Story 37 - Ice Cave* Shimmering blue Icicles tumbles from the snow caves melting ceiling. He feared the rising tide. Yet, if his near empty torch fell dead he’d be doomed anyway. The last of his food had run out days ago. No longer sure whether he’d crawled through this particular tunnel before or whether it were new. He tried scratching marking onto the walls to give him some indication, but every time he did they would melt back into themselves. He paced through the tightening cracks. The rumbling of tumbling ice echoed around him. He’d wondered if the other had made it out, whether they were looking for him. An enormous crackling came from above. He stepped back. Thud, he fell to the ground as a car sized chunk fell a few feet ahead of him. Scrambling back his feet unable to grip the wet ice. It tumbled towards his flailing legs. Slamming down, locking his foot underneath. He wailed, screamed. Trying to yank his foot free, to no avail. His breath finally slowing. Glancing around he saw only ice. At that moment ahead of him he saw it, a glow, the lump of ice torn from the roof. A way out, freedom. Yet with his leg trapped he could not reach it. He yanked and tugged but could not free his pancakes foot. His yells echoing but never heard. Finally, the waters washed in and swept his body away.
QOTD: what kind of poems you likes the most? . AOTD: i personally likes the long poems more because i love the way they tell things in riddles which exactly feels like it just has written for me and i want the poems not to end. i like them to he as long as they can be.
Pseudonym: #krisryantru Another excerpt of my writing. What?! You don't think that's enough?! _____________________________________ My books are available through the link in my bio. _____________________________________
I'm having a "Why am I even doing this?" kind of day. If I plan my posts ahead of time that defeats the purpose. I want to capture the actual journey...what it's like. I don't want to have a stockpile of posts on hand for when I'm not in the mood. Or can't think of anything to write. Or just want to ditch the whole Writing Life. Some days I think the whole thing's just dumb. Some days every fibre of my being hums with the sweet certainty that this is what I should be doing. What accounts for these fluctuations of mood or motivation or dedication or inspiration? It could be the lack of firm deadlines. I'm accountable only to myself. I decide the deadlines. I have no staff, no boss, no employees, no statutory holidays, no office, no distinguishing weekdays from weekends, or day from night. Sometimes I feel like telling The Boss to take a hike. Sometimes I need The Boss to step up and make a bloody decision. Sometimes my employee is a lazy shit. Sometimes she forgets she has any skills whatsoever. My God, she needs constant reminding and ego stroking. So high maintenance. Or it could be the despair at reading something brilliant written by someone else. (See above re lack of skills and ego issues). It could be that I allow other demands to take priority. I pretend that vacuuming is actually important. Or that I absolutely need to make a trip to the store for one item that I don't actually need. Or maybe I'm genuinely tired. I was woken up in the night by a dog needing a middle-of-the-night pee (which is becoming increasingly, and alarmingly, normal for her in her golden years). Or maybe I woke up in the night for a middle-of-the-night pee (which is becoming increasingly, and alarmingly, normal for me in my golden years). Or maybe I just want to read, dammit! It's not like my To Be Read pile is going to read itself, you know? I'm realizing that these ebbs and flows of enthusiasm and productivity and listlessness (and doubt!) are a big part of the
I got these at the grocery store, and quite literally just grabbed everything I liked and decided to figure out how it went together later. I do that with writing new books, too. Sometimes I think people make writing something new scarier than it needs to be. Just try filling your story with stuff you like and find interesting. Don't worry if it's not totally new and original (what is?) or if you're not sure how certain scenes and events connect yet. Trust yourself that there's a thread between all your ideas, and give yourself good things, fun things, to hang on to.* * And if you're wrong, and some ideas don't work, so what? There's always revision. * * Ornamental cabbage and lilies here! The other stuff, idk. * #writing#writinglife#writersofinstagram#plants#flowers#flowerstagram
*Story 36 - Troubled* I watched out my bedroom window, the raindrops leaking down its yellowing glass. A tree outside set ablaze. It’s birds nest empty, descending to the floor. The roots crawling over to see inside. Something within the gaping void in the tree’s centre stared back at me. My room had perished into silhouette. The closets and chairs were enveloped by their own gloom. The window fogged over. Its glass crinkled, shattering onto the tiles. A breath blew through my hair snatching the air.