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Old 07-01-2006, 11:42 PM
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hello all. well, now that's school's out and I'm having time to write, I've been finding it very hard to start! I don't know if it's stress that leads me to inspiration, (why I have none now) or if I'm just stuck in summer laziness but anyway tonight I just brainstormed and came out with this. They are pieces of what I guess would eventually be a story, no idea how long. I have parts of plot as you can tell (all disconnected so far)... but a lot of plot is missing and this is just what came out. ANy tips for coming up with plot or if this could go anywhere? I find once I have plot events the writing is so easy, but it's thinking up the details and events of the story that can take some work... but I guess that's just up to me. anyway, tell me what you think, even though it's in pieces. (three pieces) and the third piece would happen much later on

also to let you know... the narrator is an 18 yr old girl (not me) who has no name yet... (the story is fictional) and it's all v. rough (and the woman at the end is older/foregin)







Today I tried to write again. The breeze was soft coming through the windows, and the air smelled especially fragrant, so I figured it would be a good day for inspiration. It wasn’t. Or I wasn’t. There was something missing – I haven’t been able to write for days so I don’t know why today would’ve been an exception. I walked to the portiere then and opened the window and stuck my head out. I like to do that, rest my head on the windowsill and just watch the outside. It isn’t the most comfortable position because I’m pretty tall and have to lean over, but I like it anyway.
I don’t know why I haven’t been able to write, it’s like someone reached in with a vacuum cleaner and sucked out all my creative juices. I’m bone dry. I can’t even read. Or paint – I tried that too. It’s an awful feeling, really. No-one should ever have to come across it. It doesn’t do you any good. If you can’t make creativity, and you can’t absorb creativity, what can you do? I will have to find something.

When the afternoon comes along I decide to go outside. It’s still a pleasant day, and the inside is doing me no good. I live on an ugly road next to a hill. There aren’t very many houses on it because the hill takes up a lot of space, and the houses that are there are mostly bungalows or will be soon. My room is nice, and I’m thankful for that. It has a lot of windows, and the woman who lives above me plays piano some of the time, which I also like.
So I walk along the road, taking notice of everything around me. I brought a notepad with me just in case, but I think I’m pushing a lost cause. On the right hand side of the road a homeless man sat on a bench, looking at his hands. I jot this down. I keep walking, jotting down odd tidbits such as how the leaves of the tree on the corner are turning faster than the others, or how it is becoming fiercely windy and this is reminding me of my father. I don’t believe any of this helps with inspiration.

....................





Gabby I’ve known for too long. We used to come to this place when we were in grade school, sipping root beer floats and rating the boys in our class. Now we come here and sip black coffees or light beers, believing it gives us more sophistication. We’re nineteen. Gabby’ll be twenty in September.
I order a coffee and sneak in a tiny dab of cream. Gabby’s not with me, and I can feel sophisticated enough on my own with my …. hat and my … sunglasses. I’ve also put on fela rouge by Dion, but it won’t last with the coffee. I actually feel a bit silly dressed like this, it is only a Sunday afternoon and the other people in the shop are quite homely. But I look fantastic. Ha.

................................




There is something so entrancing about her skin even though it is old. It is dark and it almost laughs at me, at least her eyes do. I watch them while she plays, they dart here and there between her two hands and sometimes they close altogether. I watch her chin too, her jawbone, seeing if it moves with each turn of the music. But it keeps very still. Her shoulders move, though. They are bent over but they carry the notes, they rise and fall with each staccato or ritard. I’m looking at her hands now, quietly, and then her face again, her eyes closed this time. But then she sees me looking at her. She’s still playing but her eyes turn to the side and watch me sitting there. And soon she stops playing. She stops very abruptly, I don’t know why; it was a beautiful piece. She takes my hands with hers and holds them very tight and says my name, “…..” She says it beautifully. Then she moves her hands up my arms and onto my shoulders, resting them there. She keeps looking at me, so directly I want to look away but I don’t. She says my name again. Then she leans and kisses me, on the mouth. It is so soft. She keeps kissing me, too much, going into me. I want it to stop but I don’t do anything. Her hair falls over me, a blanket of sex. She is slow and gentle but like fire. I kiss her back but I am afraid. I am terrified.

I wake up curled in a ball by the leather couch. I hate that couch. It’s old and grey and smells like mothballs. Then I look up and see one lock of black hair falling off of it. The couch has acquired a whole new meaning. I hate it but she’s on it. Her presence is enormous. I stretch slowly, I feel shaken. She’s still asleep. I gather my clothes and tiptoe to the door and walk downstairs. I sink into my bed and cry and soon I’m asleep.

I’m awoken by the telephone.
ring ring! ring ring!
“Hello..?”
“Where the hell are you? Lunch!”
Shit. I was supposed to meet Gabby. “Oh shit, what time is it?!”
“Four.”
“When were we supposed to meet?”
“Three.”
“You’ve been waiting an hour?”
“I’ve been drinking my coffee. And there’s a cute boy at the bar.” I hear muffled giggling. “So are you coming or what? ‘Cause we’re gonna take off soon.”
“Yeah… I’m coming.”
“…. you okay?”
“Not really..”
There’s a pause on the other end. Then she answers. “I’ll see you here.”
I hang up.

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  #2  
Old 07-02-2006, 09:32 AM
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Damn! After reading the title of her thread, I hoped Dogwood had posted nude photos of herself instead of discussing writing in a writers forum.
*Glumly, Starrwriter moves on to the next thread*
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Old 07-02-2006, 07:17 PM
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lol.... well we all know where starrwriter's mind is at..

sorry to dissapoint you
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Old 07-03-2006, 09:50 AM
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Originally Posted by dogwood
lol.... well we all know where starrwriter's mind is at..
Yes, I confess I'm a DOM (dirty old man.)

Originally Posted by dogwood
sorry to dissapoint you.
It's all right. I like your mind, too.
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Old 07-03-2006, 09:46 PM
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har har.

I enjoy your smileys (espiecially the wheelchair one)
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Old 07-04-2006, 02:09 PM
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lol how very off topic this discussion has became
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Old 07-04-2006, 04:56 PM
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very true.. I woulnd't mind anyone responding to the writing part
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