I have the Writer's Book of Days by Judy Reeves. I know it's already 11th of January (BTW, a month til Olympics...)
I haven't written one word this year, not one "serious" word. I have, of course, been writing in different forums and twittering and short notes, and such, but that's not writing. I used to love essay writing in school, I sat down with the paper and pen and let the thoughts flow on the paper, and it was wonderful. I wrote, wrote and wrote, and loved every minute. I'm off habit now. I find it difficult to sit down and write, as if what I write must be good. Bah! I say. Bah, humbug! Let's write trash!
Write the last line to an unwritten novel that's so intriguing that others won't help but want to read the book.
Their eyes met, and Kiltmintra smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. It was sinister, wicked, full of promises of something bad, but he was charmed. For some reason he couldn't forget the smile nor the woman. He remembered reading somewhere about choosing the one bad thing one hasn't tried yet, and he thought that this woman might just be the one bad thing he should try. So he turned and went back to find her.
Kiltmintra was used to that reaction, so she had just sat down in the café, waiting for the man to come back. If he wouldn't, someone else would, and Kiltmintra was being bored. She wanted a new toy to play with.
"Hello, may I sit down?"
"Sure, I was waiting for you", she said, smiling. This time there was something disgustingly pleased in that smile. She knew exactly why he had come back, and she knew he knew, and even though he didn't like it, he couldn't help it.
"My name is..."
"Oh, no, don't spoil this!"
"Oh..." The man was confused.
"I don't want to know you. I just want to be with you."
"Oh..." That didn't help at all.
"You know, like animals. Just two strangers who meet and have fun for a while, then part and continue with their own journeys."
He looked still dumb.
"I like the anonymity. I have commitment issues. I don't want to be tied down by anything. I just want to live and enjoy life as it comes."
"I see..." he said, even though he didn't see. He wanted more. He had things that tied him down. He had work, apartment, things, family... this woman was weird.
You wake up one day with an unusual super power that seems pretty worthless—until you are caught in a situation that requires that specific "talent."I'm different from everyone else. Or... I don't know. It is quite possible that others have the same ability I do. I can see the Otherworld creatures, you know, elves, gnomes, fairies... spirits. What ever you call them, I see them. I can see them as well as I can see you, except that they are distorted... like watching things through wrinkled glass or fun house mirrors. I suppose they see us the same way, and that's why they think we are weird.
I haven't heard anyone else being able to see them, but this isn't something one discusses with others. I don't ask my fellow human beings, if they see that house, or that tree, or that dog, or that person. Maybe I should. How would I otherwise know if those are real... I mean, real in the normal sort of reality...
Though I don't know if that exists either. Perhaps we all have our own reality, and what I call blue is red to someone else, and we just believe we are talking about the same things. Perhaps two eyes, one nose and one mouth means four eyes, no nose and two mouths to someone else. Perhaps others see people as aliens, but we just believe we see the same thing... Uh, I don't know.
The Hallway of Pasadena City Hall at night by Doug Santo"The hallway was silent..."Mirian peeped from the door. There was no-one there, and nothing could be heard, now, but just a minute ago, when she was listening through the door, it had sounded as if the hallway was full of whispering and tip-toeing.
Yeah... I could probably bind all three stories together and have another story.
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