|Here's what I've been up to "lately".|
The teeth of a dreamThere is a dream in which I am a woman and I have lost myself: I am she.The teeth of a dream by Goldfish-In-Space
She does not distinguish between myself and herself because we are the same self. I am not parasitic, or just a fraction, nor is she these to me, but we are separate only enough for me to understand it.
Soon she forgets, though. She has a day to attend to. There is hair to be forced back and a road to walk to the next destination. She cleans herself in something bigger than a puddle, with a stream flowing from it. She follows it with her tent on her back, picking berries from the side of the trail. Her destination is clear in her mind, and her goal is to meet you.
You left a day ahead of her, out of stubbornness. It didn't turn into a fight, you were too careful. You know she isn't happy with you though. You can tell by the way she chews the seeds of a boysen berry as she overtakes you on the loose shale. The sky is bright. It's light almost ambient and almost blinding. You look forward to the sunset, when she wil
Healthy FixationShe threw the cream cheese away, even though it was ‘lite’. She had read about what was in dairy, and she knew that even if it was low fat it was impure. For a day she wondered if organic cream cheese would be okay, but the list of unsafe food grew and travelled from the shelves of her fridge into the dumpster. There was nothing to put on her celery anymore so she just ate it raw and alone.Healthy Fixation by Goldfish-In-Space
Later she bought apples, cucumbers and kale for her juice fast. One website said to put a lime peel and all into the juicer to help make green juice palatable, but she couldn’t find an organic lime so she didn’t buy one. She didn’t care what the juice tasted like; she just wanted to detox. Fat carried toxins. It trapped them in her body and the juice fast would help her get rid of them.
She pinched the front of her hip and held back tears. The fat was toxic. It wasn’t working. She decided to make it a five day fast instead of a three day one. On day five, she went
A Troll PassesThe traffic lulled her to sleep as it echoes off the concrete like the ocean. Except the buses. Fuck those things. Every forty-five minutes one would roar by and shake her back into a wakefulness she didn't want. Consciousness was cold and smelled like unwashed blankets. They might have had fleas in them, or bedbugs or something, because the tiny welts on her skin itched in forty-five minute intervals.A Troll Passes by Goldfish-In-Space
There had been no money in ages-- or food. Tramps had stopped trying to trade those things for sex; there wasn't enough left of her to trade. Her recollections of the times food or money had been important and scarce enough to to barter for were interrupted by another bus. She shivered, even though the leaves were still green on the trees.
"Fuckin... transit" she said to herself.
In the wake of the motor's scream, someone stirred on the walkway to her nest. Someone with a flashlight in the dusk.
"You can't sleep here."
The woman's jacket was blue, and the stripe of yellow running down th
To someone who was gone even thenThere was never a dayTo someone who was gone even then by Goldfish-In-Space
where the sun was shining
that I did not picture
someone else's smile
The Moth Farming Equipment The light basin hadn't been emptied in three days, and was ripe with fluttering wings. Sal fit the net over it and secured the leading cable. Her radio crackled.The Moth Farming Equipment by Goldfish-In-Space
"Remember your damn goggles, Sal. The screen says you're not wearing them."
"Yeah, yeah. Right," she said as lifted them to her face.
The basin was overfull, but she couldn't tell how many moths were just by-catch and how many were worth something. She hoped for something big and easy-- some Flowra or Jenny-Dreaming. She released the basin door and watched them gather on the sides of the net. A Jenny-Dreaming landed next to a Greymare and she frowned under the goggles. The Greymare's antenna brushed over a topato moth, and then the smaller insect was gone. She knew she had to get all the dark-winged ones out before they ate the others.
"There are a bunch of nightmares in there. Hope we still have some for dreamdust," she said. The radio didn't answer.
Her gloves came up past her shoulders, and she pushed them into the net over
The Sun and a StainIt rose from the dank earth, its skin ragged like a moulted root. It chaffed from the raw air. The scales fell away to leave weeping sores on its many limbs, which grasped and decayed the roots it escaped from. Dust met it and stuck in patches around the pincers that snapped at the sunlight like an enemy. The rays balked, as if scared. The creature hissed, and reared its head to challenge the sun.The Sun and a Stain by Goldfish-In-Space
"Lysander, look. Look at that. Auh! It's disgusting; kill it. Kill it please."
The elf regarded the eldritch horror, and then his boyfriend. Lysander stomped the creature with the heel of his boot, and winced when it popped, covering the leather with something purple and caustic.
"It's ruining my boots," he said.
"I have a wonderful ointment for leather in the caravan," said Fleance, "I can get a stable boy to apply it when we're at the inn, probably."
Fleance tucked his hair behind his ears and shot Lysander a look. What good was it if everyone thought they were just extraordinarily beautifu
What they do to KingsThrop, Maine, is a fishing village that subsides mostly on tourism. The last census reported about 4000 full time residents and another handful of part time residents that keep the scenery hungry tourists housed, fed and happy. The brightly painted storefronts of the main drag hold enough local colour to attract most kinds of people. The cheery woman running the consignment and used book store gives interesting directions to straightforward destinations, and the owner of Wharfside Bar and Inn offers personal boat tours for the right price. The man asleep on the bench in the sun tells tall tales about the ocean and surrounding woods. All three go to one of the two bakeries in town and direct the tourists to the other. A few years back, the town went through the Co-Op and had the sewers redone to stop the streets from becoming highways of newspaper boats and the imaginations of young boys. The Wharfside Bar owner tells a story about newspaper boats, and then laughs if you ask if he'll haWhat they do to Kings by Goldfish-In-Space
In Which Our Heroine Takes Action She wasn't sold, even if the decision had already been made. Pouting was no longer affirmative action, so she glanced out the window and tried to remember if it was rosebushes her mother had planted or something closer to harmless. Since her father had caught her with a few penny dreadfuls featuring woman escaped from their domestic destinies, thorned shrubbery had popped up under any terrace remotely climbable, jumpable or escapable by any imagining. The unattended trips to the Terrace Way Market had also stopped. At least they hadn't burned her books, or even looked through them. She decided the calibre of shrubbery didn't matter, because five petticoats and the overdress would be a fine barrier against thorns. In the back of an overlooked and overused novel was a diagram from a previous owner and in the girl's hands were every bit of linen she could smuggle into her room without it being missed.In Which Our Heroine Takes Action by Goldfish-In-Space
She wanted to see something clockwork. Something bigger than the mechanical kitten her f
|Here's what I've been up to "lately".|
Write BetterWrite BetterWrite Better by CrumpetsHarvey
A Expose-Lit Guide
We all need to.
Ponder, for a moment, these questions:
1. What was the first piece you ever wrote? How bad was it? How far have you come? 2. What is your favourite piece of literature? For how long had its writer been writing when he/she wrote it? How far have you got to go until you can write that well?
Assuming you’re somewhere between Total Beginner and Literary Genius, you have already travelled some distance along the path to better writing, but the way is long and you have many miles to go. Most published authors are just dallying at inns down side alleys a few miles ahead, exhausted or daunted by the length of the long, long road.
Catch them up, steal their pony, and gallop ahead laughing.
Because – though this may surprise you – good writing is more likely to get: a Daily Deviation, feature, prize, comment, favourite, or solicitation for publication (yes this
Ghosts of a Belle Dame"Those that go do not return,"
tales tell of the woods, be wary;
no good can come of entering.
Not that anyone lives to speak.
This path was his quickest means
with dead branches and peeling bark.
Everything falling away
like a corpse shedding its skin.
He knew the cost of his road
and soon grew fearful of it.
Gusts of wind forced his step
and the copse invited him in.
There were whispers in the trees
and eyes in every shadow.
His mind was not a trickster
and the forest possessed no life.
A faint hand fumbled out,
and he felt it against his skin.
Alas, his eyes could not perceive
what he knew to be there.
"Hide not in the gloom,"
he spoke into nothing,
"- the winds and moon betray you."
He choked through ash and dread,
"And you are revealed."
An apparition of light and pain
flew from the dark in earnest.
A knight of old armor and crest
whose face was stricken with woe.
A word could not escape him
and he motioned to the Earth.
Scattered in piles around them
were the bones of visi
The North doesn't have TeethWhen the striking red sun of dawn appeared in Jack Fliften Aplen's foggy eyes, birds chirped all around in high and low tones, the whistling of the wind caused his long ears to ring, and the crisp cold air continued to nip at his frost bit skin. He flexed his fingers and could not feel a thing. He fell asleep in the midst of a coniferous forest. He already knew he was in Gishmimimis, but in what part?
A breath of panic escaped his throat as Fliften lifted himself to a sitting position. His hands fumbled at his person, groping for any kind of compass or map or device of direction-keeping, and when he ran his fingers over one of the pockets on his long brown and gold-trimmed coat, he could hear the crinkling of paper. After two immediate tries shoving his hand into said pocket to retrieve what was making the noise, he did. The paper he pulled out was folded up, so he unfolded it into something larger. It was a map! But was it of this region
Three StrikesJudy took a deep breath and popped open the top of another Red Bull. She could hear one of her nine children crying from the hallway, but she just shook her head. It was only nine in the morning, and already she had played piano for the church’s 2 a.m. early risers’ service, gone shopping, planted six new vegetables in her personal sustainment garden, mowed the lawn, and fixed the kitchen table. How much more could she subject herself to, what else was there to do? Her book club did not meet until eleven, and she had already read the section seventeen times. Once she fed Joshua, there would be nothing. Maybe she could lie down for just a minute.
No, no she could not. Judy already had two strikes on her card. If she would go idle one more time, they would terminate her. Who would take care of her children? Her husband had already been terminated two years ago following a biking accident that left him bedridden. They had no other immediate family, and her oldest child was on
|Sometimes I try to give constructive advice.|
I usually accomplish being a jerk. A jerk with jargon.
Uhg, even worse.
Warning: "I-Statements" ahead! |
I try to make up for my lack of genuine genius with a lot of obsessive work on my writing. I think it's turning out to be a pretty good plan so far. I tend to think anything that lets me sit hunched over my computer chain tea-drinking as the sun beams down outside is pretty good.
I will critique any writing, you just have to ask me!