Novel Ideas: Opinions Please

Tags

choice, Decision, idea, NaNoWriMo, Novel, November, Writer, Writing

I’m still trying to work out what style of writing is going to keep me going for NaNoWriMo next month. So I was hoping that maybe some feedback might help me choose. If you have the time to read through these snippets and let me know if you enjoy any or dislike any, or think something sticks out as interesting, then please let me know.

I wish I were a Raccoon

Tags

Animal, creative, Inspiration, poem, prompt, Raccoon, Writing

I wish I were a raccoon with tiny grabby hands
To know exactly what I want and openly demand
I’d sport a nice snug tail and roll instead of walk
to get me places faster and I’d never have to talk
Instead I’d have cute glassy eyes
that no one could resist
and people would just give me cake
because I would persist.

A little snuggly raccoon, full of tenacity
I’d be a chubby, fuzzy ball of voracity.

 

Thanks for the Inspiration call over at

Creative Talents Unleashed

The Invitation

Tags

Blogging, Inspiration, invitation, prompt, words, writers block, Writing

It lay, glaring at me.

Bold as brass but far more flashy. It wasn’t meant to cause offence of course, just inspiration: an invitation from a friendly source with the aim to inspire.

Yet it lay on my screen, blinking out it’s gesture in defiance of my inability to react. It sat, expectantly in my list, silently demanding a reply with its innocent face. For a time I stared back, waiting to see if I could scare it into submission, assert my own blank dominance and allow it a healthy retreat.

But the invitation stood its ground, raising my heckles and taunting me with its propitious  prompt. It mocked me for idleness, chided the brain numbing sloth I had succumbed to, and spurred me into action.

The singular word became clear.

It was an invitation to write.

 

via Daily Prompt: Invitation

 

NaNoWriMo – readers & opinions welcomed

Tags

Challenge, Creative Writing, critique, dragon, fantasy, feedback, fiction, NaNoWriMo, Novel, Writing

**Please note due tio the nature of NaNoWriMo this is an unedited draft so may contain spelling mistakes but please let me know if you liked or disliked characters etc

——————

The beast loomed above them.

Nostrils flared and creating small puffs of smoke with every exhalation. It’s thick claws grappling with the cobblestones, as it steadied itself in the unfamiliar surroundings. The stone dragon had received a rude awakening that afternoon and now all that stood between it and them was a flimsy metal shield and a broken mace.

“Stay behind me, if we move together then we can make it to door over there”

“The storage door? Are you mad?… I knew this was a bad idea, if only we had just done as we had been asked then..

“SHUT UP! .. RUN!”

The half mace flew through the air and landed with a thud on the stone dragon’s right claw. The impact was just enough to unsettle it for a few seconds as Tiffin and Estella made their way towards the small wooden door. The beast followed seconds after and was upon the door before it swung shut.
Once inside the beast froze, it stood in the darkness listening, tilting its head in the direction of the soft murmurings. It took a step forward towards a low muffled squeak, and inhaled deeply, filling it’s lungs with the damp air. Then it sat up on hind legs, lifting it’s nostrils high in the air, again it inhaled deeply, in preparation of securing its target.

*THWACK*

A large metal skillet flying through the air hit the stone dragon right on the bridge of his snout, and two small shadowy figures crept towards the hessian sacks in the corner of the room. The beast let out an almighty howl as it whipped around, eyes trying to focus on the moving blurs.
It’s hesitance now replaced with rage as it bared his jagged teeth for all to see. Clambering over the large sacks, the beast’s claws tore through the hessian with ease. Vegetables spilled out onto the floor as the beast made its way to the top of a large mound of potatoes. There it stood hissing and spitting whilst Tiffin and Estella crouched nearby, arms clenched around one another.
The smell of earth from the vegetables crept into their nostrils, tickling their noses and causing Tiffin to sneeze. Estella tried to muffle the sound but it was too late, the beast charged towards them, Tiffin let out a yelp, Estella held her breath…

And suddenly light flooded the room.
The net landed upon the dragon swiftly and without warning, as did the cold water which appeared to shock the beast into complacency.

“Estella! …..Where are you? are you hurt?”

The gruff voice echoed through the storeroom followed by a large figure brandishing a sword in his left hand. Behind him trailed four men who set about the captured and now silent beast. As they began to tie the ends of the net around a long wooden pole, Estella stood up and shook the dust from her tunic.

“I’m fine father”

Her tone a little more indignant than one would have expected after being saved from such an ordeal.

“Fine you may be, but what if we had not been here to save you? What if Cook had not enquired how we had got rid of this beast so fast, and what if I had not been there to realise that only you would be so foolish as to approach the creature rather than pass the message on to one of the lizard catchers!”

Estella scowled a little at that remark then revealed a jagged wooden stick she still had clenched behind her back.

“I would have been fine, I still had this”

She shook what was left of the mace in the air whilst her father let out a sigh, his eyes looking past her and fixing on Tiffin.

“And what of him?”

Estella turned to see Tiffin still crouching behind a sack of potatoes, head in his hands and eyes locked on the netted stone dragon.

“You need to consider your actions Estella” His tone had calmed as he laid a gloved hand upon her shoulder “you cannot keep dragging poor Tiffin into your wild schemes, these dangerous excursions need to stop, I will not always be here to save you’

Estella thought about this a moment and nodded silently, then she turned to help Tiffin get up and led him past the placated beast. Her father watched them pass then turned to follow, his foot catching on something as he moved. Reaching down to pick up the dented skillet he smiled to himself as he noticed the leather straps crudely riveted to the inner side, and the outer side of the pan displayed a lightly etched oak tree. Without thinking he drew his hand to his chest, emblazoned with his own oak tree crest and even with all his frustration Lord Oakenhart could not help but be mildly impressed with his daughters ingenuity. In that moment his annoyance subsided and he tenderly called after Estella.

“Don’t forget your shield, little one”

Creative writing meets Warcraft

Tags

Conversation, Creative Writing, Warcraft, Writing Prompts

There was a writing prompt a while back on the Warcraft forums for an interaction between characters. I had forgotten this little interaction I wrote up which is based in game on a possible conversation found in the World’s End Tavern in Shattrath.

If you play the game you might even know who these girls are talking about *winks*

“She thinks she is so darn cool!

Always hanging around in her tight red pants selling her portable holes to shady looking customers. I don’t know what he sees in her, I really don’t”

I sighed and ordered another Lagrave, listening to Leatei’s latest heartbreak story was thirsty work.

“And they let her bring that mutt in here as a special favour to Siggy, all that special treatment, it’s just wrong. Albert wasn’t allowed to bring his pet in was he? I mean, ok it was a bombling, but that’s not the point is it?”

Pressing a drink into her hands, I looked around the bar wondering if the band would bring in an extra crowd tonight. The tavern had been getting quieter for a while now and the chances of Leatei finding another perfect guy in here were getting slim.

“I don’t know why we drink this stuff, it’s not very feminine, we should drink the noir like Harris. I bet that’s what it is, that’s why he prefers her..I am getting fat on this stout!”

“You are not getting fat” I say “you look great, and you are the best dancer in this place, Siggy will come running back once he figures out that Harris is only out for a man who can keep up with her excessive demands for gems”

She smiled at that, the first smile all night, thank the skies and I was just as I was beginning to think we might get a good night out after all; until Saul shouted the announcement of the band. Then I saw Leatei’s face drop as she watched Sig present Harris with the biggest black diamond ring I had ever seen.

There was only one to do…

“Kylene, can we get another round of Lagraves over here please, and keep em coming”

And just for the record, it’s because it tastes like chocolate and what is there not to like about that!

Which writing path to take?

Tags

CampNanowrimo, Decision, femalefiction, fiction, Ghost, humour, Romantic, Scifi, Stories

The cabins are setting up once again for the camp & I have been lucky enough to settle back in with some of the people from last year’s camp, but now I am still in a ponder which writing route to take.
I know I had wanted to say my April story to carry on with in November however now I can’t seem to settle on one thing to choose for my story/genre
After the indecision about is it female fiction, is it adult fiction post I am still no where further really except that I do have some words down and ideas to spring from..
And though I am usually a bit cagey about sharing my stuff I thought I would at least put out a few snippets to see if anyone could help sway me in a direction.

Some CampNaNoWriMo choices

1- The geeky futuristic one

The ground shook all around them as they hid in the confines of the projectile room. The world had slowly been changing around them for centuries and now there were only ten left from the Viverios community. For the last year they had been surviving, but only just.
It had been 4 days since the last big attack and they were still reeling from the impact. Julian had come off the worst after receiving a bite during the ambush and now he lay in a fitful sleep, sweating profusely and shivering under the flimsy covering. Lisandra kneeled beside him and tried to provide comfort but the sight of the blood, thick and sticking to his face was making her uneasy.
“Do you think he will make it?”
Her voice wavered at the question, knowing that they had already lost five people to similar wounds in the last month. Every time they had found a new place to hide and felt a new kind of safety, the Warth hunters would somehow find them and thin their numbers. Lisandra was tired of running, they all were, she looked around the room with its windows barricaded and the floor around Julian covered in rags thick with blood and sweat.

2- The historical one

Anne stood transfixed as the men clenched their muskets tightly, preparing for war. The smallest man closest to the window started to light a match cord and drew a paper cartridge from the bag at his waist. She watched as he used his teeth to tear the paper and spat the tip out onto the floor. He opened a latch on the top of his musket and poured in the gunpowder, then tipped the musket and poured the rest down the barrel, taking care to keep the lit cord tucked away. He then dropped a musket ball into the hole and followed it with the screwed up cartridge paper. Anne watched in surprise as the musketeer pulled a long stick from the side of his weapon and proceeded to poke it down the barrel.
‘Hey, Charlie careful you don’t forget to take it out’, one of the men shouted, ‘don’t want you firing sticks at these mongrels, again’
The others roared with laughter as the young man blushed; Anne felt a smile spread across her lips. It was soon replaced with a gasp as she heard the muffled thud of a cannon being fired against the wall of the building. A small hand tugged at her sleeve, looking down she recognised the young face as one of her grandfather’s stable lads. She nodded at him as he gestured to the wide open door.

3- The er fiction (a tame snippet)

She sat cross legged, head tilted against the cold soft leather, her mind trying to decipher his thoughts. It had not been noted before how intensely he looked whilst talking about something he felt passionate over. His eyes, a pool of darkness that she would eagerly bathe in, his mouth an inviting landing which teased her with each movement. As she watched him deep in conversation she felt a pleasant feeling inside that made her outwardly shudder.

“Are you alright?” he asked with concern in his voice.

Anne-Marie bit her lip softly and replied with an embarrassed mumble “just something that tickled my neck” She gestured at the ribbons hanging on the saddle she had been leaning on.

“Oh” He nodded acceptingly and carried on talking oblivious to her subtle smirking.

4 -The Ghostly one

A sea of top hats and long jackets

Eyes like that can haunt a man…

Every night after closing I would see her alone on that stage. At first she would just walk to and fro in her delicate way, her long chiffon dress rustling in the gloom. Back and forward. I would watch her, sometimes she would pick up speed as if about to jump, and then she would hesitate, and stop frozen in her tracks. A pretty little thing she was; her hair was not honey or chestnut like the other girls but a mixture of the two and it fell in ringlets right down her back. And her eyes would call you in soon as look at her, huge round green eyes. They glistened like emeralds but were soft and pale, she was different in every way. Mouse, the other girls called her. And so she was as quiet as one too, never heard her speak in the spotlight. In fact, only time I ever heard a peep out of her was when she was all alone up there. Then you could hear her if you listened real hard, and if you did you would hear the slightest of humming that would dance upon your ears and echo inside your heart. Her tiny voice would have caused a stirring amongst a better audience. Not that these variety types would take any notice if she wasn’t juggling balls or rolling on skates.

5- The light hearted one

His chest glistened with a sticky golden hue as she lapped at the sweet scented nectar. Just a small drizzle, it would be fun like in the movies she had thought. Yet here she was with her hair matted and feeling as though she had been dragged backwards through a treacle tart. To top it off she now had to listen to the grumblings of Gerald, who was full of the satisfactory glow of ‘I told you so’.

‘we are too old for this nonsense, I told you’

Francesca rolled her eyes at him. It had taken such an effort to talk him into trying something new in an effort to revive their twenty year old marriage, but now she was left wondering why she bothered trying.

“yes ok, you win” Francesca snapped as she handed him a baby wipe.

She knew that her experiment was doomed for failure as soon as he had mentioned the use of plastic sheets. Really, how sexy were plastic sheets ever going to be!

Soo those are some of the projects I could carry on with…anyone have any thoughts or favourites that might sway me to finish them?

Is Steve really a bad guy name?

Tags

CampNanowrimo, Random musings

Word count for Nano so far: 6761

Might not be much for some but I’m pretty pleased with it. Tonight I have tagged onto the start of the story and also made some notes about how my (now two parts) stories merge as one 🙂

Today I have also been thinking about old stuff I have written and sifting through some bits and bobs and I found the start of a story from many years ago. But what I did start to notice was that my fallback ‘bad guy’ name seems to be Steve.

I don’t know why and I’m sorry if you are a Steve and not a bad guy but I seem to have it written into a lot of pieces. I don’t even think I really know a Steve and I don’t think I was ever really slighted by one so I don’t know why I have been so mean to them in my writings so far *scratches head*

Anyhow i might pick this up again at some point so I shall place it here as a catalyst

   ———————

He huddled in the corner behind two steel drums full of oil, his hands shaking and sweat dripping from his forehead; then (surprisingly even to him) Jason began to pray softly under his breath.

‘Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me… please god don’t let him kill me too’

He peered though the crack in the barrels, hoping that Steve would have given up the search. He crouched lower to the ground, tucking his limbs in as tight as he possibly could; like a hedgehog hiding from a fox. The hard footsteps confirmed that he wasn’t alone in the room and the red stains on the floor were making Jason feel uneasy.  A whirling noise caused his body to jerk in surprise and he cursed himself for hiding in a bay with only one exit. Why hadn’t he just run home at lunch time, why hadn’t he called the police or had the guts to approach the boss. It was only supposed to be work experience and now Jason found himself trapped in a room with Steve the maniac and a menacing power tool. The growling sound of a drill came nearer and seeing a steel toe capped boot through the crack, Jason flinched upsetting a blood red stained rag from the top of the barrel. As it fell onto his face Jason let out a high pitched squeal , then became aware that the noise had come from him and clasped his hand over his mouth. But it was too late, Steve loomed above him, nudging the heavy barrel aside with a wicked grin on his face.

‘Ah ha, there you are’

Swimming with Icecream

Tags

CampNanowrimo, Icecream, Swimming, Writing

After digging out some of my old work for a a ‘creative writing’ course many moons ago I though I would share a piece since I don’t feel ready to share my CampNano piece until after it has been hit with an editing bat.

So instead you can have this offering…

 ————————————

‘Just imagine a giant ice cream at the other end’ that was the advice my mother had given me to calm my panic.’

Seven years of age shivering at the prospect of having to swim the entire length of the pool, no not just swim..Swim breaststroke! There I stood in my vivid red costume, my long hair twisted up, trapped beneath a tight white cap that tugged at my scalp, and would always make me fidget. The pool itself wasn’t an unpleasant place in fact I loved the mushroom fountain and the huge snake painted gold and green. But today the snake was forbidden, barriers hung sadly around the rails of the slide in an effort to make us all focus on our swimming instead.  The fear of anticipation and the cold air upon my bare skin made my body shiver as I hugged the towel for comfort. The chemical smell clung to the roof of my mouth which was dry and screaming out for a cherry coke, visions of giant ice creams circled through my mind.

‘You in the red are you listening to me?’ bellowed the female voice. She reminded me of a drill sergeant from Krypton factor the way her voice boomed and echoed across the pool. Her black wiry hair was wild and I remember thinking why doesn’t she have to wear a stupid cap. We were ordered to lie down on our bellies and practise, a school of floundering fish trying to swim on dry floor. The raised bubbles in the flooring hurt under my skin and I looked around keenly aware of how stupid we must have looked. The glass box where my mother sat watching was directly to the side of us. People gawping and pointing at us and I wondered if that was how the penguins in the zoo felt.

We were ordered into two lines at either side of the pool, boys on one side girls on the other. I hung behind whilst the louder girls jostled to the front of the queue proudly puffing out their chests emblazoned with embroidered badges. Looking down at my lonely purple badge; it was given to me for a very badly doggy paddled width but proudly sewn on by my mother much to my protests. My half bitten nails picked at the hem of the badge and I tried not to think about that film with the shark that I had caught glimpses of the night before.

‘Ok daydreamer, your turn’

My turn had come upon me far too quickly and I found myself being nudged down the steps into water that I knew was twice my height. The cool water absorbed me and I was hit with the realisation I was out of my depth. A pole pierced the water in front of me causing splashes to hit my face; foolishly I tried to wipe off the water even though my hands were wet. The action unbalanced me, I kicked out my feet so I wouldn’t sink, my arms flailing like coral dancing underwater. I tried to swim, I really did; my body just had another plan. The pole became a barricade almost touching my nose, my body responded by recoiling which tilted my body and pulled me under the water: panic set in. Unseen forces were pulling me down as I thrashed around like an eel on a hook trying to avoid the pole jabbing at my body. Bubbles streamed from my mouth like a soda stream and I swear I saw an ice-cream waving at me.

Then out of nowhere my shoulder was pinched and I felt myself being dragged through the water; the air hit my skin like a welcome blast of reality and I felt my stomach lurch forward in a fit of spluttering. Putting my hands to my face to cover my stinging eyes they were pulled away from me as I struggled to get out of the grips of the drill sergeant. My mouth tasted of …actually I can’t explain the taste but it wasn’t nice, kind of like a Christmas tree mixed with soap. A towel was thrown around me and I suddenly realised I was a penguin again. My mother was pressed against the glass her face white with concern and in talks with a man in a shirt whilst pointing frantically at me. Breaking free I ran over to her and the man opened the door that had never opened before. Suddenly I was in her arms, and had found my freedom, although after a while I became a little sad. When I was asked if I was ok, I simply replied ‘can I still have an ice-cream?’

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