offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Churning out a story is my favourite part. Editing, however can be a son-of-a-bitch. If I'm not in the right mood or mind-frame, I am half inclined to delete everything and start again. It is partly a bad habit but mostly it's an evolved inclination of self destruction peppered with the preconception that it's all absolute junk. I rarely persevere with it. 'Reading the Palms of Dolls' was a story I wrote back in November as part of NaNoWriMo 2014. It was the first time I had successfully completed a short novel at a total of 50,563 words. It still exists as a sort of basic framework of a completed story and every now and again, I return to it and edit a chapter or two. It still has a long way to go and I can now understand why a lot of authors employ the use of an editor. The worst part is cutting a really good line that you desperately want to keep but for whatever reason, it just does not fit. I've decided to keep an online scrap book for such omissions, I may add some on here from time to time.

I have also stumbled across an idea for a new story I am going to attempt to write for this years NaNoWriMo. I will have more news on that soon and may decide to 'blog along' with it in November... We'll see.


Mar. 16th, 2014 06:30 pm
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Despite the lack of commitment in the true sense of the word,
I have resolved to finding the mundane my ultimate past-time.
Reeling in the weight-gaining materialism of the 'bucket-culture'.
Here I am, exhuming the bitter parts that we had long since forgotten,
wishing for a cremation, a ceremony, a send-off.
They still linger beneath these fickle layers of skin.
Haunting me. Persuading me. Consuming me.
What happened to that exuberance of committing to worthiness?
To celebrating the flow of the juice of the soul.
Sky-rocketing like sex, the pleasure-tingling experiences tasted on a spoon.
They have been laid to rest and the rot smells putrid.
Hush, hush these swirling desires.
There is so much more to be gained from abstinence,
Says the devil perched to my right.
This schizophrenic torture remains a burden and I am lost in the flutter of possibilities.
For longing to live again, vexes me.
The sacrifices are too steep.
First steps are always the most difficult.


offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Not an Oracle

January 2016


Most Popular Tags