by Mayumi-H | Oct 26, 2013 | Writing Projects
So, forgive me if this goes astray…
Last night, I dreamed a man. Athletic, Nordic: tall, blond, squared, chiseled features. Scruffy for his faint stubble. Not overly muscled, but built to last. Also, soused to the gills, blue eyes swimming behind alcohol contacts.
He pushes me.
I push back.
Grabbing the top of his popped beer, the frothy foam spilling between my fingers, I tell him, “You do that again, I will hit you. And it will hurt.”
The soporific cloud blurring his eyes turns clear.
He says nothing, just shifts away.
We meet again later, his gaze and expression fresh, now, no longer the sloppy drunk. I don’t remember what we say, only that he sort-of smiles. One sharp eyetooth stands crooked from the rest. Watching it poke a dent into his lower lip, I smile, too.
Night. Maybe that same day, maybe days later. I’m sorting socks, of all things: knee-highed stripes, brown footies, patterned thigh-highs. I’m thinking, Which ones would he like? when I’m called to hold the camera. Why no one else can figure out how to frame a shot for a stage performance, I don’t know.
I look into the monitor, set the shot, lock the camera. A man sits down, right in my line of view.
Blond. Scruffy. Built.
“Glad you could make it,” I say.
He tilts his head back and laughs, showing off that adorable crooked tooth. As though he knows that’s what will make me melt. He looks at me, blue eyes bright. And magnified a little, behind narrow-framed, horn rimmed glasses.
Be still, beating heart. But don’t let on:
“Now, get out of my shot.”
He laughs again, shifting out the way.
I’m not looking at the camera window any more.
Most of my dreams don’t translate well to story format, but this one did. Those of you who follow my Tumblr or that Friendface thing have seen this bit of free writing already, but, since it’s the only thing I’ve written recently that isn’t deeply mired in novel or fandom continuity, I thought it was worth a little space, here.
“Joseph dreams of wheat”
Owen Jones [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Do you write down your dreams? Do you ever find they make their way into your stories?
by Mayumi-H | Sep 12, 2013 | Uncategorized
Some of you may have noticed I’ve been away from blogging these last few weeks, both reading and writing. The writing was because my life’s been hectic, to say the least. I’d been trying to keep up with reading, though. While I occasionally glance at the WordPress Reader feed on my commute, I usually rely on email notifications, because I’m an old person like that.
Over the last couple of weeks, my email updates have been silent. It seemed a tad odd that everyone was taking a similar hiatus to mine, but didn’t think too much on it, because I was running around like a headless chicken getting stuff done making my office run smoothly busy.
The other day, I happened to be on F***book, and I noticed a new post from someone I know I follow. That new post did not show up in my email, though. So, I went back to my Reader preferences, to make sure I was supposed to get emails for all the lovely bloggers I make sure to follow religiously. Sure enough, their settings were all correct. But, no mail-mail. As Oliver Chamberlain might say, “WTF?”
It turns out, WordPress has been working on a software update recently, making behind-the-scenes changes as software developers are wont to do. I work in IT, so I know it’s a common occurrence. And, every time this happens, there are The Lucky Ones (sarcasm here) whose service gets a bit mucked up in the process. This time, I got to be one of The Lucky Ones.
Sensing something amiss, yesterday, I sent this note to the WordPress.com Twitter:
This morning, in my Inbox were waiting more than a score of new updates, from the past two-and-a-half weeks. Needless to say, it’s going to take me some time to catch up with them, but I’m looking forward to it. Just from your post titles, you all sound like you’ve got great things to say.
As for me, I’ve continued to write, with a fresh freedom I haven’t felt in a long time. Nobody is reading this new stuff, but I honestly don’t care. Sure, attention is nice, but this writing has restored my passion for creating, molding, and expanding characters and situations. I take much more gratification in my own sense of accomplishment, in this case, whether it’s supported by the masses or not. The most fun part has been exploring more aspects of characterization and plot in this one: drama, adventure, action, romance (of a sort), adulthood and maturity (which don’t always go hand-in-hand), identity, relationships, death, wealth, drugs…a glorious mishmash of topics that have woven their way into my tale of two mercenaries.
I’ve also come up with a loose NaNo idea from all this free writing. Because, you know, I’m not busy enough.
I’m really looking forward to catching up with you all. I hope I can offer some entertainment for you, too!
by Mayumi-H | Mar 13, 2013 | Process
I hadn’t meant to kill her.
I certainly didn’t start out the day planning for it to happen. I didn’t even know it was happening, until I looked at what I’d wrought, and realized she was dead.
Somewhere deep down, though, I knew: it had to happen. I’d been waiting for it to happen.
That knowledge didn’t make it any easier to do. It didn’t make the squeeze of the trigger any less jerky, or the thunder of the shot any less loud. Or the pain I felt watching the once-bright light in her eyes go out any less acute.
One moment, she was there: fighting, struggling, strong. And the next, she simply…wasn’t. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t anything. She was just gone, like she’d never existed in the first.
I cried when I killed her. I honestly and truly did.
Sitting back, I had to stop. Everything. And let her have that one moment of my reflection. Because I hadn’t given her the chance to have anything else. Not the happiness she’d sought, or the love she’d desired. Not even the fleeting freedom for which she’d run and fought so hard.
I’d never killed anyone before. Not anyone who’d mattered. Flitting bystanders with no histories, random casualties of war: they didn’t make a difference. They had no stories.
This one, though. She’d had a story. A story I’d cut short, for a split-second of excitement. For the sake of mere plot.
“Acceptable losses,” I called her, the next day, after I’d had the time to reflect. A phrase to describe her and her ilk, the ones I’d left soulless and smoking along the way. Because in love and war, sacrifices must be made.
I knew it was for the best. I knew it had to be done.
But, I’d still cried.
I’ve been thinking about this topic ever since a recent blog post about what heroes can do, by Vanessa-Jane Chapman.
I’ve always thought death in stories should be warranted. Many of them are. They’re often valuable for completion of a story. But, when it came time to do the deed, myself, with one of my own…it got to me.
Let your story go where it needs to go, even if it’s someplace terrible. You may end up stronger for it. Or, you may end up realizing you’re not as nice a person as you’d always thought you were.
Death in your stories: how do you react?
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