Wordy Wednesday 7

Purgatory, Part 1
Solitary and awash with tears every other day. I kept in contact with those I loved, roaring infatuation encased within my heart, with each excited beat, pulsing tendrils of this feeling throughout each of my limbs and back but this was not enough to staunch the pain of abandonment. I was alone, bombarded with irrationality from each corner, locked within my room each day, sneaking out to snatch food and coming out for comfort with my furry companions and to eat dinner which was often the only time I exchanged words with my female relatives. I was far away from life, from friends, from love and from freedom. To be just outside a country town, sandwiched between busy roads and in a place with speeding behemoths of trucks and a homogeneous, hostile populace when one cannot drive is torment. Even my solace, traveling on foot through neighborhoods, observing and contemplating was lost to me on those gravel roads because with every house I passed I was jarred by barking dogs, as hostile as the people.
Day after day I worked, keeping myself busy, watching mystery serials so that I could hear calm, assured voices. I crocheted for a while and I knitted, but the thing that comforted me the most was writing. I did not think to hard about whether I was the most highly skilled or the best, what I thought of was the emotion I felt emanating from my writing and the warm, assurance I felt when I wrote. At first, I was flighty, tearful and hurt and I would throw myself around, crying bitterly, shrieking quietly so that I was not heard. Once I'd finally cried myself out, I would begin to work on some project or other, relishing that I could bring myself to finish projects, something that had before eluded me many times. I wrote every day, then, I began a novel and worked on it, gaining pleasure from the cobbling of its pages. I held within my heart, along with my infatuation a hope that I would finish this book and another and that I would be able to make enough to do all the things that I needed to do to get out of there.

Wordy Wednesday; Mario Bernadett, Lost on an Island 2

My book got over a hundred views! So...I put it up for sale again.
I also figured out more things to add to The Wind-Up Terrier. After misery and confusion and wandering around like an automoton for months, my creativity has returned and is becoming as powerful as it once was.
With that, I will begin this week's snippet which, I might add, is on time for once.

Back to Mario Bernadett, who I started talking about in a previous Wordy (wends)day, here
I uncurled from the rock and allowed myself to fall over onto some sandy grass where I lay still, until I began to wonder if there were ants or beetles int the grass. I stayed where I was. Ignore it, ignore it, I thought, but when I began to wonder about spiders, venomous spiders that would crawl inside my polo shirt and up my chest to my neck and all the way up to my face before biting, swelling my eye shut and making my head look like a half carved piece of rock, entirely organic on one side and a human face on the other as I slowly fell into convulsions accompanied by searing, blinding pain which, hopefully, would come in waves instead of sticking around for the duration. After that, I would be either permanently scarred or I would die, slowly losing control of my limbs as the venom ate its way through my nerves until, eventually, I would feel nothing, no pain at all and lose the ability to breath. I figured there would be a not-pain component, even if my nerves had fizzled out.

So, I sat up and then I stood, carefully looking down at myself and brushing off my front, jumping whenever I spotted a bit of dried grass. I screamed when I saw a spider and danced around, terrified after I flicked it off.
I needed to go find food. I wondered if you could eat grass. I didn't think you could. Things that could eat grass didn't usually eat meat and I ate meat, at least in theory, anyway but I had a feeling my vegetarianism would have to be put on hold while I was trapped on this BARREN ISLAND.
Coconuts! No, it couldn't be that easy, could it? Get trapped on a desert, no, deserted island and find coconuts to eat. I shrugged to myself. If I found them, I wondered what I would do with them. Egh, at least they were vegetarian. I set off to wander closer to the coastline, where I had a vague idea that coconuts grew.

Wordy Wednesday Bubble's Vet Office Ordeal 1

Okay. I'm still calling the story posts Wordy Wednesdays but I make no promises to post them on Wednesdays.

I really did do a snippet in advance but then, alas, I forgot. I've had some things to do. 

Here it is. 

So, yesterday I went with my boyfriend’s dog to the vet. They wanted him to drop off the dog but the dog, sweet boy that he is, has anxiety issues and instead of him being put into a kennel, he wanted me to stay the several hours with the dog while we waited for the ultrasound technician to come that afternoon. I was dropped off around eight in the morning. I don’t mind waiting, especially when I’m a little short on sleep and slightly drowsy and the environment is quiet and cool and the dog needs reassuring. My boy mentioned at least twice that I would be staying with the dog and I had two people, a vet assistant and the receptionist mention to me that it would be several hours. Finally, I had the receptionist tell me that he’d confirmed that the tech wouldn't be there until about two. The last straw was the vet coming out and talking baby talk to me to get me to drop him off.

People are weird.

We’d been quiet. I’d taken the dog out a couple times and, really, save for me forgetting to bring a blanket for the dog's hips on the tile floor (because doggy and kitty facilities are deficient on even something as simple as a washable rubber pad) there'd been nothing to suggest the dog wasn't happy, no altercations with other animals at all, especially since there hadn't been many to begin with. The dog was just mildly curious for them. 

A few hours in, we were escorted to an examination room. My boyfriend was called and managed to explain to them that I couldn’t just leave, having no ride and bus stops being unknown in this area. At this point, the dog was examined.

I fail to understand how a vet who can be pretty good with animals feels the need to talk to me like she probably believes small children should be talked to. She began with, “So, you write?” Quite a nonsequiter. I mean, I do but it was out of the blue, sort of the kind of thing my school counselor would start out with. I did like my school counselor, though so points for that.

Anyway, I began to wonder at this vet office. The place is a little run down and not particularly bright or cheerful but that probably just means they don’t overcharge. What gets to me is that the blanket they gave Jager at my request is tiny, a baby blanket and wouldn’t do shit for lessening the hardness of these floors. He’s currently using it as a pillow. I wondered if there’s stuff going on. Paranoid little me, huh. I’m not impressed by the veterinary staff but I don’t believe they’re part of the fur trade either. Still, I got a story idea out of it.

Bubbles the king Charles spaniel settled into his portable kennel. He knew where she was going and it didn’t worry him a bit. A trip to Paws and Purrs, his salon was not a cause for distress, rather it was something to look forward to because they washed him gently, massaged his back and legs and gave him a pedicure with tangerine polish. The little dog panted contentedly. He was feeling so strung out and this was the perfect treatment.

The small, green leopard print pet taxi tipped very slightly in the seat it was buckled to as the car stopped. Bubbles looked lazily through the mesh side of the carrier as he was conveyed out of the vehicle. His eyes widened.  This was not the salon. This was a bleak, off white box of a building with clapboard additions built on. Where was he being taken? He looked up through the mesh at the hand holding the carrier and then strained his moist, marble eyes to see the person attached to it. Who was that? He barked quizzically. There was no reaction, except that the carrier swayed a little more than he was used to but that may have been happening from the beginning. The dog growled under his breath. Curse his complacency! There was something nefarious going on.

The person carried him through a doorway and then the carrier jolted as he was set down. Bubbles mustered up his gumption and peered again through the mesh. There was an unknown human right in front of him, sitting bellow him and fiddling with papers. Was this a vet’s office? It did not look like his. His was bright and he knew the smell. He turned to the mesh on the other side of the carrier and peered at the person who had brought him. It was not Mable, as he had expected! It was a male, her nephew. The nephew had kidnapped him. He’d waited until Mable put him in the carrier and snatched it away without Bubbles even noticing!

The dog’s eyes narrowed. How evil! He snuffled. If only he hadn’t been struck down with a cold, none of this would have happened! He wouldn’t be stolen away if he’d been able to smell the degenerate nephew. He would have bared his teeth, flexed his muscles and escaped! He would even now be back in the arms of his beloved mistress. This was a lesson for him, don’t trust the nephew. Bite him as soon as possible so that he knows who’s in charge. Then he would take him back and it’d all be done and somewhat forgotten, save the occasional bite to drive in the point.

Bubbles staggered and let out a startled bark as he was picked up again and led to a dark room. Inside was a bunch of different doggy smells, all of them scared. Bubbles really began to worry. At his vet, there was anxiety and some piss and, of course feces, but there wasn’t normally fear. That was for first time visits. Fear was for puppies. 

Writing, What People Say and Kurt Vonnegut

So, I've been editing. By editing, I mean, being sick but before that and after I got a bit better which happened pretty much in the last six hours, I've been editing. Or, thinking about it. I really haven't been editing all that much in the last month but I've changed locals and been ill and, worse than that, really confused about what I want to do.

See, I've read books on writing.

These can be very helpful.

They can also whisper poison words into your ear. Sweet words like; You shouldn't be in every character's head. You shouldn't know everything. You should show what they'r feeling.

I agree with this but I just can't seem to do this completely. Also, I don't know how right it is. I like to know what a scene looks like but I've also read that describing a scene in too much detail, or even at all, is unnecessary. I agree. I hate reading pages of description of a tapestry in a castle, I definitely do, but I like clothes and shoes. I like to describe them. They're characters too, I guess. In some squalid corner of my head, which is round by the way, not square so how can any of use think literally outside the box, I've decided that they are important, mute little characters.

It occurs to me that I don't have those writing books, being a lapsed avid user of the library system. I would like to get them. They were well written. I'd like to remember them and read them again. It occurs to me that some of those books were written more entertainingly than some of the fiction that their authors' created. I would like to write a writing book but I need to figure out what I know about writing first, beyond that it depends on whether you're drunk, silly, sad, dull, or wild and a bunch of other things.

I just found the author of the quote that I was looking for and, while searching for the quote, I found another one. I didn't tend to use semicolons much until I got a college boy friend to edit for me. He's more fond of punctuation than I am. Now I'm not sure how to feel about them.

“Here is a lesson in creative writing. First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you've been to college.” 
― Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country
Goodreads is apparently pretty good for quotes. 

Anyway, I think I will include bits inside the character's heads a little more and if this book is not so good, I will fix it next time. The point that many writers have put forth is that you have to write to create good stuff. You also have to write to create putrid, vibrant green, oozing filth that sticks to your shoes and cooks eyes in their sockets. So, I will continue!
And perhaps lay off the chocolate cake. It makes me weird. 

Wordy Day 2 Mario Bernadett: Lost on an island. (Probably not a desert island, despite whining to the contrary.)

........Darn it! I missed another one again. Does it make things any better that I thought today was Wednesday?
If you were lost on a desert island, what would be your first thought?
Would you panic? Would you panic and then immediately go searching for water? Would coconutes be at the top of the list of things to find, or would you just walk along the edge, heedless of your waking nightmare of a shark suddenly deciding that it's time to try life on land just to eat a lil chillin. (I figure they'd talk without pronouncing any consanants hard, ya know, teeth. Way too many teeth makes it hard to speak and never mind that whole, head's kinda just part of the body so, no neck and probably no voice box.
They'd have to be sharks with translator collars but it wouldn't matter because they'd go on land and they'd. Eat. You! Aaaaaaaaaaah! That is what I'd think about. That's exactly what I'm thinking about so, even though it might be good to go out on the coast and try to get someone's attention, I'm sitting curled up on a rock, being as still as possible so that murderous gorilla monkey hybrids do not EAT MY FACE OFF.

My name is Mario Bernadett and I am a casualty of a yacht accident. It was my sister's yacht. I am twelve. I do not get a yacht. After this, I don't think I want a yacht. Unless my parents have a tracking device planted in my clothing (not in me, egh! I can't stand scalpels) and can send it to me RIGHT NOW.

I'm sorry if I'm shouting. I sorta thought that since this is in my own head, I wouldn't have to deal with critics.Who am I kidding. It never works that way. Give it enough time and my older sister, the one who GOT ME INTO THIS MESS, ah, sorry, will pop up in my head and start interrupting me.

"So, whatcha doing?" said a familiar, nasal feminine voice. My head sagged and the voice continued. "Curled up on a rock, how effective. Wait here long enough and I'm sure you will be found. Maybe they'll even tell you what a brave little boy you are." Her voice took on a tinkling quality, the nasal haughtiness fading away as she drove the point in deeper with fake sympathy. "Oh, I know. I'll go get help." She began to laugh and I frowned. She was only being Sybil, nothing new and in real life she really wasn't so bad.

Wordy Day

I misssed it!
Darn.
I missed a Wordy Wednesday so, today, is wordy day. It doesn't sound so great but whatcha gonna do, right?
I'll just take my licks and keep on ticking.
(today appears to be a silly day, or, possibly a dumb day. Take your pick?)
(This was begun on Thursday when I realized I'd forgotten. I decided to work on it some more that evening when I was settled in, Instead I got ill)

(This is what I mustered up today)
Sooo. This...Is it. I'm sick. I'm licked, ,I'm ticked off and my brain just clicks, again and again, not connecting the threads of the wheels inside me head that spin when I'm well, and make the stories, the writing gel, properly.
I wonder why I'm not stopping me.
I guess I think of myself so loftily,
That I can't help but continue,
Until I receive some injury,
To convince myself,
When enough is enough.
ldska;fjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
...Wow. That was interesting. I managed to tell myself that enough was enough by an unknown combination of keys and track pad swipes while I was trying to type, to select and then remove all text save for a d. I fixed it though but I caught the hint. I'm done for today. And late, for a Wordy Wednesday.


This is what you get, when I am sick
Two days late, but willing to fake, enthusiasm, indubitably!

Wordy Wednesday Four

I'm gonna try to keep this story running for a few Wednesdays. I like this girl. She's weird.
Today is just a taste.

Wackadoodle Girl

“….Wackadoodle all day. Mm mm mm mm, mmmmmmmm….Aw, fuck it.” Carrie gave up as she lost sight even of what the tune for the song was.  She’d better things to do. She looked up from her feet to the student body who wandered past below the little terrace she’d climbed up on. She scuffed her feet on the grass. Like not sing a silly song she didn’t know the lyrics to after lunch period had let out and everyone, including her, was going to class. She blushed and walked nonchalantly to the edge of the raised bit of turf, like a little garden, and stepped off, practice allowing her to land without a jolt.

“Nice,” said one of her, she assumed, classmates, a girl with thick brown hair, brown eyes and an impressive rack, or, that’s what Carrie saw from the corner of her eye. She didn’t like looking directly at people, especially when she was trying to walk. 

She nodded and dashed a glance the girl’s way. “Thanks.” There. The exchange was done. She’d interacted. She felt happy to have done it and relieved that it was over at the same time. She’d be pleased with herself for hours even if no one else talked to her during that time. Carrie was simple. She didn’t need much praise to run hot.