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Friday, 1 September 2017

Bite of the were-rabbit


New game! I'm writing a story driven by Twitter polls and a prompt taken from one of the daily writing events.



      
Chosen prompt word: alone. Here we go with the story... 


Sertundeth Park wasn't dangerous. Not normally, anyway. Callibor Nim had cut through the park every day on her way home from Wannabeahero School, and she'd never had a problem. Unfortunately, today someone had decided to turn out the lights.
     
     The lampposts in Sertundeth Park gave out infra-pantz light (which was designed to be used in areas so affected by dark magic that sunlight refuses to enter). To human eyes, the light was a dim purple but the park creatures had to wear paper bags on their heads to avoid being blinded. Today, however, something had gone wrong. Callibor was only halfway home when she was plunged into darkness. She immediately stopped dead, opened her school bag - ziiip! - and took out her knife.
     
     Callibor's parents had bought her the best knife they could afford. It had a golden handle and was a foot long. Callibor's headteacher, Commander Arnda, said it was more like a short sword than a knife. It had 17 special features, including stun, fire blast, death ray, and cat. Callibor hunted for the flare setting. By the time she'd found it and the blade had burst into silver flame, it was too late. A were-rabbit had spotted her.
     
     Were-rabbits were the most terrifying of all the were-creatures (although the were-rabbi - hybrid offspring of the autocorrect demon - was almost as scary). The were-rabbits bred like, well, rabbits and their murder burrows occupied every square inch of space beneath the surface of Sertundeth Park.
     
     Although Callibor was normally quick with her knife, this particular rabbit was too fast for her. Before she'd even managed to yell in surprise, it had jumped up and bitten a large chunk out of her forearm. Giggling to itself, the were-rabbit bounded merrily away, leaving Callibor to collapse in pain onto a park bench.
     

What happens next? You decide! 
     

Sunday, 15 January 2017

2017 is the year of 'The Edit' !




Not sure everyone would agree with this, but I think creative writing breaks down into two very distinct stages:
  1. Free-writing (manically splurge the words and ideas from your brain to the page)
  2. Editing (turn the free-write splurge into something a human being might actually want to read)
Last year, I was definitely buried neck-deep in the first stage. The whole year was one long manic frenzy of typing. Somehow or other, I managed to produce a million words of free-writing. And before that, through a mixture of writing and plotting my fantasy series, I'd produced at least another million words.

What I'm trying to say is: I seem to have written a lot of words.

This year, 2017, I'm going to lock myself away from the world - as much as feasibly possible - and start on stage two: The Edit. I'm planning to dive headfirst into all those words, grab a handful or two, and then somehow shape those words into something readable. And then I'll do that again. And again... until I either:
  1. Turn into a gibbering puddle of Mark 
  2. Die in the attempt
  3. Produce a novel
  4. Produce several novels
  5. All of the above
So... please send love, luck, and cookies. Definitely the cookies.