As most of you know, I’m an aspiring fiction writer and this blog has been a record of sorts of my journey. It started with #Nanowrimo, and somehow I ended up at Indie Ink.
Each week, I would receive a prompt from another writer and then using that prompt, write a story. I was a beginner and admitted as much. I did my best though, and never felt belittled, inexperienced, or out-of-place.
The writers, and the folks that ran Indie Ink, were the most inspiring, friendly, and awesome people I have ever met. They provided an avenue for good constructive criticism and of course, compliments. Both used to help us grow. Continue reading →
The creature stared at the shore, trying to remember. What was the pull to the shore?
Somehow, it knew at one time the land was more important than the water, but in the vagueness of its brain, in the vestiges of humanness that remained, it strained to pull that memory forward. All the creature knew now was that the shore and the land was dangerous.
That was all she could say as she looked at the old lock on the jewelry box. She didn’t have the key and the lock was older than dirt. She had to get into the box. It had to be there. It was the last place she could look, she had literally torn her apartment apart.
The box had been handed down to her from her grandmother. It contained bits and pieces of her past – important things, “well, they were important at the time,” she said to herself.
The box and its contents were the only things from the past that she had left.Continue reading →
She pulled her journal out of the drawer of the desk and flipped through the ink-filled pages while walking to her favorite chair. Her journal was always written in ink, never in pencil. The journals were records of her thoughts, her true, no-holds barred thoughts. No editing allowed here, ever. That’s the way she wanted it when she started writing so many years ago, and the crossed-out sentences and pages, were a testament to that. No editing, always the truth.
As she settled in the chair, she pulled the pen out of the journal that had marked the new page and started to write what she couldn’t say out loud, not yet anyway. The words and the tears started to flow.
Well, November is over and I have no #NaNoWriMo novel to show for it. Not. one. word.
Yep, I didn’t write the novel that I had hoped to share. Not this time. I didn’t win, but I’m not a loser either. I’m a victim of time and life. Although I’m pretty sure I would’ve been able to catch up, attending a conference the first four days of November put me quite a bit behind. Sadly, life jumped in and changed my plans…yet again.
I make no apologies, although I am embarrassed as all get out – I really wanted to take part (and I let y’all know that I was planning on it, a few times).
There is a bit of good news (cuz some of you have asked) – I will be resuming my weekly fiction challenges, with the newest posting probably next week. I have to be honest, I’ve missed those challenges more than I missed writing my #NaNoWriMo novel.
Thanks for hanging in there with me. I appreciate all of you and your support, encouragement, and occasional thumps upside the head!
I can’t believe I’m writing this — we are getting ready to finish October and head straight into NaNoWriMo. Where did the time go? With that being said, I am taking a “time-out” from the Indie Ink writing challenges during the month of November. I hope you’ll stick around for my NaNoWriMo updates and if it seems that I’m slacking off, give me a push (or 3) to keep me on track. Here’s to 50,000 words in 30 days! It’s going to be an interesting month!
The couple sat stunned as they listened to what the rehab doctor was telling them. It didn’t make any sense, didn’t seem possible. They didn’t know how to react… the trauma of what she had been through over the past eight weeks, starting with the accident and then her very rough recovery and rehab, did not lead to immediate excitement. The couple sat there trying to take in the news, each in their own reverie. The husband took hold of his wife’s hand and brought it to his lips. She closed her eyes and remembered. Continue reading →
While I’m not quite finished tweaking and playing with the blog, one thing I did do, was make it easier (I hope) to subscribe to Fictional Graffiti. You can now subscribe either via RSS direct to your Reader or via email via Feedburner. If you’re a WordPress blogger, there is a “follow” button.
I appreciate all of you that have supported, pushed, commented, and provided the best feedback ever. I hope you will continue to follow along on this journey of mine.
She was so tired. She just put the boy down for a nap after his feeding. As she shuffled her way over to the easy chair, her mind kept going back to the boy. He was a month old, but looked like a toddler. He looked that way when he was born. She half expected him to talk when they first placed him next to her after he was delivered. Easing her tired body into the chair, she reflected on her pregnancy with the boy and how different it was in comparison to the girl. Being pregnant with the girl was a breeze. You would never know they came from the same parents by looking at them. He still looked the way he did after she delivered him. Continue reading →