sour_idealist: (Default)
Title: Something Beautiful
Rating/Warning: PG, no warnings but angst
Authors' notes: So many other things I need to be writing, and this is what comes out. Ugh. Inspired primarily by the writings of [livejournal.com profile] fahye/[livejournal.com profile] mercurial_wit. Er... allegorically autobiographical? Don't let that stop you from ripping into it in terms of concrit, though.

She traces her fingers in swirls and circles. She always does. In sand, in bathwater, in finger-paints (and in paint not meant for fingers). In soap, on stone, against her skin.

Every year of school, she makes sure to buy notebooks and folders in plain, single colors. By Christmas, every single one is coated in layers upon layers of lacily curving lines. Some form borders or embellishments in the corners; some are carefully ornate names and subjects in her own self-invented sort of calligraphy; some trace out hearts and angels and brides’ dresses and swords (scimitars). Most are just lines, abstract when she’s in a good mood and crappy scribblings when she’s sad.

This year’s art teacher really hates abstract. It’s all about shading and balanced space. That’s fine, those are important too.

The pages of her specially-bought sketchbook, the one thing she doesn’t buy at Staples, fill up with spheres on tables and carefully posed little wooden figurines and draped, patterned silk. She gets used to it, even starts to like it. She learns to swirl her pencils and her pens in curves that spell out something without using words, and she smiles when the teacher says she captures the line of a fall of cloth better than anyone else in the class.

There is a two-month unit on angularity, right in the middle of February and March when the world seems full of jagged icicles and scratching trees instead of inspiration, and she almost quits the class

She spends hours combing the art world – online, because she doesn’t live near any cheap galleries – and during the winter the worshipful love she had for lines and curves and patterns turns into a kind of hatred. Not for the art so much as for the people who make it. Who can make it.

All she wants is to create something beautiful. She watches the paper under her pen as the clock ticks past and the lines grow more and more forced, less and less graceful. The teacher’s few smiles, the ones she fought all notions of abstraction and voice to earn, vanish in spite of all her best efforts.

She tells herself that it’ll pass. That she’ll pour everything she has into this and go on to make a name for herself. Somehow. She’ll do something, and it’ll be beautiful.

Someday. One day. She’s certain of it.

Just not tonight.
sour_idealist: (Default)
 I just offered my services at [livejournal.com profile] help_pakistan, if anyone's interested. I"m offering a 4,000 word or more piece of original fiction, written to a prompt provided by the bidder. More information is available here.
sour_idealist: (Default)
So, I actually fulfilled the previous post. To my surprise and delight, all three of the characters (even Brian) showed up in my head and proceeded to make themselves comfortable and did not shut up. I even had the luck of running into a very chatty, somewhat sarcastic narrator who kept making zombie analogies. Oh, and she named the clunker the Hellmobile on me.

(The above text is making me remember that I saw a post with "Writing is an acceptable form of schizophrenia" button somewhere, and I think I might need one of my own.)

Anyway!In which the entirety of a school's GSA, namely an overachieving lesbian cheerleader, a sarcastic, poorly-dressed newspaper geek, and a quiet, vaguely zombie-like gay guy, set off across the country in a clunker nicknamed the Hellmobile. )

Possibly TBC, possibly not; I don't really know. The characters may not shut up, though. However, I probably will do something like this again at some point, because it was fun. TheyFightCrime.org may enter the picture too.
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Another original vignette; more atmospheric work, I guess. It sort of accidentally turned into characterization practice as well. Be aware, mildly bad language throughout and one rather more serious curse. Not going to add a filter because there's nothing else objectionable and for heaven's sake, most people see foul graffiti by the time they're ten.
Now edited to undo LJ's screwing around with it - somehow a half-finished version got uploaded. This was not happy-making (curse you, Scott Westerfeld.) Read more... )

Unspoken

Jun. 9th, 2010 06:27 pm
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More original fiction, just a quick piece because I really wanted to write something. I do in fact own this, except for the lyrics the characters quote. The first song mentioned is Thriving Ivory's "Angels on the Moon", the second is Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'."

Read more... )
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Simple writing practice, working mostly on things like voice and atmosphere.

Read more... )
sour_idealist: (Default)
The whole "like thunder after muggy heat" idea came to me during a literal much-needed thunderstorm and demanded to be written, so I produced this to go along with it.  What was intended to be a stream-of-consciousness very short story became this odd hybrid of poem and story and vignette, and the stream-of-consciousness angle evolved (or devolved) into more and more strange metaphors and odd language games, and I don't really know how to define it. So I'm posting it online so I don't have to. 

Read more (pretty please?) )

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August 2012

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