Writing Pains.
Did writing! Well, I actually wrote it a few weeks ago, for class, but I haven't translated it until now. If you're a writer, or anyone who creates something (and most people are creators in one form or another), you'll hopefully recognise some of the elements in this. And yes, I have shamelessly stolen the idea of plot bunnies from the Internet and written a story about one. So here, for your reading enjoyment...
Comments are, as always, very welcome!
Title: Writing Pains (Original: Skrivvåndor)
Fandom: Original
Genre: General
Rating: PG
Word count: 1 035
Summary: A short story about the day that I found an idea on the ground and brought her home to keep.
Writing Pains
One day when I was out walking, I found an idea on the ground. It was a sad little idea, but it had beautiful eyes and a front paw a little bigger than the other, so I felt sorry for it and picked it up. It huddled in my arms and whispered that so many had walked past it and hadn’t seen it, and I rocked it from side to side and told it that everything was going to be alright, now.
I carried the idea home with me and made a little nest for it by scrunching up newspaper pages and putting them in a box. Ideas like it when it rustles around them. I also poured some chocolate milk onto a saucer and snapped a few pencils for it to gnaw on. Now the idea was happy, and it purred contentedly in its box as I took my pen and started writing down what it told me.
The first day, the idea did not leave my side. She - for it was a she, you just know these things - kept around my feet and whenever I left my desk she licked my toes until I doubled over with laughing and had to return to work. My idea was good. She told me a lot of things, and at night she bounced around in my dreams and played with her tail.
The fourth day my friend called and asked if I wanted to go and see a movie. I looked at my idea, who tilted her head and whined. Her tail sank to the floor. I sighed and told my friend on the phone that I couldn’t go, because I’d gotten an idea that I had to take care of. She said okay. I went back to the desk to work again, but it wouldn’t flow as well now. Perhaps it was because I had been interrupted.
The sixth day my idea was sulking and wouldn’t talk to me. I cooed and cajoled, tried to bribe her with lukewarm tea and crunchy new papers - checked, as she seemed to like those the best - but she turned sourly against the wall. I spent the evening in front of the television and zapped annoyedly through the channels, and I went to bed early. I only dreamt of the idea’s accusing eyes and wondered what I had gotten myself into... Perhaps I should have gone to the movies with my friend, after all.
The next day I took a walk with my idea, which jumped away from me now and again to start playing with other things. She found a flower that she giggled about for several minutes and then chased a fairy through mother’s bed of geraniums, but she still wouldn’t talk to me. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. Perhaps she was hurt because I had even considered the possibility of leaving her alone? I tried to apologise, but she wouldn’t even listen to me. That night my idea chose to stay outside. Her box of newspaper pages was empty.
I found her again three days later. She had grown, in fact she was nearly unrecognisable. She was twice her original size and seemed to have gained an extra ear, which was orange and had a much coarser fur than her usual, cream-coloured coat. Her claws had grown, and they pinched into my trousers when I tried to lift her.
"What have you been up to?" I asked, surprised.
She didn’t reply, but she looked rather pleased. I lugged her in front of the TV, where I sat with a small steel comb and started look through her fur for bugs. They like to settle on ideas, bugs. Unless you’re careful they can bite hard and suck blood, and the idea can become very sick from that. So sick that it sometimes withers and dies.
There’s another kind that settles and makes the idea evolve too quickly, so that it goes through too many changes in one go. An idea can mutate into something you had never planned for, and suddenly their box won’t be big enough for them. That had already happened with my idea’s ear. When I looked closer I saw an orange glitter in one of her eyes as well, and her teeth were definitely sharper than I remembered them. So I sat there for at least half an hour and scanned for bugs with comb and magnifying glass, until I found what I was looking for in the soft fur of her neck. She already seemed much calmer afterwards.
"There we go," I cooed and scratched her back. "That was the nasty bugs... Let’s see if we can’t do something about that ear."
My idea sat politely still as I poked and pulled her ear. After a long examination of the extra body part I groaned, because it didn’t seem like I would be able to get rid of it no matter how I tried. To remove the ear I would need to amputate a large part of my idea and I couldn’t... But the ear didn’t fit, so how could I..?
Well, it would have to be a later issue. I had my idea back, and that was the important thing. She may not be perfect, but she was happy and healthy. Still a good idea. I gave her an extra pencil that night.
Yesterday I finally finished writing. I sat and stared at the final word for a long time, and finally I nodded. The ear had somehow fit in. I could confirm after a quick glance at my idea that it wasn’t orange anymore, but as creamy yellow and silky as the rest of her. And who’s to say that something can’t have three ears, anyway?
I crouched down by the box where my idea was napping. She had been very tired lately... I guessed that it was because I never finished the text and that she was starting to get sick of it, and I was just about to wake her up to tell her the good news, when I suddenly froze.
Next to my idea, comfortably snoozing amongst the paper, were three fuzzy, small baby ideas.
Comments are, as always, very welcome!
Title: Writing Pains (Original: Skrivvåndor)
Fandom: Original
Genre: General
Rating: PG
Word count: 1 035
Summary: A short story about the day that I found an idea on the ground and brought her home to keep.
Writing Pains
One day when I was out walking, I found an idea on the ground. It was a sad little idea, but it had beautiful eyes and a front paw a little bigger than the other, so I felt sorry for it and picked it up. It huddled in my arms and whispered that so many had walked past it and hadn’t seen it, and I rocked it from side to side and told it that everything was going to be alright, now.
I carried the idea home with me and made a little nest for it by scrunching up newspaper pages and putting them in a box. Ideas like it when it rustles around them. I also poured some chocolate milk onto a saucer and snapped a few pencils for it to gnaw on. Now the idea was happy, and it purred contentedly in its box as I took my pen and started writing down what it told me.
The first day, the idea did not leave my side. She - for it was a she, you just know these things - kept around my feet and whenever I left my desk she licked my toes until I doubled over with laughing and had to return to work. My idea was good. She told me a lot of things, and at night she bounced around in my dreams and played with her tail.
The fourth day my friend called and asked if I wanted to go and see a movie. I looked at my idea, who tilted her head and whined. Her tail sank to the floor. I sighed and told my friend on the phone that I couldn’t go, because I’d gotten an idea that I had to take care of. She said okay. I went back to the desk to work again, but it wouldn’t flow as well now. Perhaps it was because I had been interrupted.
The sixth day my idea was sulking and wouldn’t talk to me. I cooed and cajoled, tried to bribe her with lukewarm tea and crunchy new papers - checked, as she seemed to like those the best - but she turned sourly against the wall. I spent the evening in front of the television and zapped annoyedly through the channels, and I went to bed early. I only dreamt of the idea’s accusing eyes and wondered what I had gotten myself into... Perhaps I should have gone to the movies with my friend, after all.
The next day I took a walk with my idea, which jumped away from me now and again to start playing with other things. She found a flower that she giggled about for several minutes and then chased a fairy through mother’s bed of geraniums, but she still wouldn’t talk to me. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. Perhaps she was hurt because I had even considered the possibility of leaving her alone? I tried to apologise, but she wouldn’t even listen to me. That night my idea chose to stay outside. Her box of newspaper pages was empty.
I found her again three days later. She had grown, in fact she was nearly unrecognisable. She was twice her original size and seemed to have gained an extra ear, which was orange and had a much coarser fur than her usual, cream-coloured coat. Her claws had grown, and they pinched into my trousers when I tried to lift her.
"What have you been up to?" I asked, surprised.
She didn’t reply, but she looked rather pleased. I lugged her in front of the TV, where I sat with a small steel comb and started look through her fur for bugs. They like to settle on ideas, bugs. Unless you’re careful they can bite hard and suck blood, and the idea can become very sick from that. So sick that it sometimes withers and dies.
There’s another kind that settles and makes the idea evolve too quickly, so that it goes through too many changes in one go. An idea can mutate into something you had never planned for, and suddenly their box won’t be big enough for them. That had already happened with my idea’s ear. When I looked closer I saw an orange glitter in one of her eyes as well, and her teeth were definitely sharper than I remembered them. So I sat there for at least half an hour and scanned for bugs with comb and magnifying glass, until I found what I was looking for in the soft fur of her neck. She already seemed much calmer afterwards.
"There we go," I cooed and scratched her back. "That was the nasty bugs... Let’s see if we can’t do something about that ear."
My idea sat politely still as I poked and pulled her ear. After a long examination of the extra body part I groaned, because it didn’t seem like I would be able to get rid of it no matter how I tried. To remove the ear I would need to amputate a large part of my idea and I couldn’t... But the ear didn’t fit, so how could I..?
Well, it would have to be a later issue. I had my idea back, and that was the important thing. She may not be perfect, but she was happy and healthy. Still a good idea. I gave her an extra pencil that night.
Yesterday I finally finished writing. I sat and stared at the final word for a long time, and finally I nodded. The ear had somehow fit in. I could confirm after a quick glance at my idea that it wasn’t orange anymore, but as creamy yellow and silky as the rest of her. And who’s to say that something can’t have three ears, anyway?
I crouched down by the box where my idea was napping. She had been very tired lately... I guessed that it was because I never finished the text and that she was starting to get sick of it, and I was just about to wake her up to tell her the good news, when I suddenly froze.
Next to my idea, comfortably snoozing amongst the paper, were three fuzzy, small baby ideas.