Silent Waves

She rubbed one foot over the other to kick off a few ants, chased a little brown beetle away from her papers with pencil and stared out over the landscape. Lots of empty benches, trees that were years old. There was a family a little further up, with a kid riding his bike up and down the pathway. Mostly, it was completely quiet except for the soft swishing movement of the waves and the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees. The odd bird squawked, a pelican flew overhead. The blue sky was ever so slowly being swallowed up by rain clouds, and still it was as peaceful as it had ever been. Silence and serenity. It was so beautiful, such an awe-inspiring place, in the eyes of the writer, to pick up a pencil and let the words flow, coincidentally about the ugliness and brokenness of her favourite character.

[153 words]

Scratching Words

Sometimes things had to be cut, and shortened and scratched, in order to improve. The hard was was deciding what to cut and how to replace it. How to expand it out into something more worthy, to make your deleted words seem like they were deleted for reason. Of course, there'd be some things you could never cut, and something things that would take several drafts before you could part with them, but generally it was for the better. Generally, it could work. A few changes here and there in order to make it even more structured and loved.

[99 words]

Living the Words

Her eyes followed the words on the page as she slowly scrolled to see the words beneath the view of the window. There, she continued to read for five minutes, ten, fifteen. It was truly quite fascinating when you sat down and did the research, put in the study to make your book actually go somewhere. Of course, there was along way to go, but it was nice to hope and live off that first fresh incite, breathe it in and mix it around to suit the character's needs. Amazing in which such things could be applied to an alternate world, a made up city. Of course, they were as real to her as anything, they came alive. But it would be some time before it truly lived.

[128 words]

Ready To Talk

She ran into the house, checking each room but knowing all would be empty. The person she seeked was out. She ran for the phone and dialed, waiting. She'd come. She had to come. The time was right. She'd tell her everything if she could. Pick up the phone... There was no answer. She listened to the message bank and left a message she hoped sounded urgent. What if she was already out on a call? What if she couldn't get herself away? She hadn't thought about that and didn't want to. She was ready to talk.

[97 words]

Get There

The mind was bursting with information, tales, ideas and conflicting theories and research. It was almost too much to handle. Everything was disjointed, a muddle of things waiting to be pieced together with care. And yet still she didn't know how. The research was just beginning. A total mess. So much to do for someone so impatient to have it finished and complete. Yet it had to be done. It had to be done in order to improve the storyline, the believability not just for the readers but for herself. She'd get there eventually. She'd make sure of it.

[99 words]

If Pencils...

The papers sat neatly stacked in a pile off to the left, on top of three partially filled books. The pencil, motionless, was perched on top of this, calling out to be picked up and muddled over, calling for a stream of lead to be released. Counter enemies sat on the right - biros of red, blue and black. Disorganised sheets of notepaper, the glass of water ready to attack. If pencils coulder shiver, it would, in anticipation for that next change of word, that next honourable parargaph. But they can't. And it sat as motionless as ever.

[98 words]

What is it a writer does?

What is it a writer does? Hide in a dark corner, never to come out? Work by candle and ink, never keyboard and mouse. Do they take over the coffee shops, scribble out plans on a dozen napkins, mull thoughts over ten coffees or other hot drinks? Are they the ones who take a stroll in the park, sit down on a log somewhere and just read from other novels, hunting for inspiration? Maybe they don't read at all. Just sit and stare, apparently doing nothing while their mind is at work tirelessly on plot, formulating characters as you walk by, maybe a characteristic based off you. Do they have boxes and boxes of scrap paper, all used? A million excercise books half filled? A hundred chewed pencils, highlighters of every colour. Or is it just one pen and pad, they hold?

[142 words]

Prologue!!!

So I finally began truly editing Innocence today, starting with the prologue :) Very happy with it.



I didn’t know the toll one mistake would have on me.

It was in the winter, although that season doesn’t truly exist in Australia.

There were four of us in the room. Two bodies lay on the floor. One was hardly daring to breathe. The other wasn’t breathing at all. The weight of the body on top of the first man was almost unbearable. Not so much physically, but emotionally. The pain was agonising and the voices around him were just that – voices.

I know. I was there.

How easy it would’ve been to switch off, if that voice hadn’t been getting louder in my ears.

Did I kill my wife?

I’d considered my response for several moments. I didn’t particularly want to respond at all. Just lay there like nothing had ever happened. Be a dog. Play dead. But unconsciousness didn’t come. I was as awake as I’d ever been. That voice wouldn’t shut up. I could feel their spit on my face. The same question over and over.

DID I KILL MY WIFE?

I knew the true answer was not the one sought. I also knew that a child’s fate rested with me.

“No.”

If I had of known that sixteen years later it would still be affecting the families, maybe I wouldn’t have done what I did.

Nothing.

[220 words]

Not Daunting

Considering it involved nothing more than a stroll in the park, the prospect was quite daunting. Not the actual thing itself, but the outcome. What would happen if the outcome wasn't what you'd hoped for? Would all hope be lost, yet again? Would it prove just another distraction you thought so sure would work - or would it work after all? You wouldn't be able to tell until you tried, but trying could result in the waste-of-time, didn't-work attitude. But if it did, but if it didn't... time would tell.

[90 words]

Somewhat Relieved

His breath was caught in his throat as he was dragged across the earth. He dragged his feet, trying to loop a foot under a root to halt them in their tracks but the effort was pointless. He'd stopped considering calling for help, knowing that no one out here would hear him. Of course it'd be best to save his energy, but he didn't think there was truly much left to save anyway after all that running. It was almost a joy to be carried away like this, except for the fact he was sure he was headed straight into danger and he'd never be able to find his way out. Still, you had to have hope and as long as it was him and not her, he was somewhat relieved.

[131 words]

Changing Pace

“Tori, what is going on?”

She turned to face him, at loss for words as she studied the look of concern over his face. “I don’t know,” her voice was barely a whisper as she leapt the fence and tore off her school shirt to reveal a pale green blouse. She stuffed the uniform in her bag and he noticed her trying to hide the tears that were now welling in her eyes. Accepting her need for a moment’s peace, he too pulled off his school shirt and switched it for the black one he’d placed in his bag that morning. When he looked up again, she had her arms folded closely against her chest, looking carefully away from him.

“Let’s walk,” he suggested, swinging his bag onto his shoulder and taking her hand in his.

[136 words]

Blessings of a Writer

Her head felt like it was about to explode. The ideas were a running stream flowing out of each corner, wrapping themselves around each thought and using it as growth. Her mind was focused, her fingers ready and it was one of the best feelings in the world. That feeling of superiority to that darn writer's block. That knowing of knowledge, that immense gratitude towards solving the unanswered questions. Being on the verge of one of your great new ideas ready to put them into practice, that was one of the blessings a writer got to discover, one which would take them on a journey to last as long as they pursued.

[112 words]

Creating Creatures

With a thumping heart he turned to face the monstrous creatures that stood towering before him...

The problem was, the author didn't have a clue what these creatures were, what they looked like. Careful planning was sought, but hard to come by. When and how it would finally appear she wasn't quite sure, but she knew she'd have to come up with something, anything. What creature dwelled inside the forest, what stood waiting to greet him in a near-fatal way, what was it that reflected in those scared, scared eyes that left him running for his life?

[97 words]

Rediscovering a Book

Rereading a book, and rediscovering that love you have for it, the love for those words, that story, was a great feeling. Indescribable. Few books leave you so silent, and stunned, so speechless at the how the words have formed on the page. You wonder, of course, how deeply the writer worked to make the words sound perfect, because you yourself know how hard that can be, and that's without the whole world following your tail, waiting for the outcome. Some people hated such writers, full of fame and fortune, but if you yourself did not, if you yourself read the stories and discovered them for yourself, delighted in them and cried over them and the characters within, than that alone mattered. That book alone meant something to you, those characters and that life gave you some happiness and what others think or say do not matter. Not if you know the impact it's had on your life.

[158 words]

Trust, Talk, Wag.

As she burst out of the building and into the yard, she gave a swooping look over it's occupants. Mostly younger grades, not really people she knew. She wondered how many of them would know her name in days to come. Then she cast eyes upon the one she was looking for. She strode over to him, desperate to talk and yet worried of what he might say if she did. She hesitated a few steps from him. Would he trust her? He looked at her pointedly as she sighed and made the rest of the journey. Now she thought about it, she didn't know exactly what she was supposed to say to him. What was there to say? It had been on the news, that was all there was to it.

"Ready to wag?"

She'd never wanted to do so more.

[142 words]

A Flaw In The Letter

The letters stared blankly up at him. He'd retrace every line and curve, recognising his familiar old handwriting yet still hoping to find a flaw, some 'a' shaped the wrong way, some inconsistent stroke. How could he honestly be sure he'd written it? It was so long ago and he had no recollection of it. What if the letter had nothing to do with anything? Was he just using it as an excuse for what he'd done? No. He felt a pull to that letter, something he couldn't describe and longed to discover, almost as much as the explanation of his parent's abrupt leave.

[104 words]

Letter in Thoughts

Once in the car, he calmed himself. He turned on the heater, the music, and and wrenched the blanket from the back seat, shivering all over and attempting to get his breath back to normal. Just relax, he reminded himself. But his thoughts kept straying back to that letter. The words were starting to scare him. He needed the truth. Had he really written those things so many years ago? And if so, how? He could hardly write that sophisticated now let alone when he was twelve. He thought about the possibility. Was there something - aside from the obvious - wrong with him? What had this got to do with his parents? And more importantly, what had this got to do with his sister?

[125 words]

They Tell The Tale

It was amazing how a story could come together. It would start with one simple idea. More would stem from that, questions would be asked and before you knew it, you had a few thousand words. You create characters that you get attached to. It is a crazy feeling. You live a double life. Your own, and the one you've created in your imagination for those imaginary people. Except to you, they aren't imaginary. They're as real as your front door. You invite them willingly into your home and wait for them to tell the tale.

[96 words]

Impatience

She wrote out her list telling her exactly what she would need to buy and where she would need to buy it from and how much each thing would cost. Well maybe not that accurately, but it gave her something to go off. A start. There were still some things she couldn't decide on. Much like the movie ticket. Did she really want to go and see it, and in any case on her own, or could she hold off that while - just like she held off that while on the other movies, and then missed them. How much work could she get done in the next few days? What day would be she able to go? That was her only worry because she didn't know how long she could wait. Impatience.

[133 words]

Wordless Tune

11 November 2010

In the complete rush from excitement to procrastination to stress to worry to actual, final work, to distraction and shower and chores, a few words were almost forgotten. But upon clanging away the forks and knives, a beautiful tune filled her ears. Some old show that was being played on the TV in the next room, but boy was that music beautiful. Wordless, but there was a beauty about it. It told its own story. Much like pictures could. Some anecdote, some smile. There was a story behind everything if only you searched to find it. If only you bothered. Then why were these dailies so boring and lifeless, pointless? A retelling of life. Such a waste. Yet they'd gone on so far, she was unable to stop. To exercise the mind of words. A crazy thing. But beautiful no matter how weird the words turned out.

[147 words]

Prolonging Procrastination

She couldn't help it. Procrastination was high. It wasn't her fault, honest. It was just another obstacle in the way. Of studying. Not exactly good, but not exactly bad either. I mean, procrastination got her out of the bad stuff, right? But it only put it off, prolonged it. It would make it worse when the time came. Still, she was enjoying herself... that's what mattered, right? Nah, it was the success that did. The activities done during procrastination? All that could wait! But procrastination was impatient, work was slow... procrastination, naturally, won. She'd have to force it back into hiding, keep it there for another twenty-four hours. Just a bit longer...

[112 words]

Keeping the Excitement

Excitement drilled at her brain. The fact she was nearly finished everything. Well, not everything. But uni for the uni, presents for the birthday girl... Still, finishing wasn't that great of a reward - it meant going out and doing things for the "real world". Further pushing you forwards, 'cause according to anyone, you're no good just standing there. You have to be doing something, apparently. Still, it was a reward for yourself, a mark, a happy spot to grin pathetically in your own little world where no one can bother you. Even then though, there'd be the nasty critter that attacks. Good feelings will be gone. But it was your job to encourage them to stay.

[117 words]

Unfolding the Letter

He unfolded the letter for the hundredth time, read and reread what it said, trying to make sense of it all. Or in fact, of just some of it. He was sure there was something more behind the words, but he couldn't be sure about it or what it supposedly was. He could only be sure of himself, and he knew something wasn't right. He was beginning to forget things. Little things. It was strange. There was no way he could get dementia this early in his life. Was there? He moaned aloud, frustrated and unable to determine the next step to this ingenious plan he had gotten himself into. Why him? Why them? Hadn't they already been through enough ten years ago?

[123 words]

Piece Of Metal

What with Tristan and the new story, I almost forgot about Terrier :O

I stared at him. I didn't have a clue what he wanted with me or what he was trying to tell me, I just wish he'd shut up so I could get my job done. But he kept talking. He wanted me to listen. A distraction. I fought against it. I tried to block him out, but his voice was penetrating in my ears. Words jumped out at me, incomprehensible. Shut up, shut up. My hands wavered on the piece of metal, and I couldn't hold it straight. I shut my eyes and screamed a reply. I don't know whether or not he heard me.

[105 words]

Happy Glory

It was a joyous occasion. What turned out to be half a dozen slowly expanded to two hundred. Everyone was in high spirits and good moods. The smiles were everywhere, on every face of every man and every woman. The whole crowd was singing and dancing and generally acting young, despite age or disability. It made you feel special. It made you feel a part of something. Like you could make a change to the world by sharing with everyone your happiness and glory. But it was all a dream.

[90 words]

Official

It was official. He closed his eyes calmly, then let a tear slide down his face. Then he allowed himself to lose control. He bawled. What was going on with him? What was going on with the world? Why had he done what he did? What had he run from it? Why was he sleeping in his car and why wasn't his sister with him? Damn, he felt alone. And tired and hungry. And it was only day one.

[79 words]

Creativity Smiles

It was wonderful to be creative. Creativity was a blessing. And also a nuisance at times. It required getting everything perfect, until you were satisfied with it, possibly spending twice as long on it than anyone else would, but it usually worked out good. You felt like you had done something very deliberate and very great/ It made you feel good. It made you feel successful. And for those you were creating the creativity for? They'd be happy for you. Probably thank you. A bit of fun, a bit of silliness, put a smile on their face. That's something there needs to be more of in the world.

[108 words]

Making Progression Happen

It was amazing the work you could do when you put your mind to it. How beautiful the words sounded and how much progress you could feel yourself making. It was also quite amazing to see how much time could be wasted in comparison. A broken deadline, a bit of procrastination, topped with a few distractions. Don't get me wrong, you need a break at times, but sometimes you got them when you didn't want them. Sometimes you'd prefer nothing more and love nothing else than to just do what it is you had planned out to do. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. The trick is making it do.

[110 words]

Tristan's Thoughts

He pulled the crumpled address out from his pocket and studied the directions given. It sounded simple enough. The worst part would probably be communication, seeing how names weren’t given out. The guy had been a recommendation. People spoke of him, but knew little. When you started dealing with secretive tough guys, you knew you were in the wrong.

He drew a breath and took to the road, letting his thoughts run a marathon.

Tristan knew what he was doing probably wasn’t the most sensible way to go about it. At the same time, he couldn’t stop. He’d unwillingly accepted the challenge to himself and it was going to be rough. He couldn’t put a time frame on it. It could be a day, it could be a year, but he had no plans, and no guarantee of the meaning behind it all.

[143 words]

Impatient, Loud and Panicked

He knocked impatiently on the door with his fist. He hadn’t decided on a plan if Seth wasn’t home, but lucky for him, after little waiting, the door swung open and twenty-two year old Seth answered the door.

“Geez, Tristan. Loud enough?”

“Let me in,” Tristan didn’t wait. He squeezed past his mate and into the hallway, where his German Shepherd came bounding, barking like mad.

“Calm down,” Tristan wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or the dog, “What up?”

“I need a favour.”

[86 words]