to be so full of steam that i can't see the door by the time i've finished!
so - guess what hubby's doing tomorrow?
and guess what i'm doing as soon as he's finished?
oh, gods, i'm sooo looking forward to a properly hot shower. i don't think i've had one since the autumn.
oh, YES!!! damn me, those lovely Lushy things are gonna get some hammer, i can tell you! ^_^
ahem. sorry.
anyway - the other drain on the wallet was a new toy for hubby.
he loves his PS2. he loved his PS as well. but, of course, there's a new one out these days. now, he's quite prepared to wait until his PS2 kicks the bucket before he upgrades, but, well...
see, there's this game that my stepchildren brought round when they came to stay for a couple of days last christmas. now, The Tribe are - or can be - EXTREMELY argumentative, and drive us completely insane with alarming frequency. especially when they are all three together, with us, in our teeny weeny living room. everyone gets under everyone else's feet, and on everyone else's nerves. i don't mind admitting it, i was dreading the christmas visit.
but the game.
the game saved us.
i have never, i mean NEVER, had such fun for such a sustained length of time with all three of 'em. in fourteen years. i swear (frequently, actually, but that's not what i meant), there wasn't a cross word spoken, like, all weekend.
it was like i'd wandered into somebody else's family.
this game was that Beatles Rock Band thingy. there were all the instruments and what have you, and all these songs that are like a part of the fabric of the family (since we are both big fans, we've played them all of the kids' lives - they know them almost as well as we do). and everyone played the instruments, and a jolly good time was had by all.
now, everyone wanted to play the drums (i won't say everyone wanted to be Ringo, because, let's face it - hes a bit of an arse, innit?). but everyone (wait for it...) TOOK TURNS!!!
*faints*
seriously - this just doesn't happen amongst The Tribe (despite the fact that they are 16, 18 and 20).
ever since, hubby has, every now and again, been pretending to play the drums, and (i know the look in his eye) thought wistfully of the day his PS2 finally cacks it and he gets to - with a clear conscience - go spend lots of money on a shiny new console and game.
*sigh*
i've been trying to persuade him that he really doesn't need to wait if he waaannnttssssss it, preciousssssss. and boy, does he want it! so, that was what else we spent lots of money on today. and that's just fine by me.
and now he's repeatedly draping my newly darned self-knitted socks (ah'm sooooo proud of mah old skool skillz!) over my head so i can't see the screen. excuse me whilst i go and explain, pointedly, why he should stop....
anyway - stating the obvious as usual. sorry
the much-abused isobel is still with the garage. no idea what stage she's at, as she'll be done when she's done, and there's NO WAY ON EARTH that we're going to do anything that could be perceived as putting any kind of pressure on to those that are fixing the hash they made the first time. such as phoning for an update.
*deep breath* *lets it out sowly*
patience, Squeaky, all will be well.
been utterly shattered again this week. the internal alarm clock is still WAY out, (gaah!). also, i've been doing this STUPID thing at work which i just haven't got the energy to rant about and, anyway, why bother? it is a feature of my workplace that some overpaid wanker will be drafted in to "improve the business" (n.b. it's not a business, ok? - that's just crappy management speak), and will reccommend the removal of a working system and replacement of said sysstem by something that...well...doesn't.
oops - rant-avoidance fail. oh well, at least it was only a little one, eh? *grin*
mind you, i've had a very restful day today. no mad typing marathons, and managed to stay in bed and doze until a proper, proper saturday morning time (i.e. 10:30-ish - not managed that for weeks). then, we went out and spent quite a lot of money (retail therapy - yeah!)
to begin with, we bought a new shower,as the one we have is probably 25 - 30 years old, and it's given its all. it is knackered, bolloxed, and utterly, utterly kaput. it is an ex-shower. it's never been exactly red-hot in cold weather, but this winter?
ok, i'm a wuss. i admit it. i love my Lushy showers, but i absolutely draw the line at lukewarm showers in winter. when it's cold outside, i want heat! i want steam, dammit! i want the bathroom to be so full of steam that i can't see the door by the time i've finished!
so - guess what hubby's doing tomorrow?
and guess what i'm doing as soon as he's finished?
oh, gods, i'm sooo looking forward to a properly hot shower. i don't think i've had one since the autumn.
oh, YES!!! damn me, those lovely Lushy things are gonna get some hammer, i can tell you! ^_^
ahem. sorry.
anyway - the other drain on the wallet was a new toy for hubby.
he loves his PS2. he loved his PS as well. but, of course, there's a new one out these days. now, he's quite prepared to wait until his PS2 kicks the bucket before he upgrades, but, well...
see, there's this game that my stepchildren brought round when they came to stay for a couple of days last christmas. now, The Tribe are - or can be - EXTREMELY argumentative, and drive us completely insane with alarming frequency. especially when they are all three together, with us, in our teeny weeny living room. everyone gets under everyone else's feet, and on everyone else's nerves. i don't mind admitting it, i was dreading the christmas visit.
but the game.
the game saved us.
i have never, i mean NEVER, had such fun for such a sustained length of time with all three of 'em. in fourteen years. i swear (frequently, actually, but that's not what i meant), there wasn't a cross word spoken, like, all weekend.
it was like i'd wandered into somebody else's family.
this game was that Beatles Rock Band thingy. there were all the instruments and what have you, and all these songs that are like a part of the fabric of the family (since we are both big fans, we've played them all of the kids' lives - they know them almost as well as we do). and everyone played the instruments, and a jolly good time was had by all.
now, everyone wanted to play the drums (i won't say everyone wanted to be Ringo, because, let's face it - hes a bit of an arse, innit?). but everyone (wait for it...) TOOK TURNS!!!
*faints*
seriously - this just doesn't happen amongst The Tribe (despite the fact that they are 16, 18 and 20).
ever since, hubby has, every now and again, been pretending to play the drums, and (i know the look in his eye) thought wistfully of the day his PS2 finally cacks it and he gets to - with a clear conscience - go spend lots of money on a shiny new console and game.
*sigh*
i've been trying to persuade him that he really doesn't need to wait if he waaannnttssssss it, preciousssssss. and boy, does he want it! so, that was what else we spent lots of money on today. and that's just fine by me.
and now he's repeatedly draping my newly darned self-knitted socks (ah'm sooooo proud of mah old skool skillz!) over my head so i can't see the screen. excuse me whilst i go and explain, pointedly, why he should stop....
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