Woo hoo! I passed 65,000 words!!! My goal is 75,000 by Wednesday. I will get there!
Woo hoo! I passed 65,000 words!!! My goal is 75,000 by Wednesday. I will get there!
Making progress! I am getting closer and closer to finding ‘THE END’ in this story. I had a fantastic epiphany the other day about how to close a major plot hole that I have been chewing on. It fits perfectly and really amps up the stories tension. I LOVE when inspiration strikes like that! I jot notes down everywhere and I really have to get my shit together with a system that doesn’t leave me scrambling to find that genius plot fix in my three notebooks, four digital programs, and random voice recordings on my phone. UGH!
Right now I have a text file in Scrivener inside the project labeled FIXES and I try to put them all there. But it means I’m constantly editing the doc and it doesn’t sync quite right. I think I’m going to have to go down the Traveler’s Notebook rabbit hole for my next planner. Or order a custom planner with space for my brain dumps. LOL.
The life of Dark
Once there lived a boy
Who dreamt of oceans vast
and deserts hot and dry.
He traveled these places
in dreams and in nightmares
Dark hoped with every breath;
To see them with his own eyes.
But he lived in a deep, hidden place
No desert sun on his face
No sea breeze to cool his brow
Just the sound
of Gram’s voice
Telling him another tale
Beginnings or Endings:
This is only the beginning, she has layers
Peel them back and see the madness within
whisper and plead
cajole and caress
scream and weep
Their stories haunt her in daylight and in dreams
Begging for her to reach the magic words:
The ancient Djinn was pulled from his ancient prison. A beautiful woman smiled at him. “Where did you come from?” She smiled at him, exposing the gap in her front teeth. His prison, the cursed topaz, sparkled from a choker at her throat.
The Djinn rubbed his eyes and looked around. They sat in a tiny garden by a lake shore. It was a far cry from the wastelands he had last seen. “I am a Djinn, milady. I am here to grant you three wishes.”
The woman giggled. “Who put you up to this? It is just like my brothers to play such a trick on me.”
The Djinn bowed deep. His albino skin, the color of bleached whalebone, had been a curse to him in the wastelands. Here at this peaceful lakeside, the sun warmed his skin without the pain he was used to. But disbelief was something he had long ago resigned himself to. “I have had a thousand masters and mistresses over the long years of my life. Always they think that it is a trick. I will give the same demonstration for you that I have for all the others.”
The young woman laughed. “No. If you are to perform for me, let it be something new that has not been seen before.”
The Djinn sank down to the bench opposite of her. He had been intending to conjure up a small bit of fire in the palm of his hand. But this mistress required creativity from him as well. He scratched at the stubble of a beard that was on his face. A small toad hopped across the garden path. “I think I know just the thing.” He scooped up the frog and focused. He could feel the magic pulling from him like a vampire at his neck. It cost him one pint of blood to turn the small green frog into a small green hound. The hound looked around in confusion before cowering in his hands. The young woman’s eyes were wide in amazement.
“Can I see him? That is wondrous!” She smiled wide and fidgeted on the bench.
“Of course. He is yours now. It would cost me too much to turn him back.” The Djinn handed the small hound to her and sat back down gratefully. His eyes lost their focus for a minute so he closed them. He listened as the young woman cooed and coaxed the small hound. Unconsciously he began to sway a bit, a comforting habit from long ago. When he opened his eyes the hound was rolled over on his belly allowing the woman to pet him. The Djinn chuckled. “Seems you have a way with the creature.”
“I shall call him Casket.” She stopped petting the pup and he let out a ribbit-bark. The woman laughed. “Casket is a very insistent little pup.” She caught sight of the Djinn’s swaying. “Why are you moving like that?”
The Djinn was caught off guard, unaware that he had been rocking himself. He stilled his movements. “I’m sorry milady, but all magic comes with a price. Even such a small magic takes a lot out of me.”
A look of horror crossed her face. “You mean it hurts to do this magic? How awful. Will you be alright?”
The Djinn smiled. “Yes. I’m used to it after all these years. Might I ask your name, milady?”
The woman smiled. “My name is Miranda. This is our summer house. Do you have a name?”
The Djinn sighed. “I did once, long ago, but I have forgotten it. Most masters just call me Djinn.”
“How did you get here?”
“I have been trapped in the gem at your throat for a hundred years. I don’t know how it chooses my next master or mistress, I am at the stone’s mercy.”
Miranda reached up and toyed with the topaz choker. “I found this in the attic just this morning.”
The Djinn looked at the flowers around him. Foxglove, oleander, and monkshood flourished around him. He was startled at the number of poisonous plants that flourished around him. “Milady Miranda, you have a strange taste in gardens. I don’t see a single plant that isn’t poisonous.”
Miranda smiled, a gleam in her eye. “I find that the danger they pose only adds to their beauty.”
The Djinn felt the hairs begin to stand up on the back of his neck. Something was wrong here. “I’m a bit parched, would you excuse me while I grab a bit of water from the lake?”
Miranda giggled the way a small child would. It sounded wrong coming from a grown woman. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Like my pretty little garden, the lake is not what it seems.”
Dread crept up Djinn’s spine and sunk its claws into his heart. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not water in the lake, it’s acid. Certainly makes for an unpleasant surprise to anyone who dares to trespass here.” She smiled again and the Djinn could swear that her teeth looked sharper than they had before. “And now with your help, I’ll be able to make the whole world into my playground just as I have this place.” She squeezed her hand tight until Casket’s blood leaked out between her fingers.
Djinn’s hand began to shake. He began to see past the pretty facade to the rot beneath. He would not let this happen again. His last master had laid waste to an entire continent in his madness. He would not allow this woman to use his magic for even worse evil. Djinn bowed low. “As you wish mistress.” He took her arm and walked towards the cottage. The path wound through the garden and curved close to the lake. When they reached the point closest to the lake, he acted. Djinn grabbed the topaz from her throat and ran to the lake. He threw himself and the stone into the lake. He heard Miranda scream from the shore and he smiled as his body and prison were disintegrated at the same time. Free at last.
You may be able to take a break from writing, but you won’t be able to take a break from being a writer…
– Stephen Leigh
John stopped and got a fresh cup of coffee on his way home; with any luck he wouldn’t sleep at all tonight. He pulled his green Prius into his designated parking space. A faint sound echoed through the deserted lot, “Click Clack Click Clack.” He shivered, partly from the cold and a bit of something else. He walked through the gleaming lobby. He stepped into the gold and mirrored elevator. He pressed the button for floor nine and the elevator jolted to life. Beneath the faint hum as the elevator ascended; John heard the sounds: “Click Clack.” He shivered as a drop of sweat rolled down the back of his neck. The elevator dinged and the doors opened on his floor.
John stepped off the elevator and took a shuddering breath. The elevator doors closed behind him and John stood alone in the hallway. His keys were clenched in his fist as he walked stiffly to his door. The hallway gleamed in shades of sand and beige. His door was a deep brown with brushed nickel doorknob and dead bolts. His was the only door with three dead bolts. He unlocked them all and then triple checked to make sure they were relocked behind him.
His apartment gleamed in the dim light. Stainless steel, marble, and all the finest upgrades money could buy. He had spared no expense in creating this haven for himself. He had been very happy here, before. Then his grandfather had passed away and the family legacy had arrived on his doorstep.
A plain brown box wrapped in butcher-block paper and twine. A card from his grandfather’s lawyer had offered condolences. Inside were an antique typewriter and a ream of paper. A well-worn card bore his grandfather’s handwriting.
John had placed the typewriter on a side table and framed the card. It had been a conversation piece at the many parties John had enjoyed throwing.
But it had been a long time since John had allowed a guest into his home. He stared at the small table in the dark. Then the silence was punctured by a sound, “Click Clack Click Clack.”
John sagged against the doorway in weariness. He turned the lights on and walked to the small table, dragging a dining room chair with him. He whispered to the empty room, “You win Pop-Pop.”
He sat down at the old typewriter, the card framed on the wall behind it. A half hysterical laugh escaped John’s lips as he began to type. The note read:
“Write or you’ll go mad.”