Bursting The Livejournal cherry
In the years from 2000 to 2002, I penned a novel per year. Yes, I PENNED them - long hand, in a notebook, lovingly, often during maths lessons. My final year of school I started many things but finished nothing, and it has been a good eighteen months since I completed something original. I have been writing a few Harry Potter fan fictions, but, from a writer's perspective, that is fun, but a total waste of time. Fanfiction is not something I can ever take any further than posting on the net and having my head grow when people tell me they like it. It is a good outlet for creative steam, but not a prodcuctive one.
SO!.... this net blog is intended as an oulet for my thoughts, hoping that chucking them up here on the web will make them more concrete, and perhaps, that feebdback from others will shove my orginal creativity along a bit.
Compliment me, criticise me. I can't say I will be happy about it, but, sometimes, criticsm helps. Somebody gave me some very cutting criticism yesterday. Constructive, but cutting, and it inspired the hell out of me. I now have an idea forming in me head, and I would like to see if I can make it into some kind of concrete thing.
I am thinking... it all comes out as gibberish right now, probably.
Catholic Priest....
Witness murder...
Protecitve Custody...
Female detective...
Strained, complicated relationship...
Evil murderer people thrown in to spice things up a bit...
Formed a few sentences in my head this morning while I was out for a walk.
"Was it God that made him notice the dark haired man in the back of the Church as he gave his sermon? Was it some kind of divine message that he ignored?
He didn't usually notice each and every person, but something about the man drew his attention. Something about the way his hair hung in his face, about the way the light played upon his cheekbones. Foreboding. It made his voice catch for a moment as he delievered prayer, and he paused, staring, until he became aware of eyes boring into him, of brows furrowing, and he realised he had been silent for too long.
Forcing his mind back onto the task at hand, he continued, and wrenched his eyes away from the figure. It was only later he wished he had listened to those instincts, that he wondered if God had been trying to warn him. That he wondered if he had failed. That he wondered wehat he could have done even had he been posessed of the foresight."
Of course, it is only VERY rough, a snippet straight from the mind to the page, with no editing or frills. Just blog. God, I love that word. Blog. Blog. Blog.
BLOG!
SO!.... this net blog is intended as an oulet for my thoughts, hoping that chucking them up here on the web will make them more concrete, and perhaps, that feebdback from others will shove my orginal creativity along a bit.
Compliment me, criticise me. I can't say I will be happy about it, but, sometimes, criticsm helps. Somebody gave me some very cutting criticism yesterday. Constructive, but cutting, and it inspired the hell out of me. I now have an idea forming in me head, and I would like to see if I can make it into some kind of concrete thing.
I am thinking... it all comes out as gibberish right now, probably.
Catholic Priest....
Witness murder...
Protecitve Custody...
Female detective...
Strained, complicated relationship...
Evil murderer people thrown in to spice things up a bit...
Formed a few sentences in my head this morning while I was out for a walk.
"Was it God that made him notice the dark haired man in the back of the Church as he gave his sermon? Was it some kind of divine message that he ignored?
He didn't usually notice each and every person, but something about the man drew his attention. Something about the way his hair hung in his face, about the way the light played upon his cheekbones. Foreboding. It made his voice catch for a moment as he delievered prayer, and he paused, staring, until he became aware of eyes boring into him, of brows furrowing, and he realised he had been silent for too long.
Forcing his mind back onto the task at hand, he continued, and wrenched his eyes away from the figure. It was only later he wished he had listened to those instincts, that he wondered if God had been trying to warn him. That he wondered if he had failed. That he wondered wehat he could have done even had he been posessed of the foresight."
Of course, it is only VERY rough, a snippet straight from the mind to the page, with no editing or frills. Just blog. God, I love that word. Blog. Blog. Blog.
BLOG!