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Writing something every day.
This is more for me than anyone else.
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Writing something every day.

 

12-07-14 09:42 PM
Singelli is Offline
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So I have a deadline before Christmas break and I just now realized that it's a larger task than I had anticipated. That means I'm going to get very, very little sleep and feel very, very stressed for the next 8 days.  However, I can't work the FULL 192 hours, of course.  There are a few things (aside from minimal sleep, I mean) that I intend to do every day to help relieve SOME of that stress.

One of those things I had planned on starting today, was forcing myself to do a little writing every day.  I absolutely adore writing, but I don't make enough time for it (outside of my job).  If I don't -force- myself to write, it will never happen.  Therefore, every day... I'm going to set a time limit for myself: 20 minutes.

I am going to write for exactly that amount of time... no more, no less.  If I ended up with one page or 20.... great.  If people respond to this thread, I'll just write my new 'session' in a new post.  And if they don't... well, I'll edit the most recent one to avoid multiple posts in a row.

Of course, the writing will not be perfect, and might even be goalless.... so it's likely to be a little rough around the edges.  If you have ideas on where I can go next or how I can improve... please... do let me know!

Love ya all.

-----------------------------
12/7

Day 1
The first thing I noticed when I woke up this morning was the cold bite of winter on my toes.  My waking was so disconcerting that I could hardly focus on anything else, as if that pinch at my feet was my one connection to reality.  It took me a few moments to realize that I was indeed alive, and that I had
a body.  I know that seems like a silly thing to say... as though I felt it was possible I might just be a figment of imagination.

I sat up and took in my surroundings with the speed of mud slipping down a slight hill.  In fact, that description described the landscape pretty accurately.  It was bare and ugly, and incredibly, in inescapably brown.  Where was I and why was I there?

I was further started to see a figure beside me, and to note that the figure was breathing. I watched the top of it rise and fall steadily.  There was something peaceful about it.  I suddenly felt as though everything would be okay and that I was safe.   Where did this certainty come from?

I patted myself down and tried to put a name to myself, or at the very least, an identity.  Who was I?  Rebelle, I heard in my mind before the question had a chance to fully form.  But in the same second it took to form that thought, a wisp of dread filled me and caused me to shiver.

Ah, that's right. I could feel my clothes loosely shift on my body, and the unsorted thoughts continued.  How could I not innately know what I was wearing?  Glancing down, I patted the rough animal hides.  They were smooth with age and cracked in what I could only assume were the most used areas.

I was skinny.  And hungry.  And... well, dirty.  The lump beside me grunted and my eyes shifted sharply, my body tense despite the earlier comfort.  I could almost hear the clothing on the man (eerily similar to my own) groan as two thin arms peeked out and stretched.

The man was not as slow to wake as I had been, and when he suddenly sat up and swiveled his head,  I could see that he was also not as disconcerted.  Wide, shocking blue eyes, as though seeking specifically for one thing, fell on my face, and his shoulders quickly fell in relief.

"Ah... good morning," the gentle voice said.  I could only take in every feature as his cracked lips moved.  His bald head was quite possibly the only smooth part of his face, the rest pattered with a few small scars and sunken in from hunger.  There seemed to not be a single hair (or hint of one) to be found aside from his eyebrows and eyelashes, and his nose was round and short.

He probably would have looked decent with a shock of brown hair atop his head.

He felt incredibly familiar, and yet I couldn't fathom how this could be.  Should it have surprised me, given the circumstances?

He seemed to sense my discomfort, but more surprisingly, he didn't seem alarmed by it.  Instead, his face (if possible when nearly every bone eagerly shows) softened into a bit of a smile, and he extended a calloused hand.

"Woman, don't be frightened," he murmured.  "I am just a man."

As though the words had significance, I felt a sudden weight upon my thoughts, and I was slammed with memories.  Well.... in a way I was.  However, it was like walking through a thick fog early in the morning before the sun has a chance to warm the horizon.  I saw vague shapes, and no matter how hard my mind strained, I could see no more.

Buildings, people with threatening postures, feet, roads, mountains, and most prominently, a man.

The recognition must have lighted in my eyes, for his smile grew considerably and he felt confident enough to close the distance between my unmoved hand and his.  When his fingers closed around mine, they didn't offer the warmth of a friend; they were cold.  My digits shivered against his, and he clasped his other hand over them as though to keep them still.

"It's alright. We got through this on most mornings," he assured me as though filling the awkward silence was an honor.  "You really should start writing things down, you know."  He patted my hand and then let it slip away as he got to his feet.

I felt myself disappointed as I sat almost helplessly missing that cold hand.  He must be a friend if this was routine, right?
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12-07-14 09:49 PM
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I'm really impressed with what you were able to do within 20 minutes.

And I really like what you wrote. It definitely got me curious and left me wanting to read more.

I hope you keep up with this.
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12-07-14 09:57 PM
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EideticMemory : aww, thanks! haha! I have to admit that I'm a bit surprised, because I thought I'd have more after 20 minutes.  I guess 777 words of unplanned writing isn't so bad though.  (What an awesome number! ha!)

After going back and re-reading it, I see soooooo many typos and so much room for improvement! My OCD is killing me because I want to go and edit the fixes in. However, I'm not going to because I want to see what I actually did in 20 minutes and how I can improve.

I know where I'm going with this plot, I think.... but like most of my story-writing attempts.... I can START a novel-length story.... and I know how I want it to end..... but it's the middle where I get stuck.

This is part of the reason I want to force myself to continue writing.  If I make myself write even when I don't have a plan, something's gotta come up, right?  I'll get 'the middle' somehow. lol No sense in sitting and fretting over it and accomplishing nothing.

....
Now to get back to writing the boring stuff!  Boo!
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12-07-14 11:06 PM
thephantombrain is Offline
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That was very cool for 20 minutes and you're so talented at description. Thanks for directing me here! I've said before that I'm not the most attentive person and I rarely stalk the corners of Vizzed looking for places to post.

Do you plan on continuing this plot line or would you be open to experimentation? I had a challenge for you, if you'd be willing to play along next time.
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12-07-14 11:39 PM
Singelli is Offline
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thephantombrain:  When I write and read, and study talented writings, there are certain things I pick up on and note "That's a key component to good writing."  Since I'm not in school any more, most of these observations come from my own writing, and one of those components is description that involves as many senses as possible.  Usually when introducing a piece, I try to do just that.

Obviously, when trying to meet my 20 minutes, I forgot this.... good to know!  XD

Another sign of talented writing, I believe is.... in essence.... killing to birds with one stone.  Instead of saying, for example,

"What a lovely day it is," he stated.  I noticed his eyes were blue when he looked in my direction.

It makes a more interesting read to see this (in my opinion):

"What a lovely day it is," he stated as his blue eyes pierced my own.

You get all the same information, but presentation is everything.  I try to NEVER use a simple 'he said', 'she said', or 'it happened'.  Things in the scene need to always be alive, moving, and/or acting as a catalyst to... something.  It keeps the text active and eliminates wordiness.

Speaking of wordiness though... I have to say this piece was just full of it.

that description described?
fell on my face, and his shoulders quickly fell in relief?


LOL!

And don't even let me start on.....

Oh dear... I really shouldn't get on a soap box, should I?  XD

Er... yeah... thanks for the support! You've always been awesome!

I would actually like to continue the plot, BUT.... there's no issue in writing it on non-sequential days.  I LOVE being challenged when I write.  Even genres I hate can train me to be more proficient and flexible.

Lay it on me!

Edit:
Instead of double posting, I'm going to do my 20 minutes for today right here.

Because I am exceptionally tired, I don't want to work on the piece I already started in the first post.  I think I'd end up utterly destroying it.  LOL  That being said, I have no idea what else to write about... I just know it's going to be horrible.  Nonetheless..... I've made a commitment to myself!

So here we go......

------
12/8

As I lie here and wiggle my toes beneath my warm tan throw, I feel my muggy thoughts bravely marching around in my mind.  What they are trying to conclude, or to what purpose, I'm not interested in.  I'm only interested in what I feel, see, hear, taste, and smell.  With the memory of pumpkin muffin on my tongue and the smell of crisp new paper to my right, my lazy thoughts can determine, at the very least, that I feel content.

Content about what?  I didn't accomplish much today and passed out several times on my desk at home.  My fingers were meant to fill the room with the click of the keyboard, but instead they rolled around my knees before clasping together under my cheek.  I vaguely remember one of the things I learned today: sadness is sticky.

I imagine a pillowcase of darkness in my mind, wrung together at it's opening so that nothing can escape.  The darkness is heavy and tickles at curiosities.  It's the hidden pain, frustration, and anger that people carry around: their
baggage.  Every now and then, those buried feelings become too heavy, and tug far too often at the arm holding them.  It's then that we become human, slowly twisting the pillowcase open and lowering our eyes to view what might be seen.

Darkness.

If sight fails, then we have other methods of investigation, do we not?  Those hidden feelings have been hidden for long enough that they are hard to recall.  Were they really that horrible?  What did they taste like?  Why are they kept swallowed inside the pit?  Do we need them for some reason?

Since we can't see, we reach down.  The moment our fingers brush against the vague memories, the touch becomes a wide and efficient gateway.  Pain and anger and frustration leap up from their trap.  They shoot up through our bodies and shock the heart.  We want to hurt something, break something, push something.  We feel righteous in our assessment that this ... thing.... is too much for any one person to handle.

Put it back in the bag! is our immediate response.  Hide it again!  Why were we ever curious?!

But the truth is that sorrow and sadness are -sticky-.  Once we've got a bit stuck to our fingertips, we can push it back down with all our might, but it remains connected to us.  We can shake as violently and as full as intent as possible, but those feelings are like tree sap.  The residue smells and the stench makes us gag.

Let go and let live, instead.  Don't be curious.  Keep the badness hidden away.

I wiggle my toes under the blanket and I think about my own pillowcase next to me. The one I opened today.  The one that left my fingers sticky and my heart aching.  I can envision it always there, foreboding and breathing.

Why are they so hard to get rid of?

Instead, I concentrate on those things around me.  I can smell lavendar soap on my shoulders when I turn my head just the right way.  My lamp shade casts a beautiful shadow across the faded ecru walls, and the keys on my keyboard are smooth and worn from use.  My posture is comfortable, my stomach is satisfied, and my thoughts are lazy.

I think about my day.  Did I accomplish anything?

I got a smile from a coworker.  I opened the mail to discover a Christmas card from someone that loves me.  My cat greeted me with several purrs and an affirmation of his need for my approval.

I anticipated the next time I can give, and I dreamt of the future.  My eyelashes kept dust from my eyes, my feet carried me to my destinations, my teeth chewed my food without aching.

I saw leaves of the most amazing colors. I read signs I had never seen before.  A complete stranger cared about my safety on the way home.

Warm fuzzy blankets.
Pumpkin muffins.
Lamp shades and strangers.

My mind is lazy, but that's okay.

I've written something, even if most of it is senseless.  The fact that I can form thoughts at all is a blessing in and of itself.  I am lucky. I am loved. I am blessed.  I can also make others feel lucky, give love, and give blessings.

And tomorrow is laundry day.

I think I'll start with the pillow cases.
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(edited by Singelli on 12-08-14 09:26 PM)    

12-09-14 07:58 PM
thephantombrain is Offline
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I never thought about combining descriptions like that although it's possible that I do it when writing and don't even think about it. I wish myskills/passion for this skill were as strong as yours.

What do feelings taste like? Interesting..

This was another vivid read! Let's see if I can push you up a flight of stairs.

The condition that I'm proposing for your next effort is meant to stretch your imagination to the breaking point while throwing you completely out of your element. Your writing has a certain style that I'm too uneducated to describe but I can... feel... what the opposite of it is. Therefore, I'd like you to write some sort of action/adventure story. No introductions are needed, just dump the reader right into the heart of the matter.

Also, introduce as many positive nouns, adjectives, and nouns as adjectives as possible in 20 minutes - i.e. pink marmalade, Baron Fahrenheit Elroy, bicycle factory, knucklehead, etc. Also, try and constantly surprise the reader like that Scrambler ride at an amusement park. Swerve back and forth so violently that reading the story might be compared to opposing Mike Tyson in a title fight.

Put a twist in the end if you like but it's not required as the entire composition should be considered a twist. Clear as mud?

It's my belief that if you play in this domain long enough it can only serve to further enrich your current style.
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12-09-14 09:59 PM
Singelli is Offline
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thephantombrain :  Honestly, I am completely and utterly shocked you would call last night's rambling a 'vivid read'. haha. I think I was actually half passed out when I wrote it, and struggling between writing a piece of fiction and reflecting on an event of the day when I REALLY thought about how sadness is 'sticky'.

I can't say I'm fond of it, but I did write something at least.

Now, I guess it's time to take up your challenge, and that will probably MAKE last nights read look very vivid indeed. *chuckles *  I suppose a first 'try' at everything will be poor though, however?

The key... *hint hint.. .nudge nudge*.... is to get feedback. Where did I succeed, and where did I fail?  What was the strongest point, and the weakest?  Did it TOTALLY suck?  (I do genuinely love that piece of feedback.  Then I get to ask, "What could I have done better and how could I have reached you as a reader?)

Alright... I just want to warn you that I have planned NOTHING for this. I haven't given an ounce of thought to what I'm going to do, so I'll be as surprised as you are.

Here goes.
----

12/9
I braced my neon boots into the scuffed floor as I felt my shoulder pads get shoved off my square and sweaty shoulders.  A guttural 'umph' emitted from my cracked lips as the punch landed in the tense space next to my left ear.  The close call only spurred me into motion as I swung my stronger leg into a half-arc along the debris-riddled ground.

"Die, you keev!" I yelled hoarsely at the green scaled monster before me.  It was likely a rather lame thing to say, but in the heat of life-threatening battle, we can't be beggars and choosers about what escapes our throat.

Audaciously assuming I'd get the better of my unexpected opponent, I was suddenly swept onto my back by the force of a comet collision.  The angry keev took advantage of my rattled gun sling, leaping forward to place his tremendous weight on the leather. Hands unlike the rest of his reptilian body (slimy and pink) tightened around my slender throat and I found my lungs barraging my chest for precious air.

"Eat this!" was a better line, but it didn't come from my body, and was definitively more feminine.  A balled and crisp chocolate wrapper suddenly pelted my assaulter's head and fell onto my heaving chest.  The welcome distraction was enough for me to bring a knee into the creature's side.

It crashed into the leather studded walls rather silently and then crumpled to the ground, desperately clawing at its protruding temples.  Its rough-shod skin boiled and cracked before the keev suddenly stilled.

I furtively glanced towards the voice which had generously came to my rescue, and the source was moving towards me with astonishing speed.  The woman with cat-ish frame bowled into me with stunning ferocity.  "Gaaaaah," she raved.  "That wrapper was meant for you!"

While I tried to make sense of the chaos, I realized my shaking hand was still on the metal gun, and I quickly yanked it up to take my shot.

The unwelcome weight on my chest was surprisingly shocking, and I grunted from the impact.  I knew I needed to get to my feet, and quickly.  With a mighty shove, I sent the lifeless body to the side and regained my trustworthy balance. A fighting stance left me aching and breathing hard.  The exploration ship shook under the collisions of an unmonitored course.

A coughing fit brought my eyes down.  "You.. idiot....!" the furious voice weakly exclaimed.

At that moment, I felt something hard knock the side of my head, loosening some brown, damp hair into my uncertain eyes.  Jumping in response, I followed the dull thud proceeding the strike.  A red, lumpy apple rolled against my brown boot.

Realization sunk in as I dreadfully glanced past the corridor.  A dozen pairs of frightened, confused faces stared into mine, and space officers marched towards me, shields held high and cuffs ready.

Who the heck starts a food fight on the way to participate in an intergalactic war?

----
yeah, just... terrible. HA!   Only 498 words, too, unlike the 700+ of my other two tries.  That certainly shows my struggle.  I kept thinking "Use nouns as adjectives and yet....

*flops around*





A new day.

I guess that means I have to write something new.  My creative side is simply dead today, however.  Hmm... problematic, no?

oh well.
------

12/10
Lights sparkle against the ceiling, teasing me with their eyes;
They watch over me daily and hear my lonely sighs:
The sounds that betray pity, wickedness and lies,
That my hellos were hellos and my goodbyes my goodbyes!

The fan swivels its round head, teasing me with its touch
As though it knows one brush would simply be too much;
My pounding heart aches and seeks for a solid crutch,
But my rib cage is the only thing that can serve as such.

The birds twitter into the sky and across my window pane
Mocking with their joy, as though by listening I should gain;
And no matter what I do, the sounds are just the same,
And even those lovely songs know not my lonely name.

Warm bread caresses my nose and then my hungry lips,
As the only thing that will pass through these fingertips;
And the weight of this all simply at my shoulder chips
As into darkness I fall, and at my heart it mercilessly grips.

I think to myself it'd be nice if I could be as the willow tree,
Who takes burden's weight and then bends at the knee,
It utters with great peace, a beautiful soliloquy,
As it graces the ground with its gorgeous green sea.


12/11

Time has passed since you made an attempt
To take advantage of a heart so spent.
Your tongue was silver and your words were smooth
But I'm here, little schemer, to spell you the truth. 

You didn't beat me; I didn't need your "fix".
I got over all your selfish and dirty little kicks.
You arrogantly thought I'd be your broken toy;
Thinking yourself a man, but revealed a boy.

I beat you and all your horrible twisted lies,
I got over the lines you gave me about my eyes;
And I suspect you think I'm sitting here pining away,
But deaf were my ears, and thus I have the last say.

You used and mistreated me to your heart's content,
But I now laugh at the energy you carelessly spent, 
Claiming yourself victor before you won the prize,
But your grip over me long ago felt its demise.

So smile and show your arrogant little heart;
When you realize the truth, embrace how it smarts.
And as you imagine me crawling back to you,
You'll know what it felt like to be in my shoes.

Thanks for the experience; it helped me grow wise
As over my youth and naivete I can arise.
I beat you, I overcame you, I survived it all;
Now it's I who stands straight, and you who sits small.



Although I DO want to continue the story from the first post....
Interestingly enough, I find that the time seems to pass quicker when I'm writing poetry.  Also, poetry seems to take less effort... making it great to resort to when I'm feeling lazy.  And with ALL the writing I'm doing during the daytime... (frantically) to meet upcoming deadlines... I've been feeling very, very lazy.

So perhaps it's time for more poetry?

---
12/12

Click.
I heard it before it hit me,
(Figuratively, in my head.)
And what was alive, when seven words came to thrive
Quickly became quite dead.


Crash.
Was the feeling I had
When my heart fell to my feet.
What I had been avoiding, the feelings that were boiling
Laughed at the simple defeat.

Zap.
Was the sudden rush
Of pain that shot through my soul.
I didn't understand it, couldn't have planned for it,
This thing in my chest, this hole.

Sizzle.
Was the initial response
As I felt my passions burn out.
And all of the things, every one of our dreams,
Were as though they'd never come about.

Ahem.
Was the sound he made,
Expectation back in his eyes.
He wanted me quiet, didn't like me defiant,
In this clever plan of his devise.

Ssshhhh.
Was what I told myself
When by habit I wanted to speak.
"You don't have the right, You're not worth the fight"
And suddenly my knees went weak.

.....
Was all I knew after that
(and now it is all that I know).
Someday I'll be cherished, as though never I perished,
The day he takes note and says hello.


I seem to be in a poetry kick, lately?
Again, as always... writing without having planned anything (today will be hard!):

12/13
Damp. Dark. Earth.
All the world swivels around me
in this
Big. Black. Hole.
Past my hands, can I not see
who owns the
Loud. Leaden. Voice.
Gripping the heart of this detainee
and the
Strong. Sharp. Taste.
of water and blood and honey
bringing the
Rank. Raw. Smell.
Of fear and being lonely.

Well... this was depressing and took 15 minutes, because it was so difficult for me to create a 'flow'.  I think, for the first time, I'll cut myself short of the 20 minutes.
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(edited by Singelli on 12-13-14 09:15 PM)    

12-14-14 08:51 PM
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This will be day 7 of my attempt to write every day, and I have to say I'm rather proud of that.  I can only say that I'm COMPLETELY dissatisfied with one day's work... and that was yesterday's.  I guess when I'm so stressed out with meeting deadlines, though.... well, it's difficult to find motivation.  Especially since I don't plan for any of them.  Part of me wants to be lazy and 'journal', but that wouldn't exactly stretch my creative limits, now would it?

Since I HAVE reached seven days, and since there are more edits to my last post than I care to count... AND most of all... because I'm super annoyed I forgot to turn off the layout... I'm going to start a new post and edit this one every day instead.

Also, I think I'll finally force myself to continue the story from the first post.  That's what this is about, after all.... making myself write even when I don't want to..... to get those words flowing and to hopefully (in doing so), finally make some headway into a decent piece.

Just for my own sake....

Buildings, people with threatening postures, feet, roads, mountains, and most prominently, a man.

The recognition must have lighted in my eyes, for his smile grew considerably and he felt confident enough to close the distance between my unmoved hand and his.  When his fingers closed around mine, they didn't offer the warmth of a friend; they were cold.  My digits shivered against his, and he clasped his other hand over them as though to keep them still.

"It's alright. We got through this on most mornings," he assured me as though filling the awkward silence was an honor.  "You really should start writing things down, you know."  He patted my hand and then let it slip away as he got to his feet.

I felt myself disappointed as I sat almost helplessly missing that cold hand.  He must be a friend if this was routine, right?


---(continuing Day 1)---
12/14

I felt myself disappointed as I sat almost helplessly missing that cold hand.  He must be a friend if this was routine, right?  Instead of asking the obvious, or perhaps saying anything at all, I let my disconcert leave me dumbfounded.  The man swept his gaze over the monotone landscape as though seeking something out, and then approached a dry bush.  With one sweep of his body and arms, he came to a taller stand, a ruddy sack made of hemp dangling from his arms as though weightless.  I couldn't help but wonder at how deceptive his skinny arms suddenly seemed.

As though he simply expected me to follow, or perhaps had better plans, he started marching down the slight incline.  His confidence was well-place, and I quickly got to my feet, adapting a quick stride to stay just behind him.  The air was moist and heavy despite the landscape and the silence that surrounded us was just as tangible.  Even our feet failed to cause a scuffle.

We walked like this for quite some time: he with purpose and myself with not even memories to lose.  Finally, I spoke.

I wet my lips and knew my voice need not be raised, but it was still softer than I expected.  I didn't know what I would say, but it came out anyways.

"What's wrong with me?"

A slight chuckle met my inquiry, which might have enraged any other handicapped person.  Oddly, it did not riddle me.

"Nothing is wrong with you, my dear," he said without so much as a moment's pause, as though both his comfort and familiarity with the question was insurmountable.

It was the last two words that caused me more concern that the response itself.  I did bridle this time and I felt as though I should be offended.  I had hardly the time to lick my lips before the man's purposeful step was interrupted, and he turned to face me.

His full focus on my eyes was so compassionate that I ached for the missing piece of sense.  How could this man look at me with so much understanding when I was so incapable of showing my own?  Was I his 'dear' after all?

The confusion was too much for me and I felt nauseous.  My body weakened, but before I had time to slump, whatever words the man was saying came to an end.  Deftly and without my notice, he was suddenly there, at my side.  His arm came around my waist and he eased me down towards the dirt.  The smell of it was suddenly staggering and I tasted sharp iron on my lip.

"Oh dear... it's quite a bad day for you, isn't it, woman?"

His stolid determination melted away and I nodded, resisting tears.

As stupidly out of order as everything else had been since I awoke, I blundered forth, "Where are we going?"

The man must have known there was a string of questions to follow, for he set the canvas bag down and sat upon it.  It must not contain valuables, my conscious spoke to me.

Thankfully, the coldness of his rough hands were upon mine once more, and he attempted to lock eyes with mine.  I found this a difficult concept and focused my gaze on the dirt-smeared big toe of my right foot.

"The gods have not been kind to you," he sighed softly, as though resisting some urge unbeknownst to me.  His eyes rose for a second to the still-rising sun as he continued to talk. His answers were short without being quipped.  "We are going to a land of dreams."

The next question was obvious, or so I thought.

"Why?"  I swallowed past my swollen through, my voice still soft, but my hand comfortable.  I was astonished to see a gentle smile break the hard lines around his mouth.

"To live," he said.

"B..both of us?" I asked in my astonishment.

His brows furrowed every so slightly.  "Only if you wish. I will not force you to come with me, woman."

(653 words in 20 minutes.)


12/20

So I know it's been five or six days since I've written, but I had a big thing at work where I got in pretty big trouble and was then slammed with three crushing deadlines. I got 6 hours of sleep in four days, and then yesterday, my husband surprised me by telling me that we were going down to visit his family THAT night... as opposed to traveling the next day.  Thus, I've been kept away. However, here I am... exhausted and worn out... but writing nonetheless!

---
Into the sound of your sovereignty fade I,
with willing hands and ever turning eye,
with a strained heart completely exposed,
and feelings, by you quickly decomposed.
On thoughts we shared, you took ahold,
hoping my will you could swiftly unfold;
Each idea you labeled then with your name,
Until my own being, I could not take claim.
And slowly, albeit, my knee did bend,
To drown in what seemed a bitter end;
But little I knew, by digging my grave,
Numbness brought peace, in being your slave.


12/21
His brows furrowed every so slightly.  "Only if you wish. I will not force you to come with me, woman."

His answer only confused me further, and I found myself questioning whether we were a couple after all, or simply strangers benefiting from each other's company.  I stared down at my hands for quite some time, not seeing the dirt crusted into the nails or the faded scars on the insides of my arms.  The man seemed to sense my distress and his voice returned, more compassionate.

"This is why I keep telling you to write things down.  Perhaps you would be less troubled if you could keep track of the answers, and even more importantly, the questions."  He adjusted his weight on the bag and looked off into the distance. While he seemed to ponder something, I gave in to the not knowing, and decided on a simpler approach.

"What is your name, then?"

His head swung so sharply towards me that I wondered if I had spoken something unforgivable.  A flash in his eyes hinted at betrayal before the emotion faded quickly enough to have me wonder if I had imagined it.

"I am a man, just as you are a woman," was the riddle-laden response.  I sighed heavily, but he quickly added, whilst reaching forward to try and clasp a hand around one of my own.  "We do not speak our names.  It is forbidden."

I kept hearing Rebelle ring around in my head, and I felt turmoil over the word.  Was it my name?

"Why not?" I asked softly, watching his lips curl in a patient smile.

"If we speak our names, woman, the flames will hear us, and then we will be whisked from this world for the dishonor.  There is no reward in speaking them or in speaking to our senses of pride.  We are but humble men and women."

This was the lengthiest response I had gotten from my companion, and thus I knew it to be something worth his passion.  It filled me with more fear than anything else he had said, however, and I leaned forward as though not wishing the wind to carry my voice.

"Flames?  Is this a god you follow, then?"

The man's smile continued on despite the contradiction in his eyes, and he inclined his head.  "Something like that.  Now please, might we get you to write a few things down?"  I hesitated, but something within me yearned not to go through this again.  However many times we had these conversations, it was enough.

I nodded my head, and he pulled some aged paper from the bosom of his tunic.  The sincere smile on his face showed that he was not the only one who felt relief, and under his guidance, I wrote all of this.  We have spent the day talking while we traveled, and I have come to the conclusion that I trust this bald headed, gentle man with my life.

Things to remember:
The bald man next to you is your friend and can be trusted.
You are traveling in search of land to cultivate.
Names are not to be spoken, lest the life of the owner be consumed by flame.

~~~~~~~~~

Day 2
Today I awoke with a strange feeling.  As though suffocating on the air that clung to my skin, I coughed and tried to spit it back out, clawing at my own throat.  Afraid I would drown by its heaviness, I quickly sat up to an even more alarming sight.  A bald man was squatting next to me and reaching forward with wide eyes.  I slapped at him in self defense, feeling overwhelmed by a sudden realization:  I had no idea who I was, where I was, or what my purpose was.  It was a lot of confusion to suddenly be aware of, and the man seemed to recognize it.  I could hardly make out his words as I scrambled to my feet and backed away.

"It's okay, woman!"  He held something out as though it was important, but my eyes were too trained on his motions and fretting about his motives.  Grabbing a larger stick my left foot had rolled on, I swung it in his direction while trying to control my breathing.  In response, he tossed a leather bound book at my feet and scurried away with hands held up in forfeit.  Naturally, my eyes fell to the object that huffed dust up into the air as it thudded into the landscape below.  Written in small, tight letters were the words "Read me".  I can't explain how, but I knew the words were in my own writing, and I held the stick in the man's direction as I tried to straighten my thoughts.

(773 words in 20 minutes)

12/22

I spent so much of today thinking of new stuff for my story, but Jason's family spent so long playing games today that I'm only just now getting to bed and I feel sooooo ready to pass out!!!

Let's all hop along in an eddish,
Forgetting we ever were pettish.
We'll each pick a rose,
Then go eat some froise,
Our neighbors shall surely be jealous!

Afterwards we'll each use a twibble,
On our theekit to dissuade the dribble;
Snollygosters not welcome,
We'll keep away all the bedlam,
Matutolypea? We won't speak such drivel!


12/23
Naturally, my eyes fell to the object that huffed dust up into the air as it thudded into the landscape below.  Written in small, tight letters were the words "Read me".  I can't explain how, but I knew the words were in my own writing, and I held the stick in the man's direction as I tried to straighten my thoughts.

I thought about asking the man why something I had written was in his possession, but decided against it in favor of hoping to find the answer myself.  Keeping the stick towards him in warning, I knelt on one knee to flip the cover of the book.  The same small print filled the front page, and the account there was fairly short.  The more I read, the lower my weapon fell, until the tip rested gently in the dirt.  The words brought a fresh wave of comfort, and I knew them to be true. In fact, in the silence of the man's patience, I found myself remembering things; that is, vague pictures of things.  The image that asserted itself most firmly in my fogged memory was that of water.  I stared at my hand for a few moments before I realized what left me disconcerted:  it was clean, unlike my written entry had described it to be.  Lifting my eyes with perhaps a hint of shame, I furrowed my brows.  "How long ago did I write this?"

The man seemed only too relieved, letting his shoulders fall and the corners of his lips turn ever so slightly.  "It was several days ago."  This was met with an awkward pause in which the man fidgeted before adding, "Some days are worse.  The quiet ones."

Worse in what way? I wondered.  Were there days in which my company was unbearable?  Or did my memory become more faulty after periods of silence?  I didn't feel like asking and, instead, I tucked the book away with a nod of gratitude.  "It was a good idea," I tried as a peace offering.  The offering, however, seemed unneeded.  As though nothing was amiss, the man stooped to pick up a bag he had deposited, and gestured another direction in invitation.  It was the first time I took in the scenery and it was breathtaking.  The dry land beneath my feet sloped downwards in a steep decline, yielding itself to rocky terrain.  I gathered that we must be on a mountain side or valley wall, for the descent continued even beyond my sight, barred by boulders and jutting earth. This meant that there would be treacherous climbs ahead of us.  Beyond the impossible paths, green land rolled out beneath us as a stark contrast to the dirt.

"Is that our destination?" I asked as I felt the excitement build.  The man nodded his head with a slight sparkle in his eyes, and offered his hand.  I paused a moment and reflected on my note at the bottom of the page I had read. The bald man next to you is your friend and can be trusted.

With those words bouncing in my head, I accepted his support and we began the climb.

Things to remember:
The bald man next to you is your friend and can be trusted.
You are traveling in search of land to cultivate.  You can see it below you.
Names are not to be spoken, lest the life of the owner be consumed by flame.

~~~
Day 3 7?

I'm really not sure why my last account ends so abruptly.  I woke up today without an incident such as mentioned in the last two entries.  It must have been a good day for me, and the last few days must have been filled with conversation.  If only I could recall it all!  As always, the man is patient with my questions, gentle in his guidance, and compassionate about my condition... whatever that might be.  Although we are still high above our destination, the ground beneath our feet has been softening. Little spots of green can be seen here and there, animals are heard rustling about in small bushes, and sometimes the smell of something sweet can be caught in updrafts.

Today, the man and I decided to take a break from our travels.  My feet were worn with blisters, and the man fretted about my unwillingness to tell him such things.  I apologized without really knowing why, and promised foolishly to improve.

After finding a small cave in the mountain walls, the man and I set a small camp.

(696 words in 20 minutes)

12/24

I am far too tired to write, and I need to get myself into a schedule of writing earlier in the day, anyways.
I'm taking today and tomorrow off.

Merry Christmas, everyone!


1/1/2015

So obviously I decided to take a break until the new year. It's not that I didn't want to write, but the idea of starting afresh on a new year excited me. This way, keeping track of my consecutive days will be easy, and I'll feel more encouraged than ever to see that number climb. Here's to keeping my resolution of writing every day for at least 20 minutes!

~~~
Today, the man and I decided to take a break from our travels.  My feet were worn with blisters, and the man fretted about my unwillingness to tell him such things.  I apologized without really knowing why, and promised foolishly to improve.

After finding a small cave in the mountain walls, the man and I set a small camp.  
There wasn't much to unpack, and so most of the time setting up was spent finding the driest and warmest areas to rest our feet.  The man told me that we were lucky to finally find moisture, but having such diluted memories, I couldn't be ready to agree.  After staring at each other in some discomfort, he asked me how I'd been faring with my writing and... of course, I had no idea.  I don't know whether I was more or less surprised to see that there were only two entries prior to this one.  After reading the first two, reading pages of confusion seems rather intimidating.

The man also asked, without expectation, if he could see what I had written. I politely declined, and next, he offered to let me ask questions and record his answers.  Although he gave the aura of being pleased no matter my answer, I did get the feeling that he was hopeful I'd acquiesce.  And so I did.  I've been curious, I'm sure, and I will be in the future as well.  My friend (for he surely does seem to be at least that) is always short on words, but from his manner of responses, I have pieced together the following:

I do not know where I was born, or why my memory loss came to be.  The man does not know either, but accepts it to be a part of me.  He does know my name, and in worried whispers, he confided his own.  However, in fear of the flame he speaks of, I will only state that it begins with a D.

For whatever reasons, I was traveling down a road when he stumbled upon me.  Perhaps I stumbled upon him instead, for the way he tells it, I was weeping.  He inquired as to my distress, and I would only state that I did not know its cause.  I have tried to rack my brains since he has answered my questions, but I can only touch on the sadness I must have felt.  I guess in this sense, my curse is also my blessing.

When I asked the man which way he was going, he took it upon himself to state that he would go where I would.  However, since I had no way to reflect on the past in order to prepare for my future, I could not make such a decision.  I decided on that day to follow him, and we've been traveling since.  He aches for a piece of land to cultivate in which we can escape the cruelties of the world.  To say that he refers to cruelties I might have faced seems cruel and untruthful. There's a pain hidden in my friend's eyes, but I could not get him to speak of it. He would only tell me that at one time... before we met, we lived in the same village, during separate periods of time.  I do not know how old he is, but I do think he is my elder.

I feel a little comforted by my new knowledge, but worried about the secrets it holds.  Perhaps more will be revealed, but would I remember it?

Things to remember:
The bald man next to you is your friend and can be trusted.  His name starts with a D.
You are traveling in search of land to cultivate.  You can see it below you.
Names are not to be spoken, lest the life of the owner be consumed by flame

~~~

Day 11? Another Day
The feeling of cloth over my feet is rather stunning.  Although the sheets are not soft to the touch, their course weave is welcome in comparison to dirt, stone, and gravel.  I can smell, also, the sweet scent of honeyed tea and hear the clatter of hooves outside. It's dark, but I can't tell if the day has just begun or is ending.  Since I have awoken recently, I'm hoping for the former.

I've read through my journal pages, and as always, more confusion sets in.  Where is my bald headed friend whose name starts with a D?  What land below me?  It all feels like nonsense, and yet I wonder if this man and I have finally found land to cultivate. Is this then our home?  I don't know how long it's been, but my heart is filled with joy!  To rest my body (which must always be sore) and to put my mind to numb-less tasks seems like a blessing!  I am relishing in the feeling of this cloth under my fingers, the quill and ink on the bed stand, and even... a soft chirrup outside my window! If I wasn't so uncertain about what lies outside my door, I'd certainly leap to my feet and immediately seek my companion!  Are there words sufficient to describe this elation?

Perhaps I should set this aside and go take a peek.  Yes, I think I shall!

--

I cannot begin to fathom why people can be trusted.

As I eagerly crept from my bed this morning (for leaping seemed far too dangerous a thing to do when I am uncertain about what lies ahead), I was stalled by the sound of a female voice.

(872 words in 20ish minutes)
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Singelli


Affected by 'Laziness Syndrome'

Registered: 08-09-12
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(edited by Singelli on 01-01-15 09:51 AM)    

01-03-15 02:29 AM
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Me in my kerchief,
and I in my cap,
had just settled down,
to a long winters nap.

Yeah, that's right, I wear a cap AND a kerchief to bed. Somebody got a problem with that?

I was about to nod off and recalled that I would make a post when the orneriness died down.

12/9 I'm in love with it. My only criticism... WHERE THE HECK IS CHAPTER 2? Kelli, I'm gonna need that chapter on my desk by Saturday, January 3rd at 7:00AM.

Seriously though, I need this story to involve more food and weird animal people. Plus, I feel like the heroine(?) needs to be wearing a pink trench coat and shiny navy blue stripper boots. 
AHA, there it is, more colors.

You did well.

Let's see... 12/10, 12/11 (please tell me that's not you being mad at me or something), 12/12 and 12/13 all poetry. Bleeech! Poetry is so 17th century. Dreadful times indeed. Good writing, though.

btw - I'm reading through it all as I'm writing this post.

So, this story of yours is quite the mystery and then I get to my favorite poem of yours so far - 12/22 - Is it surprising that my favorite is probably the one that makes the least sense to me?

Back to the mystery... It's good stuff and I kept reading in search of answers but all I found were more questions. I prefer reading this story in large chunks as I have tonight. Had I have read it post by post, I don't think it would have felt nearly as mysterious. I keep hoping that something Twilight Zone-ish will happen but I'm sure you have plans for where it's heading, so I won't intrude on the plot line. Good luck with this one.
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01-08-15 10:32 PM
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thephantombrain:  I actually have a lot to say in response to your post, but I'm a little tired. Instead, I'll just post the next installment of my story and then get to your response this weekend.  

1/8
As I eagerly crept from my bed this morning (for leaping seemed far too dangerous a thing to do when I am uncertain about what lies ahead), I was stalled by the sound of a female voice.  I didn’t know what to make of the quick chatter and froze in the middle of the room as I tried to discover its direction.  Since I could not recall reading about female companions, I was forced to try and rely on my memory.  As hard as I strained it, I could recollect nothing new.  There was a click at the door and I tensed, lowering myself for a firmer stance as the door swung open.  Not knowing what to expect, it took me some time to register the bald figure that entered the room.  It suddenly occurred to be that other men could just as easily be bald, but he removed all my doubt when he spoke.

“Good morning, woman,” he said softly, waiting for my body to relax before brightening and moving towards me.  I wanted to embrace him so that he could feel the way my heart had nearly leapt from my chest, but instead, I sat down on the edge of the bed to hide my sudden weakness.

The man sat next to me, taking my hands in his as he must often do.  He spoke quickly as though having a schedule.

“We came to this place last night and were given rooms.”
 Not together, I thought rather selfishly.  “It is time to go out and introduce ourselves.”

The silver voice lilted and I finally pinned it as being further inside the foreign home.  I felt betrayed by the not-knowing, but I didn't know who to blame.  Waking in a house without recalling who housed me… well, it’s a frightening experience.  If it weren't for my friend, might I lodge with the wrong people and never know it?  Had I committed such mistakes?

My past haunted me once more and my hesitation put weight on the man’s shoulders.  He squeezed my hands and whispered.  “Don’t worry so.”

A knock on the door discontinued any notion I had of responding and a dirty blonde head made its entrance. Her brown eyes beheld us with little amusement but her words came politely enough.  “Breakfast is on the stove if you have intents of eating this morning.”

Hands departed mine with a soft smile as my friend nodded his head and got up to exit the room.  Indecision plagued me but my stomach growled its resolution.  Taking care not to stir the dirt floor too much, I quickly followed after him.

Before we reached the kitchen, we were assaulted with the richest smells imaginable.  I could identify smoked ham, sweet corn, and honey.  Light smoke hung around the room as we were ushered in, and I caught sparse glances at the faces sitting around the table.  A young boy whose feet dangled above the floor, another woman of surly countenance, and a black haired man all sat with their heads bowed and spoons shoveling.  I wanted to stare but the blonde woman barked in our direction.  “Well, get it off the stove before it cools!”

As though nothing could make him happier, my bald-headed confidante quickly grabbed one of the wooden bowls and ladled it full before placing it into my hands. He nodded towards the table in what I could only assume was a suggestion.  Nervously, I approached and
sat at the table.  The bowl made a thud as wood hit wood, and three pairs of eyes lifted to look at me for a moment.  The woman and child only kept the eye contact for a moment before returning to their meal.  The man however, kept his eyes on me and I felt a shiver run down my spine at the same time a flush rose to my cheeks.  He set his spoon down at the same time my friend joined me, and he propped his elbows on the table so that he could folds his hands together and stare over them.  He cleared his throat and spoke in a baritone
voice.

“Good morning, mister and miss.  The name is Dan. You’ll find that we’re fair people, but you’ll be expected to earn what we've given.  We
don’t entertain visitors often and life out here is hard.”  I couldn't help but wince at the introduction, and the man of the house finally moved his eyes to my companion.  The voice which responded was in complete juxtaposition to Dan’s.

“Of course. We never expected to be charity cases,” the man gently said.  He began to eat as though the decision were only natural, and I finally listened to the pleas of my stomach.  The food was rather delicious, but I couldn't remember if I had ever had anything like it. The ham was tough and had an abrasive texture while the corn yielded to even the slightest pressure and offered sweetness to the savory meal.

While we ate, Dan verbally went through a list of tasks, attempting to discover what our strengths and weaknesses would be. I let my friend do all the talking and it didn't occur to me until much later that the people at the table never asked for our own names.  On the other hand, they all offered theirs.  The young boy was David, the brunette at the table was Emilia (Dan's wife), and the blonde who had served us breakfast was Lykenia, Dan's sister.
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