I put my head against your chest,
And heard it beat in double time.
But when the rhythm broke,
I swear, so did mine.
I
I want to be worth the effort. I hurt. I doubt. I cry. I falter. But I need you to do this.
Sometimes I want to let go,
But something inside screams:
FIGHT.
Everything feels wrong,
but still I think it’s right.
I Want Some Time Alone… with you
Do you ever get that feeling where you cant stand the thought of talking to anyone,
But you are feeling horribly alone?
The only way I can describe it is wanting to spend a night in silence.
Holding each other, but not communicating. Not talking. No making eye contact.
I just want to know you are here for me.
And I want you to know that I am here for you.
But unless it is important can we just exist?
How to Write a Book in Three Days: Lessons from Michael Moorcock
“In the early days of Michael Moorcock’s 50-plus-years career, when he was living paycheck-to-paycheck, he wrote a whole slew of action-adventure sword-and-sorcery novels very, very quickly, including his most famous books about the tortured anti-hero Elric. In 1992, he published a collection of interviews conducted by Colin Greenland called Michael Moorcock: Death is No Obstacle, in which he discusses his writing method. In the first chapter, “Six Days to Save the World”, he says those early novels were written in about “three to ten days” each, and outlines exactly how one accomplishes such fast writing.”
Michael Moorcock is an astounding individual. That man is one of five authors that made my childhood rich and imaginative. His fantasy worlds are as meticulous as they are engrossing, and I especially appreciated how he never watered down his vision. He refused to sacrifice originality to appeal to the mainstream of fantasy readers. He taught me that to be brave and bold and more than a little odd in writing could be terrifying but was well-worth the twisting gut.
If he has any advice on how to write, I’m listening.
-C
I read this article last month and re-read it today. And now I am setting myself a challenge. I am going to attempt a 60,000 word pul sword-and-sorcery novel in a fortnight. Not quite as ambitious as 3 days, but I have never written anything longer than a short story. I am aiming at 5000 words a day for 12 days, with two days leniency.
I wont have time for editing or refined work, that will come later. But would anyone be interested in reading my days work and giving me feedback as I go? I would be very grateful and if I ever did get it published in any form you would be welcome to a free copy :) Please? If you’re interested leave email me at jack.mcentee@gmail.com OR leave a way for me to contact you in my ask box.
The dirt is hard and rough beneath me. A thousand lifetimes of water and sun have baked this earth. Yet still things grew. Around me casting sinister shadows are the grey dead husks of what used to be trees, like skeletal remains left by lightning attempting to return home to the sky. Cool air rolls over me, making certain I know of the sweat that drips from every inch of my body. I lick my lips. It does not help. My eyelids droop trying to avoid the blinding brightness reflected all around, or possibly lulling me into my final sleep. The light beats through, tinged with the red of my own blood. I open them again, determined to be aware of my last breath. I left my head fall to one side, my skin stings as though it had been torn. It’s now I notice the small sapling sheltered in the shade of what I thought to be a long dead tree. I crawl towards it, body shuddering with pain. I know I would cry if I had but moisture to spare. It takes a day, or an hour, I can’t be certain. I tare the young life from the ground with my teeth, savoring the teasing moisture of its youth. Maybe this sacrifice is all I’ll need to make it to the next oasis.
Come Over
iIt’s stormy tonight. Rain, wind, thunder and lightening are slowly rolling their way across my town. I hope it last all night. It’s one of those nights I wish I could share. I wan’t someone here with me, not that I’m scared, but I wan’t someone to come over and share my space. Storm’s make homes feel more like home. You shouldn’t really leave a home during a storm. I mean, it was more definite back in the day before cars and bitchumen, but still that feeling of seclusion stands.
Frankenstien was written on a stormy night, a bunch of writers trying to pass the time together after their party got delayed by the weather. I have nothing so epic in mind. I want to sit on my lounge room floor with a few candles, play some board games and maybe have a few drinks. As the night wears on we could sit on the veranda and tell stories to each other. Maybe even go out in the rain for a short while, just to feel closer to nature.
I guess I want someone to share my life with. But you all know that already. I guess I will just pass the time alone and try to enjoy the summer storm breeze (:
I Noticed…
I wish I didn’t notice things,
The things that make me sad.
I wish I didn’t notice things,
Cause I should actually be mad.
I wish I did’t notice things,
That others seem to miss.
I wish I didn’t notice things,
That make me feel like this.
