Yes, it has been a while since I last posted, but my real life has been interesting in the not so good ways. One of the key issues that befell me during my time away was a 3 week stay in a mental health hospital, getting my medication sorted out, as well as attending a course on how to better deal with my depression. Unlike the first time I took it, some five years ago, this time everything clicked and made sense to me. Which was a good thing.
Expect for my ability to write. The time in hospital also churned up a lot of lingering "mental rubbish" which took me a while to clean up, then I started getting my life back into some semblance of order.Needless to say, my ability to put coherent words down as impossible. Even putting down notes, reminders and good ideas was not there. Even other hobbies which brought me a great deal of joy were severely lacking in anything close to the previous levels of pleasure.
But I would sit myself down in front of the computer, open the word processor with the current batch of short stories and other works opened, and see if anything sprang into my mind. More often than not, nothing would be there, and I would feel very frustrated. Some days I would wonder why I was sitting down at trying it, but I still did it. Again, I would walk away frustrated that the words were not there.
A couple of weeks ago, the words came trickling back. For a little while, this left me even more frustrated than having no words, because I knew that I could write more! But after much effort, I reminded myself that it was good to have the words come out as they did. Each time, more words came out, or the same number would come out quicker and easier. Right now, late on Christmas Day, the words are flowing more than before, but I am still a long way from where I would like do be. But I know, if I keep persevering, I will get there once more.
I can now better understand the people who say "write every day". Just sitting down and trying to write must have budged the log jam loose in my head. Each day since, I have written something, either in one of my many projects that are moving along slowly, or just for fun on a website that I frequent. But each day, more words come out, painting pictures in words of the images I have in my mind.
I'll be posting a few more examples of my work in the next few days, along with some other information and inspiration that I have received from the most unlikely of sources.
Tuesday, 25 December 2012
Friday, 8 June 2012
Flaws & Weaknesses
I was having a chat to a writing friend of mine, and she asked me "What is a weakness (in a fictional character)?" Now, to me, a weakness is "a trait belonging to a character that will ultimately destroy them, or make it impossible for them to reach the end goal in the tale." "What is it then if it doesn't destroy them?" Then, I replied, it's a Flaw. I got the equivalent of a confused look from her. A Flaw is "a trait that either creates an obstacle, or creates a diversion, for the character that makes achieving the end goal more difficult."
Now, before you go scrambling for reference materials on writing, these terms are mine. This is how I see these traits. Now, something that could be a flaw, or a weakness, can actually be a strength or benefit to the character. Ambition is one clear example. It can be that one thing that keeps the character going forward when nothing else does. It could be the anchor around their neck, holding them back until they come to the realization that it's not good for them, and they cast it aside, or it could be that one thing that causes them to not get where they wanted to go because they were too focused on the ambition, rather than the reason for it.
My friend said, "There are no perfect characters, and if there were, they would be damn boring." And it is true. Half the fun in character development is finding the protagonist's flaws, and seeing how they can be (ab)used in the story to make the tale more interesting. Flaws can be anything. Nervousness when talking to a group of people more than three or four. An allergy to cats. Fear of heights. Indiana Jones' fear of snakes. The list is endless.
But the flaw is there to be used. To have an impact on the character when they don't really want it or need it. The protagonist has a fear of heights, and is chasing after the villain who possesses something important to the protagonist. Yet, the chase leads them up into a construction site, and along a scaffolding bridge over a rather long drop. The protagonist will have to deal with his fears, while trying not to let the villain get away. The protagonist may not be successful, which would lead to complications further on that increase plot tension. Or, the fear may be overcome, and get a much needed win to spark the dwindling hope. But, if it is mentioned, then it is best that it be used. The same rule applies for any strengths a character may have. Demonstrate that it is there before it is used at the crucial moment.
But flaws are great plot hooks and can be used in many different ways if you are creative enough. Of course, some flaws are better suited to that than others. Harry Dresden from the Jim Butcher series "The Dresden Files" has a perfect flaw for this. Harry can't say no to a woman in need. Deep, deep down, there is an unstoppable urge for him to help the damsel in distress. That flaw gets some serious mileage, but how it manifests turns out rather different every time.
But give your protagonists flaws, things to make their lives more challenging within the story. Keep them realistic and consistent. Don't have the limp disappear when they need to escape a bad guy, that's just bad form.
Now, before you go scrambling for reference materials on writing, these terms are mine. This is how I see these traits. Now, something that could be a flaw, or a weakness, can actually be a strength or benefit to the character. Ambition is one clear example. It can be that one thing that keeps the character going forward when nothing else does. It could be the anchor around their neck, holding them back until they come to the realization that it's not good for them, and they cast it aside, or it could be that one thing that causes them to not get where they wanted to go because they were too focused on the ambition, rather than the reason for it.
My friend said, "There are no perfect characters, and if there were, they would be damn boring." And it is true. Half the fun in character development is finding the protagonist's flaws, and seeing how they can be (ab)used in the story to make the tale more interesting. Flaws can be anything. Nervousness when talking to a group of people more than three or four. An allergy to cats. Fear of heights. Indiana Jones' fear of snakes. The list is endless.
But the flaw is there to be used. To have an impact on the character when they don't really want it or need it. The protagonist has a fear of heights, and is chasing after the villain who possesses something important to the protagonist. Yet, the chase leads them up into a construction site, and along a scaffolding bridge over a rather long drop. The protagonist will have to deal with his fears, while trying not to let the villain get away. The protagonist may not be successful, which would lead to complications further on that increase plot tension. Or, the fear may be overcome, and get a much needed win to spark the dwindling hope. But, if it is mentioned, then it is best that it be used. The same rule applies for any strengths a character may have. Demonstrate that it is there before it is used at the crucial moment.
But flaws are great plot hooks and can be used in many different ways if you are creative enough. Of course, some flaws are better suited to that than others. Harry Dresden from the Jim Butcher series "The Dresden Files" has a perfect flaw for this. Harry can't say no to a woman in need. Deep, deep down, there is an unstoppable urge for him to help the damsel in distress. That flaw gets some serious mileage, but how it manifests turns out rather different every time.
But give your protagonists flaws, things to make their lives more challenging within the story. Keep them realistic and consistent. Don't have the limp disappear when they need to escape a bad guy, that's just bad form.
Thursday, 24 May 2012
The Threshold
Kasseld knelt down on the track carved into the side of the mountain, as ephemeral claws of ice cold wind grappled with him to hurl him from his perch to his doom below. His visor was down to protect his face from the sleet and small stones carried on the violent air. His body rocked from time to time as the storm changed the angles of it's blows against him in its ceaseless attempts to topple him. But he had an anchor stronger than the furies of the storm that held him firm on the slick rocks beneath his feet.
Drusilla.
The small woman was huddled close to his armoured chest, while his massive shield was on the other side of her, protecting her from the element's hatred of their presence. Even though he could not feel her through his armour nor could he look at her, he knew where she was and what she was doing. Some other sense was at work, guiding him in his duty to protect her. She had her duty, and he had his. His would soon be at an end, as she would be at the place of her need.
The brigands that assailed their camp were no match for his sword. The lion that took too close an interest in them learned a sharp lesson, and would bear a wound, possibly long enough to be a scar, for the rest of its life. Not even the river that threatened to sweep her away was a danger to him as he carried her across. One of the storm's first serious attempts to deal with them failed as the dagger like shards of ice shattered harmlessly on his shield, rather than tearing the flesh from their bones. All of these, and more he sheltered Drusilla from, and kept her safe.
But the terrors within her mind, he could not touch. She was one who was as her birthright dictated. Confident, strong of will, graceful, full of poise and beauty. She undertook her task initially with great courage and determination. But as they closed on the place, her will faltered like her steps and her courage wilted like the flowers under the summer sun. But she never stopped, she never turned back. But she got slower, and more afraid.
The storm howled its frustration at the inability to remove the intruders, reserving it's strength for another time. Kasseld needed no further prompting to move them closer to their destination. Together, they moved slowly, more due to Drusilla's reluctance than out of need for safety. Still, the winds made the way fraught with dangers, obscuring their vision as well as pelting them with debris.
Upon reaching a bend in the trail, the storm launched a fresh assault against them. The blinding flash of light was followed immediately by an earsplitting boom of thunder that was drowned out by the roar of anger from the storm. The fresh rain of ice cold water and sleet was joined by a deluge of earth and rock from above. The explosive cacophony was rounded out by a bone chilling keening. Kasseld was surprised to find that the creature voicing the hideous wail was none other than Drusilla, giving voice to her terror.
Step by creeping step, they rounded the corner as the storm tried once more to rid the track of the human intruders. After a wearying eternity, they made their way to a sheltered ledge, that was almost a cave. Kasseld sat Drusilla down, removing his helm. It was then, he saw the ledge hosted a malevolent, maw-like opening that housed a darkness that seemed to be almost alive. But his attention was drawn to spectacle 'outside' the ledge.
The storm unleashed its fury in a display unmatched by anything they had seen before. Multiple flashes of lightning illuminated small patches of the white air as the answering booms of thunder rolled over the land as the air moved with ever greater speeds that before. Kasseld thought that the storm was angry that it had failed, and started to take out that anger on the lands beneath its broad reach.
Satisfied that the storm could not reach them, Kasseld turned his attention to Drusilla. Her long, lustrous raven hair was dull, dirty and matted. The normally glowing ivory complexion was now ashen, sullen and drawn. Twin obsidian pits housed lifeless gray orbs where once bold azure drew one's attention. Her poised, graceful stature had been replaced by a bent shuddering huddle. He walked over to her, kneeling before her and placing a soft kiss on her forehead before standing to guard them both.
The kiss brought Drusilla back from the maelstrom of her terror enough to register her surrounds. She looked over at the mouth of the cave, her lifeless eyes seeing the pitch like darkness trying to tempt her to allow her to be enfolded in its velvet soft agony. She heard the low, deep moan wafting from the depths, reinforcing the hopelessness of trying to enter there.
Her hand was moving with glacial speed, drawn to the one place where her body was not cold as ice. When her fingers touched, a circuit of warmth was closed. Warmth of a spiritual essence blossomed within her. Her poise returned as she stood, her heart beat was stronger, and some of her colour returned. Her terror filled eyes looked back at her companion as she lifted a hand to him.
"Please, my friend, come with me. Stand at my side, and let me draw on your strength as I do what I must do, lest I fail."
Kasseld sheathed his sword, replaced his helm and took her hand in his. Drusilla led them both to the boundary where the darkness seemed tangible. Taking one last shuddering breath, she stepped into the darkness.
Drusilla.
The small woman was huddled close to his armoured chest, while his massive shield was on the other side of her, protecting her from the element's hatred of their presence. Even though he could not feel her through his armour nor could he look at her, he knew where she was and what she was doing. Some other sense was at work, guiding him in his duty to protect her. She had her duty, and he had his. His would soon be at an end, as she would be at the place of her need.
The brigands that assailed their camp were no match for his sword. The lion that took too close an interest in them learned a sharp lesson, and would bear a wound, possibly long enough to be a scar, for the rest of its life. Not even the river that threatened to sweep her away was a danger to him as he carried her across. One of the storm's first serious attempts to deal with them failed as the dagger like shards of ice shattered harmlessly on his shield, rather than tearing the flesh from their bones. All of these, and more he sheltered Drusilla from, and kept her safe.
But the terrors within her mind, he could not touch. She was one who was as her birthright dictated. Confident, strong of will, graceful, full of poise and beauty. She undertook her task initially with great courage and determination. But as they closed on the place, her will faltered like her steps and her courage wilted like the flowers under the summer sun. But she never stopped, she never turned back. But she got slower, and more afraid.
The storm howled its frustration at the inability to remove the intruders, reserving it's strength for another time. Kasseld needed no further prompting to move them closer to their destination. Together, they moved slowly, more due to Drusilla's reluctance than out of need for safety. Still, the winds made the way fraught with dangers, obscuring their vision as well as pelting them with debris.
Upon reaching a bend in the trail, the storm launched a fresh assault against them. The blinding flash of light was followed immediately by an earsplitting boom of thunder that was drowned out by the roar of anger from the storm. The fresh rain of ice cold water and sleet was joined by a deluge of earth and rock from above. The explosive cacophony was rounded out by a bone chilling keening. Kasseld was surprised to find that the creature voicing the hideous wail was none other than Drusilla, giving voice to her terror.
Step by creeping step, they rounded the corner as the storm tried once more to rid the track of the human intruders. After a wearying eternity, they made their way to a sheltered ledge, that was almost a cave. Kasseld sat Drusilla down, removing his helm. It was then, he saw the ledge hosted a malevolent, maw-like opening that housed a darkness that seemed to be almost alive. But his attention was drawn to spectacle 'outside' the ledge.
The storm unleashed its fury in a display unmatched by anything they had seen before. Multiple flashes of lightning illuminated small patches of the white air as the answering booms of thunder rolled over the land as the air moved with ever greater speeds that before. Kasseld thought that the storm was angry that it had failed, and started to take out that anger on the lands beneath its broad reach.
Satisfied that the storm could not reach them, Kasseld turned his attention to Drusilla. Her long, lustrous raven hair was dull, dirty and matted. The normally glowing ivory complexion was now ashen, sullen and drawn. Twin obsidian pits housed lifeless gray orbs where once bold azure drew one's attention. Her poised, graceful stature had been replaced by a bent shuddering huddle. He walked over to her, kneeling before her and placing a soft kiss on her forehead before standing to guard them both.
The kiss brought Drusilla back from the maelstrom of her terror enough to register her surrounds. She looked over at the mouth of the cave, her lifeless eyes seeing the pitch like darkness trying to tempt her to allow her to be enfolded in its velvet soft agony. She heard the low, deep moan wafting from the depths, reinforcing the hopelessness of trying to enter there.
Her hand was moving with glacial speed, drawn to the one place where her body was not cold as ice. When her fingers touched, a circuit of warmth was closed. Warmth of a spiritual essence blossomed within her. Her poise returned as she stood, her heart beat was stronger, and some of her colour returned. Her terror filled eyes looked back at her companion as she lifted a hand to him.
"Please, my friend, come with me. Stand at my side, and let me draw on your strength as I do what I must do, lest I fail."
Kasseld sheathed his sword, replaced his helm and took her hand in his. Drusilla led them both to the boundary where the darkness seemed tangible. Taking one last shuddering breath, she stepped into the darkness.
Monday, 21 May 2012
Reflections
Alyssa walked over to the full length mirror. She had grown to hate it with a passion as it showed her the undeniable truth for so many years. Wheat coloured hair that turned into a bird's nest with the greatest of ease. The colour of her eyes she only ever equated with mud. Even her mostly pale complexion was one that she never found a positive for.
Alyssa sighed, looking down at her nightie clad body. She was a good weight, which was the one thing she never had a complaint about. But where the weight was distributed she definitely had problems with. She had curves, more in some places than she needed, less in others. If they could only be moved around a little bit, it would be so much better. She ran her hands over the thick material of her nightwear, feeling her undesired contours with a sigh.
Her gaze returned to the Mirror of Awful Truths, and she gasped. Where her hands sat on her stomach, another larger hand sat over them. She stared with wide open eyes as the hands started to guide hers over her tummy, down to the outer boundaries of her hips. She tore her gaze from the reflection of her hands gently caressing her overly generous hips as she looked up to see [I]him[/I] right behind her.
He stood a full head taller than her and his deep, dark chocolate eyes met hers and pinned her gaze. His rich, sable mane seemed to flow back from his ruggedly shaped face. She managed to sneak her gaze from his, down the massive muscular column of his neck to the broad plateau of his shoulders. Their breadth suggested the size of his chest and the rest of his torso, knowing that he would outweigh her maybe threefold.
The passage of her hands to her thighs broke her gaze of him, and she watched in stunned amazement as he continued his assisted caressing of her body. Alyssa found her heart starting to race as she watched their hands dance over her body. She felt a heat building within her as the man tenderly enjoyed the simple exploration of her body. Further up her body their hands went. The slow traversal of the combined touches brought a life to Alyssa's body that she never felt before. He guided her hands back towards her hips before leading them to cup her buttocks. She felt her eyes close as the hands explored, then massaged the globes of flesh above her legs. She could feel the heat of her flesh through the fabric by the time her hands were guided back to her front.
Alyssa's breathing deepened into moans as her hands went higher than previously obtained under his gentle guidance. She felt a tightening in her lower body that matched the twin tightening of points further up. Her anticipation of his touch on her breasts was reaching fever pitch. She languidly opened her eyes to watch their hands skirt the boundaries of what she thought were her inadequate breasts. She gasped audibly when the hands moved onto her breasts. Her hands cupped them softly, making the fabric add to the tactile sensations she was experiencing. The manner in which he guided her hands made the press of the nightie's fabric almost teasing. He guided her hands further up her breasts, sliding her fingers either side of the pinnacles, letting the webbing between caress and taunt her nipples.
Her moans escaped her bitten bottom lip and Alyssa's eyes almost fluttered fully closed. She had never felt so desired as she had by this man's simple caressing of her. She shivered as her guided palms rolled over the hard, sensitive buds moving up to the opposing shoulders. Alyssa gazed back at him, eager to see what he thought of what was happening. His expression was calm, peaceful and what she thought was a touch pleased.
Soon their hands glided over the tops of her shoulders and continued their path down her arms. The long sleeves did nothing to stop the deep tingling touch from bypassing the fabric that separated the hands from the arms underneath. He ensured that her hands remained on her arms until her palms brushed. The entire time her arms came alive with the energy transferred by the touch. When the fingertips broke contact, she shuddered at the loss of what was being given.
Her hands were brought up to her mid biceps, his powerful arms wrapping her softly in warm embrace. She watched as he started to lower his head to one side of her head. Sensing what he planned for her, she flicked her head, clearing her neck for his approaching lips. Alyssa trembled, heating up and feeling herself tighten even more as she watched his lips close of her neck. Her eyes closed automatically as she felt the soft press of his warm flesh against her neck. The blazing heat cause by his touch flared through her body, giving her a release that shook her to the very core of her soul. She felt herself soar amongst the stars as he gave her one last parting gesture of his affection for her.
When her eyes opened again, she was left standing before the Mirror of Awful Truths, alone. But then, Alyssa saw a totally different person standing before her.
Alyssa sighed, looking down at her nightie clad body. She was a good weight, which was the one thing she never had a complaint about. But where the weight was distributed she definitely had problems with. She had curves, more in some places than she needed, less in others. If they could only be moved around a little bit, it would be so much better. She ran her hands over the thick material of her nightwear, feeling her undesired contours with a sigh.
Her gaze returned to the Mirror of Awful Truths, and she gasped. Where her hands sat on her stomach, another larger hand sat over them. She stared with wide open eyes as the hands started to guide hers over her tummy, down to the outer boundaries of her hips. She tore her gaze from the reflection of her hands gently caressing her overly generous hips as she looked up to see [I]him[/I] right behind her.
He stood a full head taller than her and his deep, dark chocolate eyes met hers and pinned her gaze. His rich, sable mane seemed to flow back from his ruggedly shaped face. She managed to sneak her gaze from his, down the massive muscular column of his neck to the broad plateau of his shoulders. Their breadth suggested the size of his chest and the rest of his torso, knowing that he would outweigh her maybe threefold.
The passage of her hands to her thighs broke her gaze of him, and she watched in stunned amazement as he continued his assisted caressing of her body. Alyssa found her heart starting to race as she watched their hands dance over her body. She felt a heat building within her as the man tenderly enjoyed the simple exploration of her body. Further up her body their hands went. The slow traversal of the combined touches brought a life to Alyssa's body that she never felt before. He guided her hands back towards her hips before leading them to cup her buttocks. She felt her eyes close as the hands explored, then massaged the globes of flesh above her legs. She could feel the heat of her flesh through the fabric by the time her hands were guided back to her front.
Alyssa's breathing deepened into moans as her hands went higher than previously obtained under his gentle guidance. She felt a tightening in her lower body that matched the twin tightening of points further up. Her anticipation of his touch on her breasts was reaching fever pitch. She languidly opened her eyes to watch their hands skirt the boundaries of what she thought were her inadequate breasts. She gasped audibly when the hands moved onto her breasts. Her hands cupped them softly, making the fabric add to the tactile sensations she was experiencing. The manner in which he guided her hands made the press of the nightie's fabric almost teasing. He guided her hands further up her breasts, sliding her fingers either side of the pinnacles, letting the webbing between caress and taunt her nipples.
Her moans escaped her bitten bottom lip and Alyssa's eyes almost fluttered fully closed. She had never felt so desired as she had by this man's simple caressing of her. She shivered as her guided palms rolled over the hard, sensitive buds moving up to the opposing shoulders. Alyssa gazed back at him, eager to see what he thought of what was happening. His expression was calm, peaceful and what she thought was a touch pleased.
Soon their hands glided over the tops of her shoulders and continued their path down her arms. The long sleeves did nothing to stop the deep tingling touch from bypassing the fabric that separated the hands from the arms underneath. He ensured that her hands remained on her arms until her palms brushed. The entire time her arms came alive with the energy transferred by the touch. When the fingertips broke contact, she shuddered at the loss of what was being given.
Her hands were brought up to her mid biceps, his powerful arms wrapping her softly in warm embrace. She watched as he started to lower his head to one side of her head. Sensing what he planned for her, she flicked her head, clearing her neck for his approaching lips. Alyssa trembled, heating up and feeling herself tighten even more as she watched his lips close of her neck. Her eyes closed automatically as she felt the soft press of his warm flesh against her neck. The blazing heat cause by his touch flared through her body, giving her a release that shook her to the very core of her soul. She felt herself soar amongst the stars as he gave her one last parting gesture of his affection for her.
When her eyes opened again, she was left standing before the Mirror of Awful Truths, alone. But then, Alyssa saw a totally different person standing before her.
Real Life can be a PITA
And for those of you who don't know that little acronym, P.I.T.A. is Pain In The Ass.
That's what real life has been for me recently. Trying to get time together to get some writing done, various elements have gotten in the way and disrupted me. Being married, and a father of two young boys will always supply a stream of events that will impose upon me, and I need to be prepared for that.
Of course, it is an easy scapegoat for my own flaws as well. Until now, I have been a very instinctual writer. When I get an idea, I just write it. It forms well in my mind, and I follow the rules subconsciously while coming up with my fictional piece. In order to do this, I rely on the spontaneous flash of inspiration which seems to bring with it a host of preformed ideas, concepts and even images and scenes. Now, I am moving to being more professional. To that end, I am seeking out the ideas, then building them up into plots and story lines. This takes a little more discipline and effort on my part which I interpret as stifling my creativity.
I know that's a load of rubbish at an intellectual level, but it does little to abolish the feelings. So, I struggle with the 'new' approach to composing my work, and then something comes along in my life that I could have easily planned for, or could put off for a short period of time while I close off a section of my work. But I find myself complaining loudly about the interruption, which in turns robs me of the thoughts I had at the time I was interrupted, storming off to deal with it and not returning to the writing task for anywhere up to days later.
So, another task for me in making myself a better, more productive writer, is to not allow the real world to intrude so much by planning my writing sessions, and other needs. I just hope I can do it.
Well, we'll see soon enough.
That's what real life has been for me recently. Trying to get time together to get some writing done, various elements have gotten in the way and disrupted me. Being married, and a father of two young boys will always supply a stream of events that will impose upon me, and I need to be prepared for that.
Of course, it is an easy scapegoat for my own flaws as well. Until now, I have been a very instinctual writer. When I get an idea, I just write it. It forms well in my mind, and I follow the rules subconsciously while coming up with my fictional piece. In order to do this, I rely on the spontaneous flash of inspiration which seems to bring with it a host of preformed ideas, concepts and even images and scenes. Now, I am moving to being more professional. To that end, I am seeking out the ideas, then building them up into plots and story lines. This takes a little more discipline and effort on my part which I interpret as stifling my creativity.
I know that's a load of rubbish at an intellectual level, but it does little to abolish the feelings. So, I struggle with the 'new' approach to composing my work, and then something comes along in my life that I could have easily planned for, or could put off for a short period of time while I close off a section of my work. But I find myself complaining loudly about the interruption, which in turns robs me of the thoughts I had at the time I was interrupted, storming off to deal with it and not returning to the writing task for anywhere up to days later.
So, another task for me in making myself a better, more productive writer, is to not allow the real world to intrude so much by planning my writing sessions, and other needs. I just hope I can do it.
Well, we'll see soon enough.
Sunday, 13 May 2012
You may have noticed, Dear reader
On occasion, as I did with the post called "Shoes", I will put a sample of my writing up here for people to read, and if they so desire, comment on. All work is mine entirely, written for the love of writing, unless stated otherwise in the post. I don't honestly expect the pieces to be worthy of publication, indeed in a majority of cases, because they have been posted here, or elsewhere, publishers wont touch them. But by put some of them here, when asked, I can hop onto this blog, and pull them up and show them to the interested parties so they have at least some idea of what I can do.
Most of the samples will be flash fiction, which going by most definitions I have been able to find means up to 1,000 words. There is no schedule for the appearance of these samples, nor themes, genres or any other definitions that come to mind. The only thing will be is that I feel that the piece is worthy of sharing with those of you who read this rambling blog of mine.
Now, I shall go and see if I can actually find some inspiration out in the world somewhere and manage to put words down on paper about it.
Most of the samples will be flash fiction, which going by most definitions I have been able to find means up to 1,000 words. There is no schedule for the appearance of these samples, nor themes, genres or any other definitions that come to mind. The only thing will be is that I feel that the piece is worthy of sharing with those of you who read this rambling blog of mine.
Now, I shall go and see if I can actually find some inspiration out in the world somewhere and manage to put words down on paper about it.
Another Bane of Mine
Well, for a long time now, and I wont say how long, I have suffered from Clinical Depression. During this time, I have been on medication to help me control it, as well as undertaking therapy to manage it better and be less dependent on the medication. When it flares up, it can be quite crippling in a number of ways, including my writing.
Over the last few weeks, I haven't really been able to put pen to paper, so to speak. Not even the stuff I do for fun and relaxation. It was all a monumental ordeal too difficult to deal with. Nothing I tried, or could think of was able to allow me to even get out a sentence that would survive a complete rewrite. I will admit, that it has been the deepest, darkest hole I have ever been in, and it scared me a great deal.
Strangely enough, it was a writing related topic that served as a trigger that eventually caused the turn around. I'm not exactly sure how, but seeing an image a friend of mine wanted to write a story based off got me thinking. Somewhere in that thinking, something that I had locked up inside of me finally broke free and escaped. One massive emotional breakdown later, followed by a day spent mostly asleep from exhaustion and I found myself to be a someone resembling a human being again.
I managed to get a few pieces of writing done on a website I take part on, as well as laying some ground work for some short stories in a world where I am hopefully, one day, going to have a manuscript set in. These stories will help me further define the world, and some of the supportive characters, as well as refine my skills a little more for the main manuscript.
Not only to I have to battle not being able to look at things in the right manner to see inspiration that is hiding there waiting to be found, I also have the ever present Depression hiding in the shadows, lurking, waiting for the moment to spring forth and wreak havoc on me. On top of that, I have to ignore it so I don't get paranoid about it, and loose time and energy to it when it's not doing anything to me at all.
Now that I think about it, there just might be an idea in there after all...
Over the last few weeks, I haven't really been able to put pen to paper, so to speak. Not even the stuff I do for fun and relaxation. It was all a monumental ordeal too difficult to deal with. Nothing I tried, or could think of was able to allow me to even get out a sentence that would survive a complete rewrite. I will admit, that it has been the deepest, darkest hole I have ever been in, and it scared me a great deal.
Strangely enough, it was a writing related topic that served as a trigger that eventually caused the turn around. I'm not exactly sure how, but seeing an image a friend of mine wanted to write a story based off got me thinking. Somewhere in that thinking, something that I had locked up inside of me finally broke free and escaped. One massive emotional breakdown later, followed by a day spent mostly asleep from exhaustion and I found myself to be a someone resembling a human being again.
I managed to get a few pieces of writing done on a website I take part on, as well as laying some ground work for some short stories in a world where I am hopefully, one day, going to have a manuscript set in. These stories will help me further define the world, and some of the supportive characters, as well as refine my skills a little more for the main manuscript.
Not only to I have to battle not being able to look at things in the right manner to see inspiration that is hiding there waiting to be found, I also have the ever present Depression hiding in the shadows, lurking, waiting for the moment to spring forth and wreak havoc on me. On top of that, I have to ignore it so I don't get paranoid about it, and loose time and energy to it when it's not doing anything to me at all.
Now that I think about it, there just might be an idea in there after all...
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