“Say! . . . weren’t you unofficially partaking in that whole NaNoWriMo deal?”
“Why, Bob, I most certainly was.”
“???? . . . and?”
“And what? . . . oh. You mean, what happened with the NaNoWriMo effort?”
“Oh, for FSM sake; you didn’t finish it, did you?”
“No, Bob, I didn’t. But, I plan to.”
“You plan to . . . You do know we are in the middle of December, right?”
>>>>>>>>>> ooo <<<<<<<<<<
If I had a friend who talked to me, or even cared about stuff in my life, this is how the conversation might have gone. I don’t have a friend that talks to me, let alone one named Bob.
Yea verily I say unto you, dear reader, that I have failed the quest. Here is the sad result:
I was not doing bad, and then Florida happened. Six straight nights of no writing. Mind you, I had good intentions, but when your day is going nonstop from early morning to a tad past the day’s end, something funny happens.
Funny, and annoying . . . your body wants rest, your mind wants sleep, and when those two get in cahoots, boy, let me tell you . . . there’s no arguing with them.
I thought once we were at the resort (Disney) I would have a few hours each day, but there too the days shaped up to be long, and mostly on one’s feet. You can see I made feeble attempts in the last few days, but I will probably have to rewrite some of that as it was written with eyes drooping, and with me literally half asleep.
I failed, dear readers. I failed miserably. I performed at the level of most US students . . . 72% (35,995 words). Except I’m not a student in our wonderful school system, so I don’t pass with a “C” and a little trophy letting me know it’s enough to have tried.
I am beholding to a mean and unforgiving individual that does not like failure. Luckily, he’s been really knocked down and about by a very nasty sore throat, but I shudder thinking of what I will have me do once I get better.
Personally, I supplicate the the mighty and powerful FSM for my punishment to be no more than to be forced to finish the story.
I mean, I would have already, but my creative side, the one with all the brains, is helping the mean guy with the sore throat.
OK, OK . . . readers have a hard enough time reading my stuff without me playing identity and word games.
I did not finish the challenge. I’m disappointed. I plan to finish the story anyway, and would have already if it weren’t for this here awful sore throat. It saps my creative juices it do.
But you know what? I am going to link a few short stories I wrote in years past. Short stories that I like, you see, and it bothers me they never got much circulation (my writing posts consistently rank low in views and likes).
Some of my regular readers actually read my stories, so my apologies to you. Feel free to make like the majority of readers when I first presented these, and ignore the following links.
I know the chance of anyone actually clicking on one link, let alone five, is miniscule, but who knows; maybe some of these stories will get a few more pairs of eyes on them.
First up is a short story called The Guest written just shy of a year ago. Part of me liking it is because I used some lines from FireFly and Serenity in the story, but the other part is because . . . well, I rather not spoil it, but like many stories, it reflects my views on certain things.
Someone told me once that I have a knack for putting a lot of emotion into very short stories. I don’t know about that because I’m a poor judge of my own writing (I like everything I do). Still, I respect that person’s opinion, so I will accept his comments at face value. Here, for your enjoyment, is my effort in response to a writing prompt, Thoughts in the Wind.
This next link has two stories in it, also both in response to writing prompts (from a time when I did not bother titling the stories I wrote in response to prompts). The first one is short and “meh”, but I happen to like the second one. Not as much as The Guest, but they are different beasts, and I enjoyed writing the imagery for this one.
This next one is about something that has always concerned me. Not in an all-consuming worry kind of thing, but as something in the back of my mind. It’s probably a slight cheat with respect to the prompt that generated it, but to this day The Hunter remains one of my most favorite pieces of flash fiction. At just 364 words, maybe it does show I can get a lot of emotion into small word packages. Who knows; I just like the idea of it.
And finally, because I don’t want to leave anyone with a downer . . . Water Wars: The Raid.
And that’s it. I hope I get control of my creative side soon, finish the NaNoWriMo story, finish the other stories, catch up on my photographs (I’m only a year behind right now), and in general get on the ball. I’ probably fall off and break something, but I’ll give it a try.
Oh, yeah . . . here’s a picture.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ o o o o o o ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Astute persons might have noticed these doodles, and correctly surmised they hold some significance for me, and perhaps for humanity at large.
If you click on the doodle, and nothing happens, this is the link it’s supposed to go to: https://disperser.wordpress.com/2011/12/26/palm-vx-and-i/.
Note: if you are not reading this blog post at Disperser.Wordpress.com, know that it has been copied without permission, and likely is being used by someone with nefarious intention, like attracting you to a malware-infested website. Could be they also torture small mammals.
Please, if you are considering bestowing me some recognition beyond commenting below, refrain from doing so. I will decline nominations whereby one blogger bestows an award onto another blogger, or group of bloggers. I appreciate the intent behind it, but I would much prefer a comment thanking me for turning you away from a life of crime, religion, or making you a better person in some other way. That would actually mean something to me.
Should you still nominate me, I will strongly suspect you pulled my name at random, and that you are not, in fact, a reader of my blog. If you wish to know more, please read below.
Note: to those who may click on “like”, or rate the post; if you do not personally hear from me, know that I am sincerely appreciative, and I thank you for noticing what I do.
. . . my FP ward . . . chieken shit.