lixiviate
Random word list:
Gelderland
lixiviate
thymotactic
unindignant
decolorisation
Word chosen: lixiviate
Definition: to treat with a solvent; leach.
Free association word list:
leech
suck
blood
vampire
undead
zombie
skeleton
cannon fodder
front line
shield wall
Spartans
300
Iran
bitchy
crazy
no
wait
bat-shit crazy
nukes
mutually assured destruction
War Games
Cheyenne Mountain
NORAD
military
Word chosen: zombie
Writing:
Name: Harry Larson
Keywords: tall, smelly, long hair, acne scarred face, intelligent.
First draft:
Harry is a tall man that was once human, but now his rotting flesh tells the truth of his current state. He is a zombie. The stench of his rotting flesh also announces his presence long before his pitted face becomes visible. Most people assume that his scarred face is a result of him being undead, but he has always had those scars as a result of horrible acne when he was a youth. Most folks assume that, as a zombie, Harry is stupid, but he actually quite intelligent.
Refinement:
Harry swung his acne scarred face around to face the odd sound. He knew that as a zombie he was hunted and hated. Most zombies are mindless killing machines, but the tall former man managed to retain his high level of intelligence when he was transformed into one of the walking dead. The zombie’s sight is not as good as it used to be, but he could still see the three men stalking him in the night. Harry pulled his long hair back into a pony tail to face down his pursuers. He has tried to talk his way out of fights in the past, but the horrible smell of his rotting body parts won’t allow this tactic anymore. When he is discovered by the living, fighting is Harry’s only recourse. Even though he didn’t need to brethe, Harry forced air in and out of his lungs in a hard sigh as he turned to face the trio.
I know I’ve done a zombie post recently, but I figured I would try it from the zombie’s point of view. This character may actually be a little fun to write about. If I do, I’ll change the name from Harry. It was the first name that popped in my head, but there are quite a few famous fictional Harry-named characters out there.
acupressure
Random word list:
work-wan
Jedburgh
acupressure
extollingly
seugh
Word chosen: acupressure
Definition: a type of massage in which finger pressure on the specific bodily sites described in acupuncture therapy is used to promote healing, alleviate fatigue, etc.
Free association word list:
acupuncture
puncture
stab
wound
bleed
blood
gore
guts
horror movie
Exorcist
exorcism
young priest
old priest
old
elderly
retirement
work
paycheck
money
green
little men
aliens
Alien
space travel
cryogenics
freezing
cold
Montana
winter
snow
Word chosen: old priest
Writing:
Name: Father Joseph “Old Joe” Venegoni
Keywords: Old. Wrinkled. Wise. Smile. Missing teeth. Balding. Broken nose.
First draft:
Father Vengoni walks with a limp when the days are cold. He is hunched over from years of carrying the weight of worry about his past. Despite is age and infirmity, he still manages a smile to his parishioners when he meets them on the street. Hard days of fighting as a youth has mangled his nose, and caused the loss of several teeth. Even though he has a hard look about him, everyone knows that he is a kind and gentle man.
Refinement:
Father Joseph Venegoni slowly shuffles his feet back and forth as he sweeps the steps to his small church. A first glance, his stooped posture may be because of the short handle on the crude broom, but the balding priest stops for a moment to stretch his aging back to reveal a harsh curve to his spine. Before the wrinkled face of the Catholic priest can turn back to his work, a small girl walks by and waves at the old man.
Old Joe cracks a gap-toothed smile at the little girl and waves back in a slow gesture. Even though the missing teeth, crooked nose, and hunched back gives the priest a somewhat horrific appearance, the little girl does not shy away. She knows the priest, and the love that he has for the people of the neighborhood. The misshapen visage of Father Venegoni is barely noticed by his parishioners because they know that despite his harsh past as a ruffian on in the streets of New York, he has left all that behind him.
As the little girl walks past, the old man’s smile fades into the wrinkles of his face. He thinks about the little girl who he left without a father so many decades ago. He knows that he’s paid his penance to God, society, and the little girl, but he hopes that the little girl, and God, can find it in their hearts to forgive him for the violent actions of his past.
The old priest lets his worries fade away as he focuses on the steady wish-wash-wish sound of the broom on the brick steps of his church. Doing menial work around the church is his form of meditation and escape from his bloody nightmares that attempt to emulate the memories of his youth.
Focus Shift — Characters
Ok. I think for the up-coming week, I’m going to try to shift my writing to character-based writing. Basically, I’ll do the same free association, and then try to create a character based around the word that I come up with. I think that the character creation will follow the pattern of:
List of words, phrases, and sentences just thrown down as a first impression.
Typical MUD-style writing where the description is told, not shown. (Quality writing is supposed to be the other way around.)
A more refined writing (paragraph or two) that gives you an impression of the character that is written with an eye for quality writing.
We’ll see how it goes.
triakisoctahedron
Random word list:
triakisoctahedron
Trichoglossinae
nonpejoratively
superreformation
avant-garde
Word chosen: triakisoctahedron
Definition: A trigonal trisoctoahedron.
NOTE: A trisoctoahedron is: a solid bounded by 24 identical faces in groups of three, each group corresponding to one face of an octahedron.
Free association word list:
dodecahedron
20 sides
d20
D&D 3.0/3.5
Lots of knock-offs
average gaming system
D&D 1.0/2.0 is better
better
butter
Country Crock
hands
voices
haunting
ghost
scary
frightened
poltergeist
spook
CIA
government agency
secrets
conspiracy theories
secret societies
cryptomnesia
Word chosen: cryptomnesia
Writing:
This is a writing about writing. It’s meta-writing. No. I didn’t make up that word. It’s a word that someone else made up, and I’m stealing it….
Speaking of stealing things, it seems to me as if damn near every idea I come up with for a decent book and/or short story has already been done. The frustrating part is that I’ve read the book where the idea has been done, but the reading was done 5, 10, 20, or even 25 years ago.
Somehow my brain has taken that memory of reading the book and hidden it away from itself. This idea is called cryptomnesia. Hidden memory kind of stuff. The basics are pretty simple. You experience a creative work (words, music, art, acting, whatever) of someone, and then years and years later you come up with the same idea. However, instead of remembering the original work that you experienced so long ago, the idea comes to you out of nowhere as if it were your idea. The memory of the creation bubbles to the surface, and your consciousness snags it as if it were a new thing.
I’ve asked my writing group what I should do about this. They’ve basically told me that every story that can be told has been told. There’s no way to avoid this. No. Way. At. All.
Does this mean that all writers should just give up? Nope. No. Way. At. All.
What makes a particular thing new and interesting to a reader are the characters, the scenarios they are dropped in, and how they act/react. It basically boils down to having well written characters that are performing actions that aren’t boring. It is preferable to have the actions be exciting, of course, but that’s not an absolute requirement. They just can’t be boring. No one wants to read a story about a guy typing at a keyboard, but a story about a guy trying to hack the United States military network to bring it down is a leap ahead better.
PS: None of this knowledge or wisdom is mine, though the words are. These are just things that I’ve learned from other people, and I’m regurgitating the knowledge because I feel that it is important. There are things that I am expert at, but writing is not one of them. I’m getting there though….
refrangibility
Random word list:
disyoking
unculpable
serried
Kohistan
refrangibility
Word chosen: refrangibility
Definition: capable of being refracted, as rays of light.
Free association word list:
refracted
bent
twisted
warped
crazy
insane
asylum
Arkham
Cthulhu
Cthuga
R’yleh
underwater
ocean
sea
river
lake
pond
scum
algae
green
veggie chips
Paranoia (the RPG, not the condition)
hilarious
clones
communism
Word chosen: veggie chips
Writing:
Mark-R-STN-2 walked down the red hallway while pulling his cart. He couldn’t wait until he reached orange status. The oranges got motorized carts. Sure, they still rolled on the ground, but at least they could move themselves. The real luxury didn’t begin until you reached green when the wheels were replaced with anti-grav technology.
Mark-R-STN-2 sighed at the unfairness of it all. All of the other clones that he had graduated the academy with had been promoted. Even CommieB-G-ONE-6 was on his last clone, and he was, obviously, a green citizen. How could CommieB’s insanity in combat have earned him green status already when Mark’s seven months of steady service as a delivery and repair agent had earned him nothing?
Mark-R-STN-2 reached an intersection where a yellow hallway ran off at an angle that would save him at least ten minutes on his delivery time. He quickly glanced around, and realized that he was alone in this corridor. There may be some hidden cameras, but he would risk it. Maybe if he started taking the “back routes” on his deliveries, he would shave time off of his performance and earn a promotion.
Mark-R-STN-2 darted down the yellow hallway, but he only made it halfway down the corridor before alarm klaxons sounded, and the Computer’s commanding voice spoke up, “Mark-R-STN-2, you are in a prohibited area. Your record shows that you have been performing suspicious activities for quite some time. This is evidence that you are a Communist, and this infraction of roaming a yellow restricted hallway only confirms the reports that I have received. You are a Communist. Prepare to be vaporized.”
Mark-R-STN-2 opened his mouth to protest, but this only meant that the nozzle that had ejected from the wall while the Computer was speaking had perfect aim down Mark’s throat. Mark barely tasted the vile chemical as it poured down his gullet and dissolved him into unrecognizable gray goo that oozed through a drainage hole and into the recycling center.
Mark-R-STN-3 stepped off of the high-speed tram a few minutes later with his cart in tow. He glanced at his watch, and realized that he only had a few minutes to make his trip in. Cursing clone number two for its incompetence, Mark-R-STN-3 hustled to do his job.
Ok. Paranoia is a role playing game that is all about a dark future, but it’s done in an absolutely hilarious style of writing that I just can’t match. Maybe if I were doing some writing in a group collaboration, then I could come up with some good off-the-cuff humor, but I really have a hard time with it just sitting here and typing. Ah well…. I’ve never aspired to be a humor writer anyways. I’m better at the dark and gritty stuff. I’m happy with doing that, so I’ll stick to that in the future.
ridiculously
Random word list:
nominalize
orthopaedist
ridiculously
costumic
saluting
Word chosen: ridiculously
Definition: causing or worthy of ridicule or derision; absurd; preposterous; laughable
Free association word list:
clowns
scary clowns
zombie clowns
zombies
ninjas
pirates
global warming
Flying Spaghetti Monster
religion
church
belief
faith
God
Jesus
Holy Ghost
Trinity
Neo
The Matrix
blue pill
password
secret
stash
Word chosen: zombie clowns
Writing:
Blood flew in a curiously pleasing arc as the head flew across the room. As the head spun and flipped through the air, I could see in alternating patterns the bright red mop of curly hair, and the painted white face of the clown. The face had been snarling at my neck just a few moments ago, but now it seemed to be serenely at peace. It’s funny how you notice these little details as the adrenaline courses through your veins.
I didn’t have time to admire the wet sounds that the head made as it bounced to a stop behind the ratty old couch. I had to turn my focus to the next scary clown that was heading my way. This one was painted to resemble a cowboy, and I wondered which rodeo he had escaped from as I swung my axe at its neck. Fortunately for me, these mindless bastards don’t dodge too well. Their only concern is to tear the flesh from the living. As this one closed in on me, my axe closed in on the space between its shoulders and its head.
The shock thundered up my arms as it always does when I chop the head from a clown zombie. The first dozen times I was forced to do this, I was revolted and lost my lunch more than once. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve done this in the past three weeks, but the feeling of cutting through the vertebra of a zombie is a satisfying one now. In the horror of combat against the undead, I’ve come to rely on the soothing feeling of chopping my way through the flesh of those that are crazed by the tainted cosmetics that were shipped over from China.
When this all started, I was using a sword that I had bought from the Renaissance Faire three years ago, but the edge finally wore off of it. I then moved to a machete that I had lying in my garage. The machete worked well enough, but it sliced too cleanly through the clowns. There was an efficiency of motion to it, but it wasn’t gratifying to send another zombie to its eternal rest.
Almost two weeks ago I found this axe in an abandoned hardware store. It wasn’t my weapon of choice, but it was the closest thing at hand when one of those rare fast moving zombies jumped me and knocked my machete out of my grasp. It was chance meeting, me and this axe, but it was love at first touch. Several other survivors have mocked me for wielding such an awkward weapon against the clowns, but it has served me well.
Me and my axe against a raging horde of zombie clowns. Times have gotten interesting, and I can’t wait for another chance to swing my best friend through the air again.
I was thinking of Kolvedic and Jhianna the entire time I was writing this. Kolvedic has a thing for clowns, and Jhianna has a thing for zombies. I figured that I would mix the two fears and see what I could come up with. It was written in first person, but I’m not too sure it was a fictional character speaking there. It was a fictional scenario, sure, but I think that I was speaking as myself here. I’ve never chopped anyone with an axe, so the feeling of it is pure speculation. It just seems to me that an axe would deliver a more satisfying impact than a sword. I hope I never have to find out, but if zombie clowns do try to take over the world, I’m willing to give it a try.
Halfway
It’s a three-fer today!
Hah. I made it halfway through NaBloPoMo. I really didn’t think that I would make it this far into things. Let’s hope that the last half comes as easily as the first half did.
Fifteen more posts coming from the tangled mind of Beosig for you to suffer through. Enjoy it if you can!
loge
Random word list:
besprinkled
finalizations
byworks
Haynes
loge
Word chosen: loge
Definition: the front section of the lowest balcony, separated from the back section by an aisle or railing or both.
Free association word list:
balcony
seat
chair
couch
potato
root
tuber
turnip
roommate’s grandfather
grocery store
shopping
mall
outlet stores
Christmas madness
Black Friday
Thanksgiving
friends
family
long distance
missing them
mostly
Word chosen: Thanksgiving
Writing:
Dammit. He’s coming for me. I know he is. Where do I hide? I saw what he did to Frankie with that axe two weeks ago. The Kid doesn’t know how to swing that thing. At least George was lucky. The Old Man did him in with a single swipe. The Kid had to chop at poor Frankie five times before Frankie stopped thrashing. I don’t want to go that way. It’s horrible.
Shit. There’s The Kid. I don’t know if he’s seen me or not. I don’t think so. Maybe he has. It’s so hard to tell. The Kid has that lazy eye, and he’s a bit slow up top. He could be trying to fake me out, but I’m sure that he hasn’t seen me. Maybe if I stay here in the shadow of the outhouse he won’t see me. He hates the outhouse. I’ve heard that he’s said that he would rather shit his pants than go into the outhouse. I know this is true because of the ruckus that The Old Lady makes when she has to clean The Kid’s pants out. They should have drowned that bastard when he was born.
Son-of-a-bitch. He’s seen me. I’m in for it. Maybe I can outrun him. The Old Man tied Frankie down when The Kid came for him. I’m free to move. Maybe that club foot will slow down The Kid enough for me to make an escape.
Mother-fucker. He’s coming my way now. I have to make my move. Here goes…. I’m off! Ok. We’ll run around behind the outhouse to get out of sight. Now I’m going run straight into the woods. The Kid is afraid of the woods. Something about wolves. I’d rather be eaten by a wolf than chopped at by that imbecile. Ok. I’m in the woods, now to get up enough speed to try to flap over the ravine. Here comes the ravine. I’m almost there. Just a little faster. That’s it! I’m in the air. Just a little further and I’ll make the other side.
Fuck me. I hit the other side! I didn’t make it. Now I can’t get out of the ravine. There’s no place down here to hide. I guess I’m done for. Maybe if I throw my neck at the axe blade I can help The Kid take me down in one fell swoop. Maybe. I guess I’m going to have to try that. I was always raised with the knowledge that I would end up on the dinner table. I’ve accepted that fact, but I’ll be damned if I allow The Kid to butcher me first.
Blood Hell. He’s coming. I can hear his clumsy footsteps stomping through the woods. He’s heading right for me. The end is near. One last glimpse at the sky that I’ll never fly through even though I have these feathers and wings. If only… He’s closing in. Wait! There he is. He’s not slowing down! The sorry bastard is going to bowl into the ravine! He did it! He plowed into the ditch head first.
Asshole! The Asshole is dead! At least, I think he’s dead. He managed to fling himself into the ditch, and landed square on the blade of the axe. What a moron! I think he managed to kill himself. He’s not moving. I’m going to get closer. I can hear some gurgling coming from that wound in his chest. That can’t be a good sign. Well, I can’t get out of this ditch without help, so I’m going to sit here and wait. Interesting, that gurgling is getting more shallow. I wonder if frothy blood is supposed to come out of humans’ mouths. I don’t think so. Oh shit! He shuddered. That scared the piss out of me. Oh. He stopped gurgling. Maybe he’s gone now? Huh. Well, I’m just going to hop up on him and proclaim myself to be The Slayer of Humans. I’ve earned that right. All turkeys will worship me from now on! This victory is for you, Frankie!
… and this is how Farmer Tucker found his retarded son dead in a ditch with an axe wound in his chest. The turkey that was sitting on him was warbling to the skies as if he owned the place. Somehow, Tucker was not saddened by this loss, but he was perturbed that he had to chase the turkey away from his son’s corpse in order to pull him out of the ditch. It was as if the turkey had taken credit for the horrible accident that had relieved the world of Little Billy Tucker.
Sorry for the cussing in this one. I’ve always though of turkeys as being fowl mouthed. Get it?
Writing Note
Just a note to the three people out there reading this…
The fiction that you’re reading here is not my best work. Quality writing goes through four basic stages:
- Inspiration
- Preparation
- Percolation
- Execution (this includes editing and re-writes)
What you’re reading here is a little bit inspired, and halfway executed. It’s just what pops in my head, and I throw into the keyboard. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I am an aspiring writer that hopes to be published in the near future. Please don’t let what you read here color your image of the quality of my writing. This is not my best work, and in no way do I ever hope to attempt to publish this as is. As a matter of fact, I would be insulting any agent, editor, or publisher by submitting this cruft as a submission. All I hope is to exercise my writing abilities a bit, and maybe get some truly inspired ideas for a short story or novel out of this.
prerehearsal
Random word list:
square-butted
Odericus
suburbican
prerehearsal
Half-russian
Word chosen: prerehearsal
Definition: pior to a session of exercise, drill, or practice, usually private, in preparation for a public performance, ceremony, etc.
Free association word list:
time before
stage
acting
speech
debate
preparation
study
Devil’s Advocate
winning
excellent
great preparation for life
note cards
cheat sheet
calculus
track coach
Africa
Europe
Asia
Australia
Antarctica
North America
South America
Brazil
topless beaches
boobies
Chewie
Shinto
Word chosen: track coach
Writing:
“Run, Boy! Run!” screamed Coach Jacobs through the megaphone. Even though the coach always used the megaphone and didn’t need to raise his voice, he still screamed into the device. This strange exhibition of primal male behavior caught the attention of Miss Larson as she sashayed between the track field and the bleachers, but not in the way that Coach Jacobs would have liked.
Coach Jacobs did notice that Miss Larson was looking his way, and he immediately stood taller, sucked in his middle-aged gut, and puffed out his saggy chest in an effort to make himself look appealing. Miss Larson smiled to herself at the charade, and was thankful that she was out of range of polite conversation.
Despite his bravado towards the boys on his track and field team, he was a coward when it came to women, and Miss Larson knew this. She made sure to cultivate her air of superiority while around Jacobs to ensure that his cowardice would always be at its peak when she was around. She wanted nothing to do with the man. Her womanly curves were reserved for one man, and one man only: Jake Talbert.
Miss Larson felt her steady gait stutter a moment from her weakened knees. She could feel her juices start to……
Thank God my five minutes are up! I have absolutely no idea why I even wandered into the romance field with this writing. It’s just where my mind took me tonight. Maybe it’s from being delirious due to lack of sleep. I could make up a hundred more reasons, but none of them would be adequate to explain why my mind went that way… At least now I know that I’ll never be cut out for romance novels. I wonder if I’ll ever hit a love scene in any of my books, and how much I’m going to have to gloss over… I guess I’ll cross that bridge when the time comes….
