lol writing
Last night, or okay, this morning, I finished reading a small collection of short stories, Ghost Stories of Antiquity, by M.R. James. These were stories written in 1904, and are therefore fairly old-fashioned, generally concerning scholars traveling to ominous places with ominous people and undergoing ominous events. Nearly all of the stories also have to do with old papers or records, which the protagonists discover and read.
When I was finished, I discovered, tucked in the back of the book, an index card with stuff written on it in my handwriting. I don't remember writing it but I'm pretty sure it has to do with the Fantasy Story I've Planned For A Billion Years And Will Never Write, namely, the dead dude. This has to be somewhere upward of three years old, but my memory is shit anyway. What I wrote:they are close to him as children
they are intimate as lovers
all bonds are broken as you pass beneath the gateway of ash
all [something scribbled out] are lain bare on the cold stone of his hall
He fears no geas. Death is beyond and below
Death is the edge upon which he plays
all is ash. all is cinders upon the sea.
all this, the living can only dream briefly of, before
Oh okay that's cool, younger me. You're right, finishing things is for losers. Also the first two lines are terrible. Let's not do that. Nice planning, though. The "hiding that shit in a book I wouldn't read again for years" thing I mean.
Anyway I'm tired but I need to shop so w/e I'm leaving, fools.
When I was finished, I discovered, tucked in the back of the book, an index card with stuff written on it in my handwriting. I don't remember writing it but I'm pretty sure it has to do with the Fantasy Story I've Planned For A Billion Years And Will Never Write, namely, the dead dude. This has to be somewhere upward of three years old, but my memory is shit anyway. What I wrote:they are close to him as children
they are intimate as lovers
all bonds are broken as you pass beneath the gateway of ash
all [something scribbled out] are lain bare on the cold stone of his hall
He fears no geas. Death is beyond and below
Death is the edge upon which he plays
all is ash. all is cinders upon the sea.
all this, the living can only dream briefly of, before
Oh okay that's cool, younger me. You're right, finishing things is for losers. Also the first two lines are terrible. Let's not do that. Nice planning, though. The "hiding that shit in a book I wouldn't read again for years" thing I mean.
Anyway I'm tired but I need to shop so w/e I'm leaving, fools.