Posts tagged creative writing

Immortality
A quiet and fervent wish
by death-fearing ones 

I didn’t do as well as I would have liked with my “stab and run” approach yesterday. The day wrapped up with only about 2,300 words in total. Today I plan on concentrating on a chapter to get me back on track.

As I go along, I’m realizing I’m going to have to reorder my chapters. It’s that sort of story…things tie in together and I need to find the perfect flow. I know we’re not supposed to edit as we go along but the inner perfectionist in me can’t help it.

Here’s to getting back on track!

…if she comes off with her high school English (yes, I know she took a “college level English course”) and tells me how I should write sentences *one* more time, I will have an aneurysm. And I’ll wait while she looks that up for spelling reasons.

Wait..that might have been a few famous authors. Any suggestions?

I think it’s the screwdrivers…and I’ll know for certain when I wake tomorrow and decide it’s all complete shit. However, the words are flowing a bit and I’m taking advantage of it!

I hit my goal for today. Just a tiny glimpse into the next chapter:

The 1960s and the Back Parlor

Out of the entirety of her life, Mary Twisp loved the nineteen sixties the most. She had just tripped into her forties, was still deeply in love with her husband William, and was lucky enough to be living in a time where love and peace were at the forefront of everyone’s mind. Her parents didn’t understand and had no desire to indulge in the practices of the time but allowed their child to explore and immerse herself in what made her happy. Their house had been built specifically with her happiness in mind and who were they to spoil it? Seeing Mary laugh and full of joy was enough.

And Mary did immerse herself. The music of the time appealed to her most and she was often found in the back parlor, listening to Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, and The Doors. She was never a woman to stylize herself after other popular figures of the time. But she did feel an affinity for those bucking the norm and striving to be more than what society expected. William wasn’t nearly as free but loved to see the light shining in his wife’s eyes when she spoke of all the decedent achievements of those surely destined to be part of history.

A throwback to the turn of the century, the Twisp house sported a fabulous back parlor. In the 1960s, back parlors were definitely a thing of the past but William and Mary loved having a room dedicated to music, deep conversations, and the occasional bit of fun with games. They often invited neighbors and occasionally the odd celebrity. The house seemed to welcome visitors with such warmth, something that radiated from Mary to the point of almost being visual.

Mary knew she had been born for this house. True, her parents had built the house with the love of their impending child in their minds. But, as the house was completed, each and every room seemed to be imbued with the fervent wish of life-long joy for their new child. As it was built, the rooms each took on a barely sensed affinity for the girl about to be presented to the world. It wasn’t something that anyone could put a finger on or point out, exactly. After the birth of Mary and as one went throughout the building, each room gave off an aura that seemed to bend and engulf the tiny baby. The house recognized Mary and Mary recognized the house.

The sixties brought about so much cultural and social change, it was difficult to keep up. Mary had her pulse on just about everything happening and went out of her way to keep her beloved William in the loop. He was happy to be along for the ride but, for the most part, felt like someone hanging on to the tails of a high flying kite. William was most surprised when his wife was able to invite the occasional society bigwig.

William came from a family with enough money to make him comfortable but he never quite felt quite right not working. Once an adult and after his college education, William worked as a librarian. It wasn’t a glamorous job nor was it one often filled by men at the time. Still, it gave him an immense sense of accomplishment and allowed him to indulge in his love of literature.

Mary and William used the extra bit of income to finance somewhat elaborate parties in their back parlor. Very few guests were invited as the couple liked to keep things intimate and private. But for those few who were privy to the Twisp household parties, being invited was truly memorable. 

Do feel free to critique my first attempt at major creative writing. I’m doing this “seat of my pants” so good/bad reviewing is much needed.

The Beginning (But Not Exactly)

The house was always there. Locals in the surrounding area couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t there. While impressive as far as size, the house didn’t have any distinguishing features. The grounds surrounding it - at one time, meticulously manicured - in recent decades had become large plots of tangled bush, vine, and weeds. If one looked hard enough, little garden gnomes and miscellaneous tiny statues could be seen peeking out like timid and oddly shaped groundhogs. Occasionally a bit of movement occurred in the brambles and out popped a little rabbit.

The faded and cracked paint that adorned the house appeared to a pea green and the once white trim dulled to a forlorn grey.  Boards had warped and shifted throughout but otherwise the front porch seemed to be intact. The oddest part of the entire house (at least while admiring the outside) was the front door.  It appeared almost brand new; sanded, smooth, painted with a bright shiny door knob and bolt locks. Someone had taken the time to tend to the front door while letting the rest of the house fall to the wayside.

This is what Karen Jones had to work with and she hadn’t yet looked at the backend of the house nor the inside. Considering the shape of the front and the surrounding grounds, she was not looking forward to perusing the rest of the home. There were so many other things she would rather be doing right now. Getting a tooth extracted was at the top. But she had been given this mildly dilapidated house as a gift (of sorts) and she needed to decide what to do with it despite her general and ongoing loathing of the house.

Karen thought back to what had placed her squarely in this predicament: family. This struck her as rather funny considering she had spent most of her life in a solitary fashion. Her parents had died in an office fire when she was eleven. The rest of her childhood was spent bouncing around different foster homes – all of which seemed to be comprised of people much more interested in other life aspects than in her. By the time she became a legal adult, she had quite a bit of time experiencing being alone. It never occurred to her to seek out distant relatives.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, in Karen’s mind), she didn’t have to start shaking her family tree. One evening a few weeks back, while cozied up to a cup of tea and book in her tidy little apartment, Karen received a phone call. One Mr. Lionel Cupperton, part of the law firm Thorton, Cupperton, and Meed, had called to inform her she had inherited an item of some value and could she please come by his office at her earliest convenience? Skeptically, she agreed to a day and time, wrote down the office address, said her goodbyes, and promptly went to her laptop to look up the law firm’s legitimacy.

The prestigious firm comprising of Thorton, Cupperton, and Meed had been in the legal business since the 1930s practicing law for quite a few well-known people in the state. Having satisfied her life-long practice of never believing things at face value, Karen decided the item of unknown value was most likely, at best, some hideous piece of furniture or, at worst, some long forgotten bill that had racked up quite a bit of interest. Life had a way with screwing with you like that, she’d found over the years. A gift was placed in front of you and it was something you didn’t want or something that caused you discomfort. In any case, she wasn’t keen on disrupting her regular schedule to be handed something she most likely didn’t want.

At the appointed day and time, Karen found herself face to face with Mr. Cupperton in a rather uncomfortable chair set in a dimly lit office. After shuffling his paperwork around a few times, he said “We had quite a time finding you. It seems nearly all of your family line has died out. You are the sole remaining relation of Mrs. Mary Twisp.”

She tried to recall any conversations her parents may have had regarding anyone with the last name of “Twisp” as it was a bit unusual. Nothing came to mind. She wasn’t surprised. Over the years, the memories she had as a child with her parents while they were alive had become hazy, scrambled bits of colors, smells, and sights. She had tried to keep a better handle on those fragile bits of memory but the years had made them too slippery and illusive. “I’m afraid I have no idea who you’re talking about” Karen replied.

The lawyer excitedly launched into a rather lengthy bit of genealogy going back to the 1920s. Most of the family tree tracing was lost on Karen. However, the gist of the line was Karen’s father was the only son of one John Jones.  John Jones, in turn, was the sole son of one Phineas Jones who had married Alexandria Twisp – sister of William Twisp. William had been married to Mary (nee Pelton) and, despite years of trying, had no children. John, Phineas, Alexandria, and William were all deceased. Therefore, as her parents had only the one child and Mary Twisp had recently passed away, Karen was the only living relative within the family Twisp.

Mr. Cupperton rambled on for a while and eventually came to the point of the entire meeting. Mary Twisp had stated in her will that her house would be given to remaining family members with the caveat that it not be sold. A managed trust fund had been put into place to cover all future property taxes. The law firm had doggedly tried to locate any and all living family members. It boiled down to just one – Karen. He shoved a bunch of paperwork towards Karen and indicated where she should sign. Handing her a set of keys and directions to her newly acquired home, Mr. Cupperton stood up, shook her hand, and directed her toward his office door.

Blinking in the sudden bright light of the sun, Karen stood staring at the keys in her hand. Just like that, she was a home owner. As the reality sunk it, it dawned on her there would be a ton of other things she’d be the owner of as well. Upkeep, repair, furnishing, insurance, and who knows what else? The tiny glimmer of happiness was quickly squashed by her damned realistic nature. It was a by-product of growing up the way she did; inevitably one is disappointed no matter how hard one tries to be happy.

Once she reached the sanctity of her apartment, Karen launched into a bit of research regarding the Twisp family, the house, and the surrounding tiny town. Mary had been in the house her entire life. She was born there and never left. After they were married, William moved into the house with Mary and her parents. Mary and William took care of her parents until the day they died. The house seemed central to every aspect of Mary. Surprisingly and despite being located in such a small and relatively unknown town, the Twisp house had seen its share of interesting people over the course of nearly ten decades.

The sense of closeness, family and even excitement permeated nearly everything Karen read about Mary Twisp. It was unnerving. Mary had the life Karen never did. Though the family was small, it was still very connected and very loving. Karen realized this was something she had always craved. She felt as though something had been stolen from her. A vital piece of life that others had and she would never know. Placed along with her belief that the house was going to end up costing her more than it was worth, she began to loathe the idea of going to see the house.

So, here she was - standing in the gravel drive, staring at the front of the Twisp house. A part of her wanted to get back into her car, never thinking of the house again. The more sensible part of her realized this wouldn’t make things any better. The house would still be here. She’d still own it. And it would fall into further disrepair by simply ignoring it. “Besides”, she told herself, “I can think of it as a fresh start. I’ll think of it as an adventure and a life-long journey in home ownership.” Resigned, Karen started up the front porch steps toward the front door.

Reaching for the door knob, Karen thought to herself “This is the beginning”. But it wasn’t, not really.

I almost spilled the working plot I have in my head for NaNoWriMo. But then, I stopped myself…I found it difficult to explain. This does not bode well.

Silence has fallen
but we have been tricked before
Don’t let your guard down

Anyone following me going to participate in NaNoWriMo this year? I’m contemplating but can’t think of how to begin :(

…I had the where-with-all to participate in NaNoWriMo. My problem isn’t the actual number of words - it’s *what* to write about. That’s the part that stumps me.

reneehendricks:

It can never be, they say

When you tell them you do not pray

How do you live, they inquire

When a god-free life is what you admire

But the design and intelligence, they shout

When you state creationism carries no clout

There was no Adam and Steve, they cry

When tolerance for all is what you stand by

May you burn in hell, they spew

When all you have done is shared your view

The cold, crisp air bites
inviting all to bundle
like fat sausages