Icingsugar
peas o kayk
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2003
- Posts
- 2,051
You and me both, brother. I think I could double my writing speed, if I didn't have to go back and correct every fourth or fifth letter i typed in. Backspace is my best friend.DarkLight said:I dread to think about the typos in the rest of the novel. Unlike Tatelou I'm a very messy typist!
/Ice - tpys lirke a fuckein monkyh
ps. A good read there. I love a witty narrator.
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Icingsugar
peas o kayk
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2003
- Posts
- 2,051
Perdita, may i volunteer with a Whee! But on the other hand, I could had told you all that already, from the excerpt I read here a while ago.
/Ice
/Ice
G
Guest
Guest
POV question
I am not up on all the technical aspects of writing (outside of the grammar side of it) so I need to ask a question.
In the 3rd person omniscient point of view, can the narrator describe thoughts and feelings of all characters? Just wondering because I have noticed that I waffle between the thoughts and feelings of my main character and a sub character when they are in a scene together.
I am not up on all the technical aspects of writing (outside of the grammar side of it) so I need to ask a question.
In the 3rd person omniscient point of view, can the narrator describe thoughts and feelings of all characters? Just wondering because I have noticed that I waffle between the thoughts and feelings of my main character and a sub character when they are in a scene together.
Wills said:DL
Thanks for the post, entertaining read. Now I want to know what happens next?
Will's
Thanks Wills,
I read you latest excerpt earlier. It was great! Normally I find it quite hard to read pieces which have a fair amount of description but I found it very enjoyable to read. Your descriptions served a purpose and set my imagination going
BTW I will never think of chorizo in quite the same way again!
As for what happens next in mine... now that's a long story
Lauren Hynde
Hitched
- Joined
- Apr 11, 2002
- Posts
- 21,061
Perd, that truly is wonderful. I'm very happy for you and eagerly awaiting for a chance to read the rest of your novel. 
Wills, I like you more with each post. That is a novel I will simply have to read. No way around it.
CrimsonM-
In 3rd person omniscient, your narrator is can do and say whatever he/she/it pleases. As far as your story goes, he/she/it is God.
Wills, I like you more with each post. That is a novel I will simply have to read. No way around it.
CrimsonM-
In 3rd person omniscient, your narrator is can do and say whatever he/she/it pleases. As far as your story goes, he/she/it is God.
Svenskaflicka
Fountain
- Joined
- Jun 9, 2002
- Posts
- 16,142
All riyht - rho sritched mg kegboawdtops awound?
BardsLady
Really Experienced
- Joined
- May 30, 2003
- Posts
- 255
Re: POV question
Hi CM, I'm not entirely sure. I think that, in the third person, that's what you're doing, defining the thoughts and feelings of each character you have. My suggestion would be to bounce back and forth between the two characters during the conversation.
That's why I prefer first person writing, hehehe, I get all confused when it comes to doing that. In first person, all you have to be concerned about in thoughts and emotions is a single character. But that's just me.
Keep in touch and enjoy,
CrimsonMaiden said:
Hi CM, I'm not entirely sure. I think that, in the third person, that's what you're doing, defining the thoughts and feelings of each character you have. My suggestion would be to bounce back and forth between the two characters during the conversation.
That's why I prefer first person writing, hehehe, I get all confused when it comes to doing that. In first person, all you have to be concerned about in thoughts and emotions is a single character. But that's just me.
Keep in touch and enjoy,
Icingsugar
peas o kayk
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2003
- Posts
- 2,051
You asked for itWills said:IS (CM) Nice bit of disarming
short disclaimer, this is not an erotic story, and this is the least graphic intimate scene in it., but it's the only one that I have completed 100% yet.
------------------------------------------------------------------
I walked up to her, and as soon as I was within arms reach, we stuck to each other like magnets, she threw her arms around me and cried into my chest, and I pulled her close, and shed my own fears and tears into her messed up hair.
"I'm afraid, Morris! Oh god, I'm so afraid."
"I know. It's ok, we're all scared."
"If I fail...if I do wrong..."
"You can't do wrong, baby." I told her and stroke her shaking back. "I haven't taught you how to yet."
We stood there in a silent embrace for a while. The worst of her anxiety attack finally seemed to fade away, and her body relaxed.
"Mop..."
"Yes?"
"Come here. Stay with me."
We spent the night in there, on a soft mattress in a sea of wooden splinters and broken pottery, behind closed doors that nobody would dare to open. Trembling, fumbling and as beautifully unglamorous as only two lovers in their own private universe can allow themselves to be, we did what we could to ease the tension and divert our minds and bodies from the inevitable tomorrow and whatever horrors lay ahead. Right there and then, for a few minutes, or even hours, there was no impending doom weaving it's cobweb of fear around our hearts. Close together, locked in union, feeling, seeing and tasting each other to the fullest, there were only us, and the flickering flame in between. The universe would have to wait.
IS (CM)
Just love a happy beginning, ending even.
Or do you have subplots up your sleeve?
This is great, its like going into a bookshop and ramdomly opening books. There are at least a dozen here that i want on my shelf.
LH I'll try not to disappoint, but it will take at least another year, all I'm doing now is laying out the story, the plan is to sell a couple of apartments in the renovation and take twelve months sab. to really write it.
Will's (Moving the months to fit the story J F M J A M J....)
Just love a happy beginning, ending even.
Or do you have subplots up your sleeve?
This is great, its like going into a bookshop and ramdomly opening books. There are at least a dozen here that i want on my shelf.
LH I'll try not to disappoint, but it will take at least another year, all I'm doing now is laying out the story, the plan is to sell a couple of apartments in the renovation and take twelve months sab. to really write it.
Will's (Moving the months to fit the story J F M J A M J....)
LorriLove
flirting slut on heat
- Joined
- Mar 28, 2003
- Posts
- 2,590
hiya
hiya every people, hay you're all doing so well, some really lovely bits of your novels on here, i don't know how you do it i have a job making a page out of anything i write never mind hundreds of pages. mind i am a thick cow
hope to see all your stuff on literotica later in the year, perhaps someone should talk the bosses into making a nano novel competition on this site for all of you to compete in with your finished work. (someone not a hundred miles away is going to give me an ear bending for saying that, giggle)
lorri xxxxxxxxnano widow.
hiya every people, hay you're all doing so well, some really lovely bits of your novels on here, i don't know how you do it i have a job making a page out of anything i write never mind hundreds of pages.
mind i am a thick cow hope to see all your stuff on literotica later in the year, perhaps someone should talk the bosses into making a nano novel competition on this site for all of you to compete in with your finished work. (someone not a hundred miles away is going to give me an ear bending for saying that, giggle)
lorri xxxxxxxxnano widow.
raphy
Dum Vivimus, Vivamus
- Joined
- Jul 21, 2003
- Posts
- 4,257
Except and update from me:
Hit 42,000 exactly tonight. Bed now, for some reason I'm very tired tonight.
And Yamatawa was there, and Frankie Daydream. And Dominique, surrounded by some translucent white haze. Code given life. The power of whatever was in her head. Unlocked, by Daydream's construct. He could see them, distant figures at the opposite end of infinity. He punched the intrusion code that Colly had given him, watched it grow around him. Expanding, building. Time. Do it. Now's the time. He fired it, rode it down, deep into the heart of the construct.
The silver flared up all around him, the intrusion program crumbled into dust and then it happened all over again. Mirrored reflections. Shards of himself. His being. His thoughts. His emotions. His personality stared at him. The hypersensitivity. Sound as taste. Color as sound. He was pure thought, pure energy, the feeling ricocheting off his soul, stripping him bare. He was everywhere and nowhere, stretched in a million directions by the pull of the construct, compressed by its pressure into an infinitesimally small point of shadow, hard and bright and black.
And when the blackness could be no brighter, and his soul could stretch no further, he felt a instant of absence, a pure perfect moment of nothing. His mind folded back on itself and he screamed, with a mouth that wasn't there, and it hung in the silver. Like the moment. A moment in eternity.
Hit 42,000 exactly tonight. Bed now, for some reason I'm very tired tonight.
And Yamatawa was there, and Frankie Daydream. And Dominique, surrounded by some translucent white haze. Code given life. The power of whatever was in her head. Unlocked, by Daydream's construct. He could see them, distant figures at the opposite end of infinity. He punched the intrusion code that Colly had given him, watched it grow around him. Expanding, building. Time. Do it. Now's the time. He fired it, rode it down, deep into the heart of the construct.
The silver flared up all around him, the intrusion program crumbled into dust and then it happened all over again. Mirrored reflections. Shards of himself. His being. His thoughts. His emotions. His personality stared at him. The hypersensitivity. Sound as taste. Color as sound. He was pure thought, pure energy, the feeling ricocheting off his soul, stripping him bare. He was everywhere and nowhere, stretched in a million directions by the pull of the construct, compressed by its pressure into an infinitesimally small point of shadow, hard and bright and black.
And when the blackness could be no brighter, and his soul could stretch no further, he felt a instant of absence, a pure perfect moment of nothing. His mind folded back on itself and he screamed, with a mouth that wasn't there, and it hung in the silver. Like the moment. A moment in eternity.
Here's a latest extract. It's setting up the initial encounter of the main character and Madeleine. I had been wondering how to introduce the social/political fabric integral to the story - guess what, it writes itself.
I havn't edited yet so there may be some booboos. No sex I'm afraid, but I think there will be later, in this chapter, not erotic but sensual.
I watched her though the afternoon, studying her movements, wishing I had brought my sketch book; catching glimpses of her thighs as she bent over tables clearing debris of meals and bringing fresh food and drink to the never ending mass of customers. She moved so gracefully, lithe, tossing her head as she walked back into the restaurant her hair swinging across her back. She was wearing a white apron tied around her back, pulled tight to her waist accentuating her slimness, a sort of frilly edged number, I was so smitten I even thought that added to her femininity. God she was gorgeous. She had an air of arrogance about her as if distancing herself from the customers, not taking part in the general banter, eyes flashing angrily if comments became too personal. Well I guessed that just from her reaction, I didn’t have a clue what people were saying to her. I’d moved my chair round so I could watch her, and took up a napkin doing a quick sketch of her holding a tray of drinks. From time to time, she came to our table, to clean, to bring drinks. She stopped bringing Pauly beer, she had obviously decided he had drunk enough and brought him a strong black shot of coffee. Even then, she had decided that Pauly needed protecting from himself. She looked down at my sketch and back at me scornfully, took the napkin, screwed it up and put it with the rest of the stuff she was clearing from the table. Someone said something and laughed, she turned on him blushing, spoke something sharply, and marched away head held high, her ponytail swinging. There was general laughter one of the quiet lads said “he told her to take off dress so you draw her.”
I asked him who she was, “Madeleine, she live” he pointed up the road from where we had entered the square, “She live with parents, on ‘quinta’, don’t know word”, ‘farm’, I offered. “Yes farm. She no like the boys, tough girl, you in big trouble with she if you mess.” He drew a finger across his throat.
“Why?”
“She tough, angry girl not like fun.”
I liked her more and more. She brought more coffee’s, my first, it was delicious, black and strong, barely a mouthful but a real caffeine shot. Pauly and João had taken up the guitars again, Pauly learning some Portuguese melodies, different chord sequences from the ones we usually played; he was brilliant, he only had to ear a tune once to figure the structure and chords. Portuguese chords and combinations are slightly different but he soon got the hang, playing a background rhythm whist João pulled out the main tune; everyone admired his skill. Before long he was playing along with João a sombrous tune that had everyone singing in deep melodious tones, more people joining in across the square, voices filling the air, the finale met with wide applause.
The quiet guy said, “That is national song, we proud people, Portuguese. We very poor country, bad leaders. September most go to army, go to war in Africa, many us die in Africa. Many, many men dead, boys like us, no life, just go to die for Portugal. Is very bad, why not your country or America help stop this war, why we go to end our lives?”
Christ, I didn’t even know there was a war in Africa, let alone that lads my age were dying. We had had Vietnam and all that shit fed down our throats. I had never heard of a Portuguese war.
Over the next hour or so I got a Portuguese history lesson, more and more voices joined in, discovering their English, explaining their plight. How Portugal was ruled by a dictatorship; about the wars, not one, but two in Mozambique and Angola. The suppression of the media, the blocking of foreign radio stations. How it was impossible for young men who had not served in the military to travel, unless of course they were members of the ruling clique, to avoid the call up, they were sent overseas. They told how Portugal had mountains of gold sitting in bank vaults while the country went to ruin, no proper roads, schools or hospitals, no investment in developing the country, just taking what they needed from the African colonies. You couldn’t go to university unless you could pay the fees, most were too poor so they stayed at home, working the farms, waiting for their call up papers, waiting to go to die. They told me how planes flew in daily, bringing back bodies from the war and of the thousands missing, presumed dead in the jungle.
It took my mind off Madeleine and if had been drunk, it would have sobered me up. Here were regular blokes like me, pissing the summer away, waiting to go to war, maybe to die for something they didn’t believe in.
Will''s
I havn't edited yet so there may be some booboos. No sex I'm afraid, but I think there will be later, in this chapter, not erotic but sensual.
I watched her though the afternoon, studying her movements, wishing I had brought my sketch book; catching glimpses of her thighs as she bent over tables clearing debris of meals and bringing fresh food and drink to the never ending mass of customers. She moved so gracefully, lithe, tossing her head as she walked back into the restaurant her hair swinging across her back. She was wearing a white apron tied around her back, pulled tight to her waist accentuating her slimness, a sort of frilly edged number, I was so smitten I even thought that added to her femininity. God she was gorgeous. She had an air of arrogance about her as if distancing herself from the customers, not taking part in the general banter, eyes flashing angrily if comments became too personal. Well I guessed that just from her reaction, I didn’t have a clue what people were saying to her. I’d moved my chair round so I could watch her, and took up a napkin doing a quick sketch of her holding a tray of drinks. From time to time, she came to our table, to clean, to bring drinks. She stopped bringing Pauly beer, she had obviously decided he had drunk enough and brought him a strong black shot of coffee. Even then, she had decided that Pauly needed protecting from himself. She looked down at my sketch and back at me scornfully, took the napkin, screwed it up and put it with the rest of the stuff she was clearing from the table. Someone said something and laughed, she turned on him blushing, spoke something sharply, and marched away head held high, her ponytail swinging. There was general laughter one of the quiet lads said “he told her to take off dress so you draw her.”
I asked him who she was, “Madeleine, she live” he pointed up the road from where we had entered the square, “She live with parents, on ‘quinta’, don’t know word”, ‘farm’, I offered. “Yes farm. She no like the boys, tough girl, you in big trouble with she if you mess.” He drew a finger across his throat.
“Why?”
“She tough, angry girl not like fun.”
I liked her more and more. She brought more coffee’s, my first, it was delicious, black and strong, barely a mouthful but a real caffeine shot. Pauly and João had taken up the guitars again, Pauly learning some Portuguese melodies, different chord sequences from the ones we usually played; he was brilliant, he only had to ear a tune once to figure the structure and chords. Portuguese chords and combinations are slightly different but he soon got the hang, playing a background rhythm whist João pulled out the main tune; everyone admired his skill. Before long he was playing along with João a sombrous tune that had everyone singing in deep melodious tones, more people joining in across the square, voices filling the air, the finale met with wide applause.
The quiet guy said, “That is national song, we proud people, Portuguese. We very poor country, bad leaders. September most go to army, go to war in Africa, many us die in Africa. Many, many men dead, boys like us, no life, just go to die for Portugal. Is very bad, why not your country or America help stop this war, why we go to end our lives?”
Christ, I didn’t even know there was a war in Africa, let alone that lads my age were dying. We had had Vietnam and all that shit fed down our throats. I had never heard of a Portuguese war.
Over the next hour or so I got a Portuguese history lesson, more and more voices joined in, discovering their English, explaining their plight. How Portugal was ruled by a dictatorship; about the wars, not one, but two in Mozambique and Angola. The suppression of the media, the blocking of foreign radio stations. How it was impossible for young men who had not served in the military to travel, unless of course they were members of the ruling clique, to avoid the call up, they were sent overseas. They told how Portugal had mountains of gold sitting in bank vaults while the country went to ruin, no proper roads, schools or hospitals, no investment in developing the country, just taking what they needed from the African colonies. You couldn’t go to university unless you could pay the fees, most were too poor so they stayed at home, working the farms, waiting for their call up papers, waiting to go to die. They told me how planes flew in daily, bringing back bodies from the war and of the thousands missing, presumed dead in the jungle.
It took my mind off Madeleine and if had been drunk, it would have sobered me up. Here were regular blokes like me, pissing the summer away, waiting to go to war, maybe to die for something they didn’t believe in.
Will''s
G
Guest
Guest
***UPDATE ALERT***
Just a quick note, I'll be updating the table at 8pm GMT, tonight (just a little under 8 hours time). I have to give plenty of warning, as I'll be out for most of the day, and won't be back until about 7pm. I hope to see my inbox full with lovely word counts when I get back.
Keep going guys, we're on the home stretch now. I have read through most of the recent extracts, but I haven't got time right now to give detailed comments on each one, hopefully later! I will just say that they are all, bar none, of a very high quality, and I wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it. I'm nothing, if not honest.
Anyway, laters!
Lou
Just a quick note, I'll be updating the table at 8pm GMT, tonight (just a little under 8 hours time). I have to give plenty of warning, as I'll be out for most of the day, and won't be back until about 7pm. I hope to see my inbox full with lovely word counts when I get back.
Keep going guys, we're on the home stretch now. I have read through most of the recent extracts, but I haven't got time right now to give detailed comments on each one, hopefully later! I will just say that they are all, bar none, of a very high quality, and I wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it. I'm nothing, if not honest.
Anyway, laters!
Lou
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G
Guest
Guest
Hahaha! I'm going back to edit. Do you know, I looked at that sentence, read it out loud three times, changed it around, changed it back. Knew something was wrong with it, but still couldn't see it! DOH!
My brain is screwed, must the tentacle porn scene I wrote last night.
(It's wicked.
)
Lou
My brain is screwed, must the tentacle porn scene I wrote last night.
(It's wicked.
)Lou
raphy
Dum Vivimus, Vivamus
- Joined
- Jul 21, 2003
- Posts
- 4,257
Tatelou said:Hahaha! I'm going back to edit. Do you know, I looked at that sentence, read it out loud three times, changed it around, changed it back. Knew something was wrong with it, but still couldn't see it! DOH!
My brain is screwed, must the tentacle porn scene I wrote last night.
(It's wicked.
Lou
Woohoo, tentacle porn!
otherdarkmeat
Experienced
- Joined
- Aug 17, 2003
- Posts
- 70
I can see how you might be a little befuddled. You created quite a few action packed cliff hangers in the 2,000+ entry you made last night. I nearly fell off my chair from all the excitment of reading it.Tatelou said:My brain is screwed, must the tentacle porn scene I wrote last night.
-Mike B.
G
Guest
Guest
Mike B., I want a chair to fall off of by reading Lou's work.
__________________
I read my novel-so-far last night and did not get bored. I did not write one new word. I watched TV for an hour (haven't watched the tube in months), got really bored so re-watched a fave movie. Then I read from yet another book about Mexico. Had a very good sleep and today is the first day in a couple weeks my neck isn't all kinked up.
Perdita
__________________
I read my novel-so-far last night and did not get bored. I did not write one new word. I watched TV for an hour (haven't watched the tube in months), got really bored so re-watched a fave movie. Then I read from yet another book about Mexico. Had a very good sleep and today is the first day in a couple weeks my neck isn't all kinked up.
Perdita
destinie21
Daddy's Brat
- Joined
- May 27, 2003
- Posts
- 3,612
Here's todays work. It's going a bit slow but maybe things will pick up soon.
The realationship I had with my mother developed into a unique mix of love and loathe that only a mother and daughter could truely understand. I missed her the way a person might miss an amputated leg. Even when she was no more than a few feet away from me we were miles apart. My childhood had conditioned me to remain emotionally unattached or at least to maintain the sembalance of detachment. So Mama and I had never really communicated, and by the time I was sixteen I had convinced myself that it was far too late.
We were in the kitchen and without any change of lighting or climactic crescendo of music that movies portrayed I had an epihany. Regina Jones- Thomas was a real live person. For my entire life I had focused on the fact that she was my mother and I had without exception cast her into to a role of intense and tyranical villany. Every move in her life since my birth had seemed somehow calculated and contrived to wreak havoc in my world. Now without any provocation in the space of a moment I wanted to know who my mother was. Suddenly the urge to know the events of her life that bought her to this point seemed to come over me like a fever.
We were washing dishes well I was washing dishes and she was leaning against the counter next to me smoking with a dish towel draped over her arm. Niether one of us spoke because by now out of necessity and self preservation silence was the language of our relationship. We had cut gouges into each other with our words that bruised the mind and broke the heart but still in my most secret parts I loved my mother with a strength that was frightening to me. I didn't know how to equate loving her so much with barely liking her at all it was a constant struggle that felt like a barbed coil scratching my insides as it drew tighter and tighter onto itself.
When I spoke we were both surprised. usually our dialouge consisted of harsh words and misunderstandings that reached magnificent decibles within moments.
"Mama who were you before you married daddy?"
She cast her weary honey colored eyes over my face and didn't say a word. The cold flatness that bloomed in her eyes scared the hell out of me. It was like I was looking into the open eyes of a dead person for a full minute.
"I was Regina Jones."
I rolled my eyes as the fear in me receeded. Now that it was gone it's very presence seemed rediculous. I should have known she would be a bitch about it. The familiar bonds of our relationship almost lulled me into silence but for a reason beyond my comprehension I needed to know who my mother was. I was becoming obsessed with an idea that had occured to me only moments earlier. I rinsed the glass in my hand and spoke.
"I know that mama I didn't mean what was your name. I meant what were you like?"
The coldness was back in her eyes and the fear returned with a breathtaking vengange. I had seen my mother fly through a range of emotions from happiness to rage but what I had never seen was this flatness. Like she could make her soul vacate her body at will. She was silent for so long I thought she wasn't going to answer. When she finally spoke her voice startled me into dropping the last glass that I had been about to place in the dish drain. The glass fell and shattered as it struck the cool tiles of the kitchen floor.
Mama hadn't even stopped speaking, hadn't so much as glanced down at the jagged shards sparkling and glittering in the light, like they weren't poised to slice hands in feet to shreds with one false move. As I got the broom to sweep up the glass her words and the heat in her voice washed through my brain over and over like a unwanted melody.
"I was dead."
I of course knew the difference between literal speaking and metaphor but I was utterly freaked out. Of course my mother could not have meant she'd literally been dead. Obviously she had been talking about emotionally dead or somehing like that.
That would have been much easier to believe if I hadn't been staring into the eyes of the dead woman even as the words formed on her lips.
After she had said the words she had shaken herself loose as if disengaging from a an unwanted embrace, and walked out of the kitchen.
After that night I was driven by the need to find out more. Partially to see what it was that she wasn't saying and partially to rid myself of the unsettling feeling I got when I remembered her words. The first place I went to find answers was the liabray.It seemed only fitting that I might glean details of my mothers life from books given her affinity with them.
my mother had been an author my entire life and as her fame ballooned she had been interviewed more and more. I searched out her name in magazines and via the internet.
I was surpirsed to learn that she had also earned mention in a number of college text books as well. The woman with whom I'd had screaming matches and more than one physical brawl with was a renown author. I had known she was sort of famous but somehow I'd never encountered the reality or it's magnitude until now.
I read every interview and short biography of her life I could find but they were all the same. She had been born in 1957 in Baton Rouge Louisiana she had been an only child from the union of Ruben and Gorgia Jones. After attending Stanford University and obtaining a masters degree in both English and Music she had gone on to become an author. The most recent article listed her published works which included 15 books seven of which were from an ongoing series called Amerikkka. She had also written a slew of articles and essays that had been published. None of this was news to me. I wanted the deeper stuff but apparently this was the extent of what my mother allowed the public to know.
Logically my quest should have lead me to my father but our relationship had gone from distant to non existent. He was gone three weeks out of every month and the time he was home he ignored the family until he could escape to the arms of whatever woman awaited him. I had a feeling that Daddy would have liked me to whorship him like my sister used too. After she had found out about the affairs she practically hated Daddy so she clung to mama with a neediness that set my teeth on edge. Her weakness made me want to shake her until her teeth rattled like a maracca.
The realationship I had with my mother developed into a unique mix of love and loathe that only a mother and daughter could truely understand. I missed her the way a person might miss an amputated leg. Even when she was no more than a few feet away from me we were miles apart. My childhood had conditioned me to remain emotionally unattached or at least to maintain the sembalance of detachment. So Mama and I had never really communicated, and by the time I was sixteen I had convinced myself that it was far too late.
We were in the kitchen and without any change of lighting or climactic crescendo of music that movies portrayed I had an epihany. Regina Jones- Thomas was a real live person. For my entire life I had focused on the fact that she was my mother and I had without exception cast her into to a role of intense and tyranical villany. Every move in her life since my birth had seemed somehow calculated and contrived to wreak havoc in my world. Now without any provocation in the space of a moment I wanted to know who my mother was. Suddenly the urge to know the events of her life that bought her to this point seemed to come over me like a fever.
We were washing dishes well I was washing dishes and she was leaning against the counter next to me smoking with a dish towel draped over her arm. Niether one of us spoke because by now out of necessity and self preservation silence was the language of our relationship. We had cut gouges into each other with our words that bruised the mind and broke the heart but still in my most secret parts I loved my mother with a strength that was frightening to me. I didn't know how to equate loving her so much with barely liking her at all it was a constant struggle that felt like a barbed coil scratching my insides as it drew tighter and tighter onto itself.
When I spoke we were both surprised. usually our dialouge consisted of harsh words and misunderstandings that reached magnificent decibles within moments.
"Mama who were you before you married daddy?"
She cast her weary honey colored eyes over my face and didn't say a word. The cold flatness that bloomed in her eyes scared the hell out of me. It was like I was looking into the open eyes of a dead person for a full minute.
"I was Regina Jones."
I rolled my eyes as the fear in me receeded. Now that it was gone it's very presence seemed rediculous. I should have known she would be a bitch about it. The familiar bonds of our relationship almost lulled me into silence but for a reason beyond my comprehension I needed to know who my mother was. I was becoming obsessed with an idea that had occured to me only moments earlier. I rinsed the glass in my hand and spoke.
"I know that mama I didn't mean what was your name. I meant what were you like?"
The coldness was back in her eyes and the fear returned with a breathtaking vengange. I had seen my mother fly through a range of emotions from happiness to rage but what I had never seen was this flatness. Like she could make her soul vacate her body at will. She was silent for so long I thought she wasn't going to answer. When she finally spoke her voice startled me into dropping the last glass that I had been about to place in the dish drain. The glass fell and shattered as it struck the cool tiles of the kitchen floor.
Mama hadn't even stopped speaking, hadn't so much as glanced down at the jagged shards sparkling and glittering in the light, like they weren't poised to slice hands in feet to shreds with one false move. As I got the broom to sweep up the glass her words and the heat in her voice washed through my brain over and over like a unwanted melody.
"I was dead."
I of course knew the difference between literal speaking and metaphor but I was utterly freaked out. Of course my mother could not have meant she'd literally been dead. Obviously she had been talking about emotionally dead or somehing like that.
That would have been much easier to believe if I hadn't been staring into the eyes of the dead woman even as the words formed on her lips.
After she had said the words she had shaken herself loose as if disengaging from a an unwanted embrace, and walked out of the kitchen.
After that night I was driven by the need to find out more. Partially to see what it was that she wasn't saying and partially to rid myself of the unsettling feeling I got when I remembered her words. The first place I went to find answers was the liabray.It seemed only fitting that I might glean details of my mothers life from books given her affinity with them.
my mother had been an author my entire life and as her fame ballooned she had been interviewed more and more. I searched out her name in magazines and via the internet.
I was surpirsed to learn that she had also earned mention in a number of college text books as well. The woman with whom I'd had screaming matches and more than one physical brawl with was a renown author. I had known she was sort of famous but somehow I'd never encountered the reality or it's magnitude until now.
I read every interview and short biography of her life I could find but they were all the same. She had been born in 1957 in Baton Rouge Louisiana she had been an only child from the union of Ruben and Gorgia Jones. After attending Stanford University and obtaining a masters degree in both English and Music she had gone on to become an author. The most recent article listed her published works which included 15 books seven of which were from an ongoing series called Amerikkka. She had also written a slew of articles and essays that had been published. None of this was news to me. I wanted the deeper stuff but apparently this was the extent of what my mother allowed the public to know.
Logically my quest should have lead me to my father but our relationship had gone from distant to non existent. He was gone three weeks out of every month and the time he was home he ignored the family until he could escape to the arms of whatever woman awaited him. I had a feeling that Daddy would have liked me to whorship him like my sister used too. After she had found out about the affairs she practically hated Daddy so she clung to mama with a neediness that set my teeth on edge. Her weakness made me want to shake her until her teeth rattled like a maracca.
G
Guest
Guest
Nano-ites: After reading Dest's latest excerpt (v. powerful, D.), and having read a few others I know I want to read more, i.e., final drafts or final finals.
What can we do? We won't all post to Lit. Think about it. I'd be happy to receive copies vie email, but I wonder if that's the most practical thing.
Perdita
What can we do? We won't all post to Lit. Think about it. I'd be happy to receive copies vie email, but I wonder if that's the most practical thing.
Perdita
BardsLady
Really Experienced
- Joined
- May 30, 2003
- Posts
- 255
I RULE!!!!!
I finally passed the 30 K mark at 2 am this morning! It was another half hour before I could get to bed due tot he fact that I needed to get the story to a spot where I could pick it up again today.
And guess what? I added a new character set to my book, and killed off one of the old ones. Muahahaha. I'm so bad I'm good.
What's even better, the one piece of elusive storyline I needed to tie it all up into a big present to myself got crystalized into reality last night. Things are looking up in the world from now on! Whee!!
I finally passed the 30 K mark at 2 am this morning! It was another half hour before I could get to bed due tot he fact that I needed to get the story to a spot where I could pick it up again today.
And guess what? I added a new character set to my book, and killed off one of the old ones. Muahahaha. I'm so bad I'm good.
What's even better, the one piece of elusive storyline I needed to tie it all up into a big present to myself got crystalized into reality last night. Things are looking up in the world from now on! Whee!!
otherdarkmeat
Experienced
- Joined
- Aug 17, 2003
- Posts
- 70
I'm sure when Tate is ready to share, we'll all be falling off of chairs, couches, etc.perdita said:Mike B., I want a chair to fall off of by reading Lou's work.
It's good to take breaks. NaNo is fun and compelling, but breathers are necessary at times.perdita said:
For people who are interested in sharing post NaNo, there's always the obvious (and clunky) share via email. Another option would be to set up a Yahoo Group for people to upload and download stories, but I would be cautious about that because Yahoo has some strange fine print on copyrights of posted material. Or if someone has extra web space they wouldn't mind sharing for a while, they could host a temporary posting location and provide the links to an approved group of individuals (in the interest of protecting copyrights and such).perdita said:
-Mike B.
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