There is a website called 100 Words (http://www.100words.com/) where people post pieces of writing that are exactly 100 words long every day. The idea is to do it for an entire month without missing a day or being a single word over or under the limit. As they freely admit, the rules are arbitrary but they have a purpose. Word limits are a great help to developing writers because the either force you to be concise (definitely the case here) or force you to elaborate without becoming boring. Deadlines are intensely important too, if you want to publish. You can write anything you want, but if on 100 Words you fail to add a post every day for a month or do not make your entries exactly 100 words you get disqualified. If you succeed, your posts are published on the site. I have signed up, but since this is my first month nothing is visible yet. I must say that I am enjoying the site very much. We are not allowed to write ahead, but I find myself writing 100 word stories anyway just to challenge myself. It gets the creative juices flowing. Here, for your perusal, are the entries I have posted so far:
June 1 - My first try:
"She trembled with anticipation. Her throat was dry and rough. She swallowed her and ran her fingers across her bare arms. The skin was cool to the touch and overrun with goose bumps. She sank down onto the hard mattress and felt it pushing against her back, keeping her from falling into oblivion. It was such a strange feeling, as if she were on another plane. Her heart raced and her bloodstream screamed with adrenaline. She was so nervous. What was he going to do to her? What had he already done? The surgery was about to begin. He grinned. "
June 2 - This one is less creepy:
"There was faint music playing somewhere nearby. He felt the melody sifting through his brain and settling there, somewhere in the middle, nestled between his reason and his passion. It was delicate and soft, and so unobtrusive. Gently his breath rose to his vocal cords, and they began to vibrate to the tune of the song. His spine slowly joined the music and swayed him back and forth. He felt the muscles in his arms take up the dance as well. The lovely sound soon persuaded his feet to join the rest of his body in time. He felt happy. "
June 3 - I had writers block for this one. Try to read the first little bit and then skip to the end.
"Spinning spinning spinning round, round round round round. Spinning spinning spinning round, round round round round. Eating. Eating. Eating. Nestle. Sleep. Eat. Spinning spinning spinning round, round round round round. Spinning spinning spinning round, round round round round. Spinning spinning spinning round, round round round round. Spinning spinning spinning round, round round round round. Eating. Eating. Eating. Nestle. Sleep. Eat. Spinning spinning spinning round, round round round round. Spinning spinning spinning round, round round round round. Eating. Eating. Eating. Nestle. Sleep. Eat. Spinning spinning spinning round, round round round round. Spinning round, eat, nestle, sleep, eat. Think? No. Lucky hamster. "
June 4 - They say to write what you know, and I know what getting your back tattooed feels like.
"The vibrations echoed through her torso and rippled down her limbs. The pain was localized and expected. She could deal. She felt the machine touch, cut, and pull away. The cool spray of water was a relief. Her back was inflamed with colour. The ink smeared across her skin, obscuring the artwork now housed in her body. She wanted to see. She was one of thousands bearing the mark of a needle beneath her skin. The ritual was ancient, the practice of paying for it was trendy, and the need to be marked was primal. She had joined the ranks. "
June 5 - Writing what I know again. This was inspired by my dog:
"The little black blur tore across the living room once more, her white paws like a streak beneath her. Destruction followed wherever she went, and to find her one had only to follow its path. She was speed personified, agility incarnated, and ingenuousness embodied, and so impossible to catch or contain. Her willfulness knew now bounds. She was filled with the joy of life and free from all discipline, no matter how her adoptive family tried. She was lucky, as well, to have found loving and tolerant people upon whom she inflicted her behaviour. She was Adelaide, the Demon Dog."
June 6 - Whether you think this one is happy or sad says something about your personality.
"All she had to do was get on the bus. Her bags were loaded in the luggage compartments, her ticket was in her hand, and she had said goodbye. She had held him close and kissed him, knowing that it would be the last time. They had tried to salvage their relationship. After so many years, what else could they do? It was true, however, that the passion had died and only familiarity remained. Such familiarity. She looked hard at the steps of the bus. Then she watched as it pulled away, with her bags still in the compartments below. "
June 7 - This one is kind of tongue in cheek, and inspired by both my internet addiction and the webcomic xkcd, which is where I got the last line.
"Deep in cyberspace, the only sound reaching her ears was the clacking of her fingers on the keys. She heard no music, no television, and no voices calling her name. The room darkened as the sun went down and still she stared intently at the screen. The pale blue glow illuminated her stiff features, creating a statuesque image of a girl obsessed. She did not move from her post all through the night, defending her position from virtual warriors and staunchly standing her ground. The advance of her enemies could not be permitted. Nobody can be wrong on the internet. "
http://www.xkcd.com/386/
June 8 - I was reading a forum and a girl was complaining about reactions to her non-traditional wedding, and I was thinking about her as I wrote this:
"Once upon a time, there was an average looking girl who worked in an office downtown. When she was 28 years old, she had a conversation with her significant other and they decided that the time was right to get married. He offered to buy her an engagement ring. This girl, being a practical girl, said no to the diamond to save money. Her scandalously ringless hand prompted many an acquaintance to sneer and mock her, and so she calmly drew back her afflicted hand, formed a fist with her unencumbered fingers, and threw a punch. The satisfaction was incalculable. "
There will be more to come!
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Another one
I wrote this for an acting class as well. The assignment was to interview a classmate and create a monologue based on their answers. This girl had recently moved back home to get her B.A. after acting school did not work out the way she expected. She put a positive spin on the situation and said that she felt fulfilled even though she had given up on her dream, so these are not her words, but anyone who has ever studied acting knows that a lot of people drop out, and there are a lot of insecurities flying around. I tried to think about the people who left and what they must have been feeling, which was made easier by the fact that I was afraid that I would become one of them. Ultimately I did join the many who left, but looking back on the story I don't have the bitter feelings that I imagined. It still makes an interesting read, to me at least.
"I didn’t know it would hurt. I knew it in my head, but I couldn’t understand how it would really feel…or what it would do to me. The sudden shock of thousands of other people who are just like you trying to do exactly what you’re doing and doing a better job of it just leads to insecurities and loneliness that take over your entire life when you first strike out on your own, away from the protective familiarity of home…they fuck you up. Leaving home’s not supposed to be easy, but isn’t that just what people do? Don’t we all just swallow our pride and our loneliness and set out to follow our dreams? Our grand, glamourous dreams…mine was to be famous. Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to be famous, and I was going to do it on the stage. I never doubted that I would do it someday…I just let myself dream. Those dreams grew so strong in my mind, they sustained me when life was hard, and they felt sometimes like if I couldn’t make them work right now then I would absolutely die…but they promised, with their intensity, that they would work. Someday. If the opportunity just came along…that’s right, isn’t it? That’s the drive to go out and accomplish something, that’s what you need to get things done…everyone knows that. I thought. But I should have asked…if everyone knows that, why do only some people actually achieve it? Maybe if I’d asked myself that instead of trusting my fantasies I wouldn’t have dashed off to Toronto to study acting the first chance I got. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to face up to the fact that I’m not that special…that I’m not going to rise above the crowd, shining with glory, showing everyone how it’s done and changing people’s lives while I’m at it. Maybe instead I would have figured out that the answer to my question…why do only some people make good on their promise…is because it’s a lie. It’s all a big lie. The future promises nothing. But before you can really understand that, you have to abandon everything that’s safe and comfortable and leap into abyss, hoping you land somewhere safe and comfortable…in my case, with my name on a marquee…but knowing you’re far more likely to land on a pile of jagged rocks. Even if you’re warned about it ahead of time, nothing can prepare you for the shock, the pain, the fear…you have to go through it all just to find out if you get to land safely. So maybe it isn’t worth it. Maybe you look for another way. Maybe you can finally put those grand dreams into perspective, and, maybe, you start to let them go. Maybe now you understand what I’m doing here, back at home so soon. I didn’t know it would hurt quite like that. "
"I didn’t know it would hurt. I knew it in my head, but I couldn’t understand how it would really feel…or what it would do to me. The sudden shock of thousands of other people who are just like you trying to do exactly what you’re doing and doing a better job of it just leads to insecurities and loneliness that take over your entire life when you first strike out on your own, away from the protective familiarity of home…they fuck you up. Leaving home’s not supposed to be easy, but isn’t that just what people do? Don’t we all just swallow our pride and our loneliness and set out to follow our dreams? Our grand, glamourous dreams…mine was to be famous. Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to be famous, and I was going to do it on the stage. I never doubted that I would do it someday…I just let myself dream. Those dreams grew so strong in my mind, they sustained me when life was hard, and they felt sometimes like if I couldn’t make them work right now then I would absolutely die…but they promised, with their intensity, that they would work. Someday. If the opportunity just came along…that’s right, isn’t it? That’s the drive to go out and accomplish something, that’s what you need to get things done…everyone knows that. I thought. But I should have asked…if everyone knows that, why do only some people actually achieve it? Maybe if I’d asked myself that instead of trusting my fantasies I wouldn’t have dashed off to Toronto to study acting the first chance I got. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to face up to the fact that I’m not that special…that I’m not going to rise above the crowd, shining with glory, showing everyone how it’s done and changing people’s lives while I’m at it. Maybe instead I would have figured out that the answer to my question…why do only some people make good on their promise…is because it’s a lie. It’s all a big lie. The future promises nothing. But before you can really understand that, you have to abandon everything that’s safe and comfortable and leap into abyss, hoping you land somewhere safe and comfortable…in my case, with my name on a marquee…but knowing you’re far more likely to land on a pile of jagged rocks. Even if you’re warned about it ahead of time, nothing can prepare you for the shock, the pain, the fear…you have to go through it all just to find out if you get to land safely. So maybe it isn’t worth it. Maybe you look for another way. Maybe you can finally put those grand dreams into perspective, and, maybe, you start to let them go. Maybe now you understand what I’m doing here, back at home so soon. I didn’t know it would hurt quite like that. "
Something else
I created this blog back in December when I decided to give up theatre for good and start studying English, but I have neglected it severely since then. To add some content, here is a scene I wrote for an acting class last year:
"Cathy: Did you see the bill?
Reid: Yeah, I think so. What do you want for supper?
Cathy: It was high.
Reid: Oh. Do we still have potatoes, or did they go bad?
Cathy: Have you spent more time on the phone than usual this month?
Reid: Nope, don’t think so. Here, we could have rice instead.
Cathy: I called the phone company.
Reid: You didn’t have to do that.
Cathy: Apparently I did. Were you going to tell me?
Reid: Tell you what, Cathy? Tell you what?
Cathy: You know damn well what! How many calls to Baltimore? How many hours?
Reid: I know people in Baltimore, Cathy. I have friends in Baltimore. Sometimes I like to talk to them. I have as much right to call them as you do to call your friends in Seattle. Maybe I should call the phone company about that?
Cathy: You know Jocelyn in Baltimore.
Reid: You still have exes in Seattle, but that doesn’t mean every time you call Seattle you’re arranging to cheat on me. Relax, please, and stop letting your imagination run away with you. How should I cook the chicken?
Cathy: So, you haven’t called Jocelyn?
Reid: For the last time, Cathy, just let it go. You are so paranoid, sometimes I can’t breathe. You need to be more trusting.
Cathy: Do I, Reid? Do I need to just ignore my gut instincts and accept everything you say as truth? Is that what you want me to do?
Reid: That is what people do when the love each other. They trust each other and don’t interrogate them every time they use the damn phone. That is how normal people treat each other.
Cathy: People who love each other don’t keep secrets.
Reid: You think I’m keeping secrets?
Cathy: Who did you call in Baltimore?
Reid: Friends.
Cathy: Friends, plural?
Reid: You heard me.
Cathy: The phone company said it was the same number over and over again.
Reid: Then why did you ask? Why did you ask if you already knew the answer? This is what I’m talking about when I say you don’t trust me. How can I talk to you if you try to trap me?
Cathy: You lied to me! I have to trap you or else I can never get the truth!
Reid: I only lie because I know how you’ll react. You blow everything out of proportion and you get yourself all worked up over nothing. I have to tell white lies to keep you happy.
Cathy: You lie to make me happy?
Reid: Yes, I have to hide parts of my life from you because you don’t trust me. If you would just get over your paranoia I could tell you about calling my friends in Baltimore and you would support me, and not ask all these questions, but you can’t do that so I have to keep secrets from you.
Cathy: Then just tell me who you called so this can end!
Reid: I called Marty. He lives with John now, that’s why it was friends, plural. See what we could have avoided if you had just trusted me?
Cathy: That’s all? That’s all? If that’s all, why didn’t you tell me at the beginning?
Reid: Would you ever have believed me?
Cathy: No.
Reid: Well then you understand why I did what I did.
Cathy: I do understand.
Reid: Good.
Cathy: I don’t believe you.
Reid: Goddamnit Cathy, this is exactly the problem! We would be so much happier if you could just…
Cathy: I called the number.
Reid: You what?
Cathy: Jocelyn and I had a nice talk. She isn’t such a bad person, really, just naïve. I guess we have a lot in common.
Reid: Cathy…
Cathy: Is that why you like both of us so much? Is that why you can’t seem to pick one or the other? Is it, Reid? Tell me why you talk to her!
Reid: To get away from you! To get away from the nagging, the suspicion, the constant interrogation! I can’t breathe, Cathy! I can’t move without telling you why, why, why!
Cathy: If I’m so goddamn irritating then why don’t you just run along to her? Why stay?
Reid: Fine. Goodbye.
Cathy: Wait.
The End"
If I recall correctly there had to be two characters and a conflict, your basic requirements, and I was inspired by a recent conversation in my own life about phone bills, although I hasten to add that nothing else in the story is based on my life! I started thinking about why two people might be fighting over phone bills, what their motivations might be and how they might be affected by their argument, and this is what I came up with. Like most of my work, it was done quickly and on a whim with minimal editing afterwards. Unlike the post below this one, though, I had a deliberate intention and I did do some editing.
"Cathy: Did you see the bill?
Reid: Yeah, I think so. What do you want for supper?
Cathy: It was high.
Reid: Oh. Do we still have potatoes, or did they go bad?
Cathy: Have you spent more time on the phone than usual this month?
Reid: Nope, don’t think so. Here, we could have rice instead.
Cathy: I called the phone company.
Reid: You didn’t have to do that.
Cathy: Apparently I did. Were you going to tell me?
Reid: Tell you what, Cathy? Tell you what?
Cathy: You know damn well what! How many calls to Baltimore? How many hours?
Reid: I know people in Baltimore, Cathy. I have friends in Baltimore. Sometimes I like to talk to them. I have as much right to call them as you do to call your friends in Seattle. Maybe I should call the phone company about that?
Cathy: You know Jocelyn in Baltimore.
Reid: You still have exes in Seattle, but that doesn’t mean every time you call Seattle you’re arranging to cheat on me. Relax, please, and stop letting your imagination run away with you. How should I cook the chicken?
Cathy: So, you haven’t called Jocelyn?
Reid: For the last time, Cathy, just let it go. You are so paranoid, sometimes I can’t breathe. You need to be more trusting.
Cathy: Do I, Reid? Do I need to just ignore my gut instincts and accept everything you say as truth? Is that what you want me to do?
Reid: That is what people do when the love each other. They trust each other and don’t interrogate them every time they use the damn phone. That is how normal people treat each other.
Cathy: People who love each other don’t keep secrets.
Reid: You think I’m keeping secrets?
Cathy: Who did you call in Baltimore?
Reid: Friends.
Cathy: Friends, plural?
Reid: You heard me.
Cathy: The phone company said it was the same number over and over again.
Reid: Then why did you ask? Why did you ask if you already knew the answer? This is what I’m talking about when I say you don’t trust me. How can I talk to you if you try to trap me?
Cathy: You lied to me! I have to trap you or else I can never get the truth!
Reid: I only lie because I know how you’ll react. You blow everything out of proportion and you get yourself all worked up over nothing. I have to tell white lies to keep you happy.
Cathy: You lie to make me happy?
Reid: Yes, I have to hide parts of my life from you because you don’t trust me. If you would just get over your paranoia I could tell you about calling my friends in Baltimore and you would support me, and not ask all these questions, but you can’t do that so I have to keep secrets from you.
Cathy: Then just tell me who you called so this can end!
Reid: I called Marty. He lives with John now, that’s why it was friends, plural. See what we could have avoided if you had just trusted me?
Cathy: That’s all? That’s all? If that’s all, why didn’t you tell me at the beginning?
Reid: Would you ever have believed me?
Cathy: No.
Reid: Well then you understand why I did what I did.
Cathy: I do understand.
Reid: Good.
Cathy: I don’t believe you.
Reid: Goddamnit Cathy, this is exactly the problem! We would be so much happier if you could just…
Cathy: I called the number.
Reid: You what?
Cathy: Jocelyn and I had a nice talk. She isn’t such a bad person, really, just naïve. I guess we have a lot in common.
Reid: Cathy…
Cathy: Is that why you like both of us so much? Is that why you can’t seem to pick one or the other? Is it, Reid? Tell me why you talk to her!
Reid: To get away from you! To get away from the nagging, the suspicion, the constant interrogation! I can’t breathe, Cathy! I can’t move without telling you why, why, why!
Cathy: If I’m so goddamn irritating then why don’t you just run along to her? Why stay?
Reid: Fine. Goodbye.
Cathy: Wait.
The End"
If I recall correctly there had to be two characters and a conflict, your basic requirements, and I was inspired by a recent conversation in my own life about phone bills, although I hasten to add that nothing else in the story is based on my life! I started thinking about why two people might be fighting over phone bills, what their motivations might be and how they might be affected by their argument, and this is what I came up with. Like most of my work, it was done quickly and on a whim with minimal editing afterwards. Unlike the post below this one, though, I had a deliberate intention and I did do some editing.
Nights
This what you might call an attempt at a first draft. I pictured a woman sneaking into bed after her husband was asleep and began to write without a plan. This is what I came up with. It is unedited and unchanged, and therefore not very good but I felt like posting it anyway. It was in response to sundayscribblings' prompt "nights". I haven't decided whether what I'm doing to do with this story yet, so you may see it again.
"Martha crept guiltily into her bedroom, each step as deliberate as the last. She reached out her arms in the dark and, feeling the firm confirmation of her bed, crawled in. She stiffly rolled onto her back and glanced at the clock. In blinking lights she saw that she had lingered to long in front of the television again. With great care she turned her head and looked intently at her husband. He lay naked beside her, limp and motionless. His breathing remained shallow. She had not woken him. No lecture tonight. Carefully, Martha rearranged the blankets to cover her nude man. She turned away from him once more and felt for her iPod, cupped it to block the light, and selected her nighttime play list: slow, Dylan songs chosen to empty her mind of her problems and absorb her into sleep. She closed her eyes and tried to let the guitar take her over. It was to no avail. In her mind she kept running through conversations she had had that day, inane, boring conversations, and lists of things to do tomorrow. File the papers. Find the papers. Clean the kitchen. Get quarters for the laundry. No, it was loonies now. Damn expensive laundry. Martha did little to fight these thoughts, as she was accustomed to thinking out her days just before she fell asleep, and she knew that soon she would be in a dreamland free of the mundane details of ordinary life, if only for a few hours. This night, however, she found herself still wide away and half past five and she could hardly close her eyes. Her heart was beating strongly and she felt like she had just drunk a boat of coffee. She began to fidget, risking waking Matt, and turned her music up, but nothing she did could make her comfortable and she wanted to get up. Her rational mind begged her to remain in bed and get what little sleep remained in the night, but she disregarded it. She whipped off her blankets and flung her legs over the side of the bed, and stumbled quickly down the hall. Arriving at her computer chair she excitedly pressed the power button and waited impatiently for the machine to start up. When she was finally able to open her word processor she could no longer contain the spark that was building inside of her. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, expertly tapping out a masterpiece of short fiction. She could feel the fire in her words and the passion that flowed through her for this, her art. A story that had been building in her for a long time was freed at last, and Martha was ecstatic. It had been a long time. As the typing slowed steadily after a period of time, she stopped and read her work. It needed a lot of editing. In her haste she had made several errors and, she had to admit, her character came across as flat and unappealing. Her mind was growing foggy and she found she did not know where to take the story next, or whether it had anywhere to go. By now she was too tired to read the entire thing again and to make it interesting seemed like an impossible task. She saved the file under the name “Grace”, after her one-dimensional heroine, and allowed the computer to shut down. Martha then crept back down to her room and crawled into bed beside Matt once more, this time with a sense of incredible relief. Her spark had some back, if only for a moment. She could work on her story tomorrow. She did not know whether or not she would remember to, but she felt like the evening’s activities were proof that she wasn’t all burnt up. She smiled silently at Matt and fell asleep."
I think I wrote this because I often feel like Martha. Not about avoiding lectures from my (nonexistant) husband, but about my creative urge. I have gone a very long period without writing very much at all (seriously, I have written around five or six things in the last three years) and I worry that I am no longer able to. The saying is "writers write." If I am not writing prolifically, am I a writer? I certainly hope so.
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