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Posted: Tue Apr 03, 2007 11:28 pm
by Delaney
You suggest that prompt OFTEN? :shock: lol

Posted: Tue Apr 03, 2007 11:37 pm
by Anblick
WHAT? Isn't that a common conversation prompt?

Posted: Tue Apr 03, 2007 11:39 pm
by Delaney
Mmmm... well, it's not an ice-breaker I would use at parties... if I ever went to them.

Posted: Tue Apr 03, 2007 11:43 pm
by Anblick
Just think of the 4-8 most random things possible and ask how they fit in... lol

Posted: Tue Apr 03, 2007 11:49 pm
by Delaney
Okay, your turn:

Grey's Anatomy, peroxide, chicken nuggets, Avon, and Easter eggs.


Posted: Wed Apr 04, 2007 8:27 am
by Mlou
I had to study Grey's Anatomy to find out that Avon hair products contain lots of peroxide and that chickens lay "nuggets" more frequently than they do Easter eggs. :twisted:

Posted: Thu Apr 12, 2007 6:51 pm
by Delaney
LOL nicely done.

Posted: Thu Jun 07, 2007 4:43 pm
by Delaney
Okay, I wasn't sure where I should pose this question, so I figured the writing blog will do.

Mark wants to design a website for me based on the suggestion of X and Mudge that I write something (either novel OR memior)... based on past expriences. I don't actually have a well thought-out plan of where it begins or where it ends... but like any great wannabe writer, I DO have a title. Mark has suggested using this title as the web address, but I am slightly paranoid about somebody stealing it (I think it's a really good one). So is there some way to, I don't know, copyright it or something? Is there any way to keep it as mine mine mine? lol

Posted: Mon Jul 16, 2007 5:42 pm
by Delaney
I got the writing bug.

You know there's a very good reason why people shouldn't write sporadically. If you don't write every day, you tend to forget where you put your muse.

I have 3,758 words already invested in my Banshee story. Now that I go back to it, I'm a little lost. It's like when you haven't seen somebody for a long time, and you forget what you used to talk about with each other.

Right now I feel like my character is stuck in one place of the story and may never get out. I don't know where to move her.

Posted: Mon Jul 16, 2007 7:11 pm
by mae
Del, how well do you know your character? Have you written out her background life story? That often helps you learn what direction to go. If you haven't done that, I'd strongly suggest it. You'll be amazed what you'll learn about your character. mae

Posted: Mon Aug 13, 2007 2:59 pm
by Delaney
I think I've lost my imagination.

I think that's why my stories always ubruptly lie flat and I can't think of how to end them. I'm thinking of what SHOULD happen next, not what COULD happen next.

Does that make sense?

It's weird. I mean, I read fairy tales and children's books... I used to make up entire soap operas with Barbies. I would entertain myself for hours, without anyone else to play with, and come up with the weirdest pretend stories that I was always the main character of. I even had a story I used to play out when I rode my bike... I would circle the garage for hours acting the parts, and there was a talking tornado, bad guys, and of course me and my powerful bicycle.

Where did that all go?

Posted: Mon Aug 13, 2007 3:38 pm
by jt752
If you register the Domain name with Internic, then no one else can use it during the licensing period. This does require a small fee.

The person designing the website should know this already.

Posted: Mon Aug 13, 2007 6:00 pm
by mae
You grew up, darlin'. It's hard to have that unfettered imagination when you're an adult. Most other adults think you're weird if you give in to it. Maybe you should just take yourself on a walk around the block and start acting out an old story from when you were a kid. Don't worry about writing anything down, yet. Get your imagination used to being free. You'll probably start to get a reputation of being that crazy lady who talks to herself, but your writing will just take off!


Posted: Wed Aug 15, 2007 3:04 pm
by Delaney
I've always wanted to be the crazy lady who talks to herself!

"I don't wanna grow up, I'm Toys R Us kid..."

Posted: Tue Feb 05, 2008 9:14 am
by Delaney
A Fairy Tale (Inspired By Boredom On An Overnight Shift), by Claire Martin

Once upon a time (no one has bothered with an actual date because the author really isn't interested, but you can safely assume there are long flowy dresses and the occasional wimple involved, if it helps) there was a girl (there's always a girl) who was considered by many to be a fool. This was a very bad assumption, and not only because Biblically, there are very grave dangers mentioned to those who presumptuously consider someone a fool, but also because it was not entirely true. And one problem with not knowing the truth about a person is that once you find out what it is, it can be terribly surprising. And if you're not prepared for the truth because you've been modeling your behavior according to a bunch of lies, who knows what kind of danger may befall you?

But I digress. On with the fairy tale.

The girl, being distressed by the part of her that actually WAS a bit foolish, decided to lock herself away in a house with no mirrors. As with most people, she worried far too much about how the others had treated her, and soon her worries grew until she almost believed them. For that reason, she could not stand to look at herself.

Plus, she couldn't stand her hair.

Then one night after years of solitude and depression (no one is sure of exactly how many years, but you can safely assume that by this time wimples have all but died out, and pointy shoes are 'in'... she skated past several fashion mistakes in her absence from the world, and stuck to neutral, unflattering options as nobody could see her anyway, and burlap is more comfortable than a corset*) she heard a rumble on top of the roof. Now I suppose it could've been a branch falling from tired old tree, or a shingle flipping in the blustery wind, or possibly a squirrel who had had too much to drink and upon being dared to, jumped from the highest branch in the highest tree and stupidly thought he could catch a safe landing onto a nearby branch, except that there was no branch nearby, which he discovered upon being knocked unconscious as he hit the roof and all his squirrel buddies laughed at him.

But for the sake of the story, we'll go with a fairy godmother.

Of sorts.

Dana (I just pulled that name out of my ass... you can call our protagonist whatever you want) was startled at the noise and ran to see what the commotion was. She didn't get farther than opening the door when she gasped. There, in her doorway, was the ugliest face she had ever seen. It consisted of a totally straight and boring nose, lips artificially plumped, and lids so loaded with some kind of sticky, colorful substance that her eyes attracted bugs like flytape.

"Hello!" the fairy began cheerfully. "I am the goddess of vanity. I have come to grant you a wish!"

"If you're a goddess, why do you have a wand and why are you going to grant me a wish?" Dana asked the fairy.

The fairy rolled her eyes. "Alright, alright. I'm the FAIRY of vanity. But I hope to be promoted soon." She took a moment to primp her hair.

"Now, what can I grant you?"

Dana looked out her window at the cruel, cruel world.

"I wish for the world to not be cruel anymore."

"Oh geesh. I'm the fairy of VANITY. Besides, perhaps if I do something with that hair you'll feel better about going out into the cruel world," the fairy suggested.

Dana shrugged. "Okay."

And as soon as she said the word the first fairy disappeared and her hair shaped itself into a lovely beehive that would even make Amy Winehouse jealous.

Suddenly Dana heard a *pop* and there before her stood another fairy.

"Hello, dear," she said kindly. "I am the fairy of wishful thinking. I've come to grant you a wish!"

Dana took another look outside at the cruel, cruel world, and asked the fairy to make it less so.

"Oh, of course dear!" The fairy took her wand up excitedly, but instead of pointing it at Dana, or even the cruel world, she pointed it at herself and *pop* -ed away.

Dana took a disappointed glance outside and realized she'd been duped. She patted her beehive in a comforting way and as she turned around, she realized her candles were all aglow. A little man sat her kitchen table reading a very big book with very big words and helping himself to a rather large snack from Dana's own stash.

Brightening a bit, she came forward and asked hopefully, "Are you a fairy?"

The man gave her an affronted look. "What is it about you people? I'm unmarried and wear a cloak, sing in choir and listen to Cher and you just ASSUME..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Dana said as she slid into the seat next to him. "it's just that I had hoped you would grant me a wish."

"A wish? What kind of a wish?"

"I wish the world wasn't so cruel," Dana sighed. "Everybody I knew said I was a fool."

"Well, you can at least take comfort that they're all in danger of hell's fire now," the man said, biting into an apple.

Dana thought for a moment.

"But... I wish they would realize that it's not polite to assume things about other people."

"You just assumed I was a fairy," the man pointed out. "And I just assumed you wouldn't miss these apples." He gestured to the plate of fruit in front of him.

"So then I am a fool?" Dana said worriedly.

"We all are. At sometime or another anyway. We don't know the whole story about anyone, not even ourselves. So sometimes we tend to rely on bad judgment, or read too much into a first impression that alienates us from the truth."

He took a bite of his apple.

"It's human nature," he continued with a shrug. "The really foolish part is when you give up on finding out the truth about yourself. You tend to hide..." he gave her a pointed look,"...or you make snap judgments to compensate, and laugh people out of town and into a house without a mirror."

"So you're saying I should go back to the cruel world anyway?" Dana asked.

"I'm saying, how can you prove that you're not a fool," he took another bite, "unless you do?"

With that Dana got up from her seat and started to march towards the door. But before she got to open it she had to say one more thing.

"How can I ever thank you? You are so wise, how can I repay you for your insight?"

The man shrugged. "It's my job. You've just been visited by the fairy of intellect."

And with that he poofed out of sight (taking the fruit with him), and Dana embarked on entering, and hopefully changing, the cruel, cruel world.


*I should know.

Posted: Tue Feb 05, 2008 9:36 am
by TheMudge
Dang, girl.

Exactly WHY don't you write more?

Posted: Sat Feb 09, 2008 12:55 am
by mae
See? I told you!

Posted: Wed Feb 13, 2008 11:18 am
by jt752
Extremely well done. Loved the use of humor and I sensed a bit of sarcasm.

Made me think of "Fractured Fairytales"

Don't ask, it's way before your time. :-D

Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2008 6:45 am
by Delaney
So it's over before it began again
my sideways infatuation

I hit a wall that I've been holding up
with such conviction

but I will suffer in silence again
for a love and it's
more wholesome

so I will sew my lips
into a smile that refutes

and pay no attention the man
behind the green curtain
and must ignore his
charitable deception

yes, it is over before
it began again
a flicker of your eyes
tell me
this is just obsession

and we will never speak again
of this unspoken thing
upon blurred reflection

Posted: Fri Jan 01, 2010 5:10 pm
by Delaney
Bring to me...
... your curiosities,
... your madness,
... your unapologetic indifference,
... and shine it in my eyes, so that I might almost see you,
... just out of reach, to keep me intrigued,
... not so close as to corrupt objectivity
- the study -
of the human animal, and wake the dark things lurking in the mind,
or arouse the sleeping ugliness inside, sounding alarms, urging to pull on disguises and deceive once again.
You're only ugly on the inside.

Posted: Sun Sep 14, 2014 3:44 pm
by Delaney
Would you like to know how my day has been? Tough crap! Wrong blog :D

Seriously though, recent illness has at least been good for one thing: getting a story that has been swirling around in my brain OUT and plucking it onto a page. It seems feverish dreams spawn creativity at times. I present to my WTers ::drumroll please:: The latest, the unfinished, the unedited... part one of chapter one of the untitled:

Thomas trudged up the road, the uneven hillside making his steps even more labored. It was already dark, for which he was grateful. As far as he knew, this place was hidden from the gods.

The damp ground did not help with the load he was pushing. It was small compared to what he had sometimes had trudge up here, but that didn't make it any better for him. He stopped as he came to the grassy hill... was there any where left? The markers were untrustworthy. It wasn't just a hill for those who deaths had been witnessed and documented - anybody could've dug a hole here. The constant dampness and slippery ground would have made it unremarkable, and anyways who would investigate?

This was what was termed a Potters' field, but it was really just a dumping ground for undesirables. Traditionally that meant criminals, but to criminals that meant anyone who needed to be lost. Thomas often felt when he was up here that the wind sent the voices of the spirits free, that they whisked by his head as he buried the bodies found or was told about. It didn't bother him. He took care to bury each body as gently as possible, just in case, and hardly ever stole anything from them. Especially the prostitutes - those ladies had nothing in life, they ought to have a bauble or two for death. But the taxman, oh, the taxman was different. He made his money by stealing from anyone, bringing fear into the town below. That pocketwatch he wore on the inside of his shiny new coat - he hadn't earned that. He stole it off of others' misery. No, that went to someone else. He didn't even feel a twinge of remorse as he ranked that from the young man's body. He didn't even bother to make sure the body was right side up. He hoped the man would stare at Hell forever.

He stopped in a place where the markers were scarce. He hoped it was a good place, one where the markers hadn't simply been blown away or rotted. This was a young girl's body.

'Pretty little thing, maybe,' he thought as he unwrapped the little girl from her sackcloth prison. The rain had still soaked through, but not too much. He looked up at the moon as if to check for eyes hidden in them somewhere, and nodded. He was not guilty. He wouldn't have left this job to anyone else, and nobody else would either.

Then he dug.


"Nooooo!!!" a child screamed.

"Shhh!!! You're too loud!" Another child's voice. "We'll get in trouble!"

Then they giggled. Clara was a girl of ten, and Hodges her only child companion. The big house they lived in was in bad shape for rearing children in general, but it was like a county fair in terms of hide and seek. Hodges didn't know why Clara always found him though, because Clara had a secret.

Clara had explored all the best hiding places in the house. There were forgotten corners, trick doors, and places she had also warned Hodges never to go... SPOOOOKY places she would tell him. Hodges, though the same age, was younger than she, and was too timid and trusting to ever go looking in a place she had sanctioned as too scary or dangerous for him.

"Hodges, your knees are dirty," she said. "You must go clean yourself up. They'll want us for dinner soon."

"Okay," he replied, wiping himself off and obediently going toward his bedroom to change, and presumably, forget to wash up.

Clara herself had heard the big clock downstairs chime that the afternoon had officially, according to Father Time, arrived. It was faint, but she learned how to hear everything in this house. Every creak and voice and footstep. It was a necessity, because outside the house, the hill was always dark. Even now, when it was lightest, the rain made it appear to be twilight. But the clock had gone CLUNG faintly, and the merest tinkle of teacups and assorted china dishes could be heard a far way off in the kitchen. It was best as children to simply arrive without an adult having to pester them. The more they did themselves, the more everyone would let them do it by themselves.

Clara decided to wear the same dress she had put on that morning, as few people would remember seeing it. She had nipped down to the kitchen right away, as the grownups were already brewing a polite but deceptively lively debate, and crept out as quietly as she had come.

Her gloves needed changing. She had gotten them dirty by prying open the door in the far hallway that always stuck. Rust from the handle and manipulating the hinges stained her black fingers a dusty red. Aunt Lockley would be down there now for tea, and "dirty, unkempt" little girls would never pass the inspection of that glassy, surprisingly eagle-like glare.

Her cabinet was full of gloves. She was taught ever since she could dress herself that gloves were an essential part of not "putting others off." They meant her arms. She had marks from birth that resembled a tea stain all over her forearms, and a plethora of gloves were acquired for her in order to cover them up. When she was small, Clara would gaze at the stains before falling asleep, scanning the shapes and following the stories they told, like looking for shapes and stories in a cloud. She had seen horses galloping, journeymen traveling, memories haunting...

They grey pair would do, she thought.

Hodges came around and stood in the doorway, looking expectantly at her.

"Ready?" she asked. He nodded.

"Let's go then."

They walked down one flight of stairs, two flights, then another, to reach the open tea room where Aunt Lockely and Marian Thornsby sat in stillness. As far as Clara could tell Marian was not a blood relative but a sort of permanent guest. Thomas Thornsby was the groundkeeper for as long as she could remember, but one day a Marian had been unearthed and introduced to the rest of the little family, and she simply stayed. Clara assumed she was family of some kind. She noted the slight ribbons of red hair among the silvery grey, a strong resemblance to Thomas' own coloring, when it was visible. Everybody in the house spoke little, but Marian spoke the least. But she spoke the most to Aunt Lockley, who appreciated the company as she spoke the most of anybody, and whose conversation was the least sought of all.

Mr. Thornsby was called just Thomas by all but Hodges and Clara herself. He was her favorite of the household, despite his gruff manner and the everpresent layer of grime that he tracked in from the grounds. He was always covered in dirt, damp grass, and a frown. He spoke little but Clara suspected he thought much. At times when she was instructed to go outside and 'play' she would find Mr. Thornsby and sit in an unobtrusive place nearby, and the two of them would not talk, together. He would acknowledge her with a nod, brown eyes glimmering under the bushy, unkempt brows. His face was largely hidden by a short, bushy beard. He would go along with his work. Sometimes he would glance over at her discreetly and appear to busy himself with some new task that wasn't particularly important, like taking spare nails out of old timber from a pile or rearranging something in the nearby flowerbed. Then when she got up and headed toward the house, he would stop what he had been doing, and disappear to somewhere else.

Hodges became timid around the man. He said once to Clara that his beard scared him, to which Clara had promptly replied that he had no business being scared of anybody just because of how they looked. After all, Aunt Lockley had a cloudy eye and teeth rimmed with black, and she herself had her birthmarks that had scared the other children at school her first day, and still made other adults from the town below uncomfortable. Some had even said that everyone in the house was "cursed." Even Hodges had a peculiarity about his ear. It was an odd shape to begin with, and folded over at the top like a dog's. The lobe had two small incisions at the bottom, as if a Hell hound itself had bit a piece of it off. Neither child went to school because of their various deformities. On Clara's first day of school the other children had chased her during playtime and threw rocks and kicked her when she fell down. It was decided by Aunt Lockley that Clara's education would have to remain at home, which resulted in a pleasurable exploration every day of any book she liked in the library downstairs. She was at leisure to peruse the many shelves, and in lieu of any formal instruction, Aunt Lockely would ask simply what she had learned that day. And when Hodges had shown up, she was told to instruct him too.

Clara had never remembered a day when she couldn't read. There were a number of things she couldn't remember, but had never been curious enough to inquire about. She had no recollection of a mother, or indeed a father, but had not missed having either. She knew from the books she read that a mother and father figure appeared to be a crucial part of the family construct, but she was not clear on why it was important and did not busy herself with such questions anyhow. She always found that topics about Animals, Mythology, and the vast array of mortuary subjects kept her well insulated from the petty incongruencies of her own situation.

She felt a tinge of excitement as she realized that this time spent with her books would commence after tea.

"Very prompt," Aunt Lockley nodded in approval as they appeared in the room. "Have some tea then? And a sandwich for you both."

The two children pulled their chairs out carefully and sat down. Each took some tea and a sandwich as offered - watercress paste, yuck! Clara thought to herself - and ate in polite silence.

"There will be guests here tomorrow children, so you know what to do. Except for you Hodges. Before you resume your usual activites with Clara tomorrow, Marian could use some assistance in the flower garden. She has expressed a desire to design a bouquet for the special occasion and I would like you to be sure she can access everything she needs. If she needs a wheelbarrow, you can fetch Thomas's smaller one. Every little thing that she asks of you Hodges," She wagged a finger at the child meaningfully. "No distractions! Once she is threw you may go back to your learning with Clara. Is that understood?"

Hodges nodded but looked up slightly at Thomas Thornsby.

Aunt Lockley sighed.

"I'm sure Thomas wouldn't mind fetching the wheelbarrow to leave for you in the morning, if you are too afraid to go out to the barn."

"Thank you Aunt -" Hodges began.

"Don't thank me! Thank Thomas."

Hodges fell silent. A barely perceptible bead of sweat began to travel from his forehead to his nose as he gazed awkwardly at the man looking down at him.

Thomas simply smiled, and nodded at the boy. Then turned decidedly back to his tea with the air of one who has no intention of breaking his concentration of it for quite some time.

Aunt Lockley sniffed, and the subject was dropped.

"What is the special occasion, Marian?" Clara asked.

Marian did not answer, but smiled.

"Do not be so curious, Clara! You will find out when it is done. That is all. It is no business of yours. You are to tell me something of the native customs of the land tomorrow night, however. I should like it to be researched thoroughly. You will probably need to utilize the mortuary section of the library for much of that."

Clara was not particularly unused to Aunt Lockley's special assignments. If anything it made her feel important to be able to present her aunt with information that would be well received from her. If she did a good job, which she always did, she would often be rewarded in some way.

"I will ma'am," she replied.

(To be continued...)

Posted: Wed Sep 17, 2014 7:52 pm
by timberline
Just checking in and saw this, Delaney. Nice beginning to your story. Will it be a novel?

I've been missing the old WT crowd since it lapsed and I've gone to
Facebook as Walter Giersbach. Stay in touch for old times' sake.

Posted: Fri Oct 17, 2014 12:11 am
by pengwenn
Very interesting beginning. I like it and would want to read more. I really liked how you desicribed the Aunt by how much everyone talked. Spot on with a clear picture of what she's like. I hope you'll post more.

Posted: Sun Oct 19, 2014 3:45 am
by Delaney
Timberline: I found you on FB! I was really happy to your name in reply to this blog... hope everything is well.

Pen: Thanks hun, alot of the character descriptions are still in the works, but I liked that part too :-D Appreciate the comment!

So I am continuing with this story line. The first part (above) was the only part of the story that had an actual scene from my head to manifest, whereas what I'm doing right now is exploring every idea in every crevice and allowing the story to decide what it wants to be. I think we all know that's the best way to get a good, readable story is when we simply let it write itself. Who am I to micro-manage On that note, it has finally taken some more direction. I just kept writing, and it started to shape itself. I think we have a main character, or antogonist anyway, and I may have to start creating the rest of the story based upon this unprecedented story line.

I'm especially interested in the new character. I anticipate him to be of great entertainment for me in the coming chapters.

At first, he was just one of many possible characters, with vague outlines and shadowy attributes. Then he had a form, then a manner about him, now he may even have settled on a name, and perhaps will carry the story ::shrug::

Back to the first post: I tend to not re-read what I write too closely to too soon after having written it. Inner critics and perfectionism psych me out and discourage me from writing the rest after a few mistakes, or sometimes its just too soon for me to take it all in soberly. That makes it difficult to find the mistakes.

So upon re-reading finally I notice that yes, it a decent start, but there are loads of inconsistencies and slopiness.

Which would usually drive me insane.

But I don't think I'm going to do anything more than cursory editing at this point. My "wait and see" approach is the best one for actually GETTING THE THING WRITTEN, which is the greatest hurdle. Editing can be its own monster. I'm going to keep "finishing" as my goal, so WTers, as the drafts pour out into the blog, please keep in mind that it is, to some extent, about quantity.

However, I always appreciate crits so feel free. Grammar and spelling especially - all of which will help with later editing. I figure I'll just keep posting bits and pieces here since I have no idea how active our old writing groups are these days.

I haven't meandered around WT much. I basically just do my own sh*t.

I'm self -absorbed in that respect.

Posted: Thu Nov 13, 2014 2:26 pm
by timberline
And who, pray tell, are you on Facebook? God, I hate these aliases and avatars!