There’s a bigger story in this but I’m tired and have little time to write. This is, at least, the outline and the beginning. I have a few variations on the basic theme so maybe I’ll sketch them next. There’s nothing at all new in this one; it’s a well-worn theme, but I hope the end surprises you.
First bit here:
Escalation of events.
I really enjoy watching a very basic idea take on a life of its own. It’s the greatest pleasure I get from writing; having new ideas pop up and take the story in directions I would never have planned if I concerned myself with story arcs, scenes, and all the technical correctness required if you write for money or the hope of money.
This story kept surprising me, and I can’t count the number of times I smiled as I finished one sentence only to have a new idea emerge that made the next sentence even more fun to write. I like this story.
The motivation initially came from two sources. Addy is writing a mythical world-building story that I really enjoy, and in recent news the Queen’s Guard in England had yet another run-in with an incredibly ignorant tourist.
I took the basic ideas of both of the above, in that this story is set in an alternative reality and involves the Queen’s Guard. As it progressed, the story became something else entirely, so I let it be what it wanted to be. Readers of some of my other stuff know that I like to hurt my heroes. A lot. In this story, there are several heroes and I hurt them all catastrophically.
My apologies in advance to my friends, who are characters in this story. I belted the shit out of all of you. This one’s for you.
Gigoid: (as Ned)
Addy: (as Aiden)
Warjna: (as Vanessa)
SouldierGirl: (as Souldier/Kirsten)
Thumbup: (as Vickilin)
Special Guest Appearance by Bob the Wordless: (as Guard Robert).
This is a disturbing one. I think it’s a little heavy-handed in places but I haven’t written much lately so ‘rust’. I don’t feel like coming back to it later so here it is and here it stays.
This short came about via Thumbup posting about ‘Petrichor’, which is a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather. This is a slight divergence from the recent trilogy that began from Souldier Girl’s image and poem, and which unleashed Unlocked on an unsuspecting and largely oblivious public. This one is more metaphysical and comes with a warning:
The idea for that came from painkills2. https://painkills2.wordpress.com
She likes to write about really distressing stuff that I can’t bring myself to read much but which mostly needs to be written. Others might find their names slightly modified, as referential characters.
This one comes with multiple warnings.
:::Distressing content. Domestic violence. Catastrophic injuries:::
I wrote ‘Unlocked’ a few days ago, having been inspired, if that’s the right word, by a poem and photo belonging to Souldier Girl. Two of the comments that story attracted came from gigoid and Addy (Adam), and both comments struck me for very different reasons. In this story, gigoid has been renamed as Bob and Addy is Doctor Adam. I hope neither of those good gentlemen mind. I think I’ve faithfully shown their perceptions of Unlocked.
I’ve written this in the ‘staccato’ style. It’s jarring, because it’s meant to be; a sort of stream of consciousness that’s intercepted by outside events. Getting this style right is difficult, because you still need to make the story comprehensible. It can’t be random junk thrown together and called ‘art-that-no-one-is-supposed-to-understand’.
I think I’m done with this topic now, although I said that last time, so obviously the topic wasn’t done with me.
I really like the following short story. It was directly inspired by a poem I reblogged
from Souldier Girl
The story is about domestic violence, and once again I drew inspiration from a hauntingly beautiful image from Souldier Girl. I’ve called it ‘Eyes Behind Bars’. I’d like to thank and acknowledge SG for allowing me to use the image, and I’d like to encourage you to read her blog. Quoting myself 😉 on the reblog:
“Souldier Girl is a rare talent. Why we’re giving (paid) oxygen to poorly written and uninteresting shit when there are mixed media artists like her out there is beyond me. Her whole blog belongs in a high-end book on a bestseller’s list.”
So, thank you SG for all of it; the courage, the blog, and for allowing me to use what I needed. Here’s Unlocked.
“Georgie Porgie, Puddin’ and Pie,
Hit the girl and made her cry,
When the boy came out to play
Georgie Porgie had a hospital stay.”
She was really something special, everyone said so. It didn’t come easily for her and it wasn’t natural, either. Hours and days of dedicated practice melded into weeks and months of specialist training, and what little time she had left was spent in fending off wandering hands and deflecting crass sexual innuendo.
Tara had completed her military service honourably but with a lack of progression through the ranks; it was still a boys and their toys world. From there, she joined the force and began trying to work her way into a specialist position, which had only months ago become a reality. She was now a sharpshooter in an emergency response team.
Resolution. This is the last part. Up front, I’m not sure I liked the ending but it is unexpected. No spoilers, though. Thanks to everyone who followed this. What began as a single short grew into 6. Here are the others. Perhaps in a few days I’ll tell you the backstory to this. In some ways I think it’s much more interesting than the one I wrote.
“So that’s how you trash your own life! Why don’t they teach this stuff in school?” Hayden thought. Not only was he out of a job – one he really liked and was good at – he was being bombarded by the psycho-bitch-troll-from-hell and being studiously ignored by the police. “It doesn’t get much better than this,” he thought, sourly. “Living the dream, dude. Living the dream.”
This is the somewhat disturbing follow-on from Uncommon Beauty https://p33d33.wordpress.com/2015/04/17/uncommon-beauty
“Not guilty, Your Honour,” I said to her, a stony look on my face as, for the thousandth time, she accused me of ‘having and affair’. How could that even be possible, when we weren’t even married and we never would be? I remember that moment, out of all the moments that went before it, because for the first time I recognised the sparks: anger, frustration, and then what’s substantially worse in my opinion, indifference. We had just stepped beyond the end of the beginning; we were now in the territory of the beginning of the end.