They say creative people work better at night. I’m proving that true today since it’s 2:45 AM as I write this! I’ve accomplished more in the past three hours than I have three days. Yay!
As you may know, I have been pursuing discipline of late. You can find posts on that here, here, and here. Since setting daily goals hasn’t worked yet, I’m going to try something else. I’m going to illustrate a short story, or vignettes involving these two characters—Sally and Kenny. “Writing and illustrating?!” you say. Yep! It’s a double whammy to get the creative juices flowing. I hope you enjoy my illustrations. I’m not at all an artist!
Let me introduce the characters.
Sally—a precocious 8-year-old—always finds herself getting into mischief with her neighbor friend Kenny. Kenny is the level-headed one, but often his well-meaning efforts wind up getting him into trouble when Sally comes knocking. What shenanigans will these two find themselves in? Will they manage to convince everyone that they really aren’t up-to-no-good?
Today was a little harder to buckle down and write. Even though I wrote about 100 words more than yesterday, I had much more difficulty getting it out. I’m going to blame it on having a soccer game on at the same time, instead of zoning out with music through my headphones! It’s not at all because I lack discipline. That’s just silly.
I grunted as the rope burned my skin, rubbing it raw. A sharp pain shot from my hands and up my arms as a blister burst open. But the veil was almost up. I could see the end. The mist climbed faster and faster, creating more and more hands and feet. It was on the castle walls now. If it got in…if it got to the bell tower, I was doomed. I bit down and pulled and heard John’s muffled grunt beside me. We were almost there. A few more tugs and then…the rope began to slip through my hands, slick with blood and pus. With all my strength, I gripped the thick threads of the rope, willing it to stay between my hands. I couldn’t let it fall. Not now when we were so close. The mist was at the floor below. Every hair on my body stood. It was coming. It was here.
I’ve started Week 1 of my Discipline Goals. To hold myself accountable, I’ll post at least 100 of the words I write for each day. I’ve written about 150 today, but I’m not getting cocky. AND it doesn’t mean I only have to write 50 tomorrow. Otherwise, my discipline wouldn’t improve whatsoever. Here’s some of what I wrote:
I took my spot next to him and grabbed hold of the rope. “It’s a good day to die.”
“Always!” John roared over the crash of thunder.
We pulled the rope relentlessly, feeling the seconds zip by. It was now or never. If we didn’t get the veil up completely, I really would be dead. That happened a few times before I caught on to this mist thing. My parents had neglected to inform me of the curse before they died. What good is inheriting all this money and a crown when I’m supposed to die every other Tuesday? Not much if you ask me.
It’s late in the day. Actually, it’s November 9th already. The election isn’t over here in the US, and I’m sure many people are still awake watching it. I’m currently wired for reasons completely unrelated. So, I thought I’d share with you a story through memes. Let’s lighten up the mood, y’all!
The puppy got to thinking about what the mailman said. “Hmm…maybe it’s not all that bad to be cute.”
*Puppy stands in corner, making a high-pitched barking noise.*
Me thinks the puppy let the mailman’s words get to his head.
P.S. I am not at all winning NaNoWriMo. I am winning at corny jokes, though. Here’s one about a sandwich:
Peanut butter: “You’re way too sweet.”
Jam: “Are you jelly?”
See? Told you it was corny. This is where you laugh anyway.
I’m often awake when most are sleeping, and in those quiet moments, I find myself doing one of two things: watching a TV show, or thinking. I prefer the former, however lately, it’s been the latter. In my introspective state, a rather vulnerable one, I’ve decided to put myself out there again and give you a fragment of a story-in-progress. It’s a product of deep-seated emotions I had, ones that simmered just under the surface until I sat at my laptop, closed my eyes, and wrote. It was months, guys. We’re talking 7 months of an itch I refused to scratch. So, for my first ever piece of the Nightfall Stories (all the writing I post that, you guessed it, makes it past my self-conscious radar in the middle of the night) is “A Precipice.”
“Where do we go from here?” Alexander asked the question we both knew was coming.
I glanced over to his hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket, and his eyes fixed on the horizon. I was at a loss. We were on a precipice; the tip of either the end or the beginning. Neither of us knew which it would be, nor did we want to.
“I don’t know.” It was my go-to answer. I don’t know. What do you think? What should we do? Non-committal. I followed his gaze and traced the treetops with my own. “It’s a little ironic that we’re standing on the top of a hill, isn’t it?”
I laughed. I think.
“Yeah.” His breath wafted in waves from his nose into the cool air.
He sat on the frosted earth and patted the spot next to him. I flinched as the cold seeped through my jeans, and he drew me into his side. Pulling my hood farther down, he kissed the top of my head and said, “We’ll figure it out.”
I buried my head into his chest as a harsh wind blew around us.