A Healthy Dose of PMS ~#

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

Well, my 6 hours a week gives me LOADS of time for reading - and yet I still find that things never get done in time. Perhaps I should spend less time online and more time actually working. XD Maybe that way I'd have more writing time as well. =O  

[DesertRoseFallen]

Oh dear! I blame my flatmates, they always want to do this strange thing called 'socialising'... Hahaha!

 

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

I know. Like. What IS WITH THAT? rofl

Anyway, it's time I made a proper update. For sure. >_>

~ Friday 15th October, 2010.

Now playing: Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons

Weep for yourself, my man, you'll never be what is in your heart.
Weep little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start...

First off, that song is TOTALLY the song for my new novel. It's perfect! It fits my main character to a TEE. Seriously. I don't think I've ever felt like that about a song before. Omg.

Anyway. It's almost that time of year again. The time of year where I live purely hopped off coffee and sleep very little. Snacking instead of eating properly, meals that don't require washing up, dirty laundry and a "Who CARES?" attitude. Yep, that's right, it's almost NANOWRIMO! YEEHAW! Okay, this year I'm so totally psyched about the whole thing.

That's probably because last year was such a fail. I started two novels, didn't finished either of them, and in the process of pushing myself SO HARD to write an unnecessary amount of words I just totally sucked all of the fun out of the month. gonk This year I've learnt my lesson. If I want to go out after having written my daily goal worth of words? I WILL GO OUT. If I want another coffee, or an early night - if I want my main character to become a hippy-transvestite in tights and a bandana? IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN.

In the process of trying to be better than ever before, I forgot that NaNoWriMo is about the fun of writing, and the hard work - but not to the point of almost killing your love for writing. I think my last fail has probably contributed to my lack of any success through the rest of this year. NaNo 2010 is going to be better. I'm going back to the beginning, enjoying every bit of it. Socialising with the uni writers, getting drunk and writing at half 5 in the morning when I have a 9am seminar? That's what I'm talking about.

Bohemia over working-class-deadbeat ANY DAY.

Okay, okay, I'm rambling. Whatever. Here's the plot synopsis for 2010. I'm hoping it should be fun to write, but if it gets too much I'll just throw in some drugs and have my characters trip through multicoloured rape, or some s**t. xd

A Broken Horizon, NaNoWriMo 2010.
In the 20th century, mass population increase led to the founding of 'New Glory', the impossible city under the sea. Politicians, labourers and the bourgeoisie flocked to the city with the hopes of finding a new life without the hindrance of the morally corrupt surface world.

60 years later, Glory is nothing but a legend. Widespread disease and famine has left Earth floundering, her resources running low. People are dying; civilisation is trying, unsuccessfully, to move on. One man, ex private detective Leo Crane, is so caught up in his own alcoholic sadness that one sunny May morning he fornlornly decides to walk into the North Sea, pockets weighed down with stones.

Rather than death, however, Leo finds instead the city of Glory in all her - Glory. What unfolds is a tale of discovery, passion and deception. After all, the scientists from the surface world will do anything to get hold of this thriving place and make it their own. And somebody needs to stop them.


What do you think? And would you be interested in me posting up bits and pieces through November? I might post my favourite lines and stuff... And maybe character sketches. >_>

Rate yourself and rake yourself, take all the courage you have left -
wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head.

 

[DesertRoseFallen]

I liiiike it biggrin I would love to read more of course!

I don't have any seminars this year but I have writing friends and they are so awesome! I love them to pieces already lol.

 

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

I have all seminars and no lectures, lol. Means I have to pay attention! All the time! Grr...

My writing friends are awesome, too. It's a shame I don't see them all more often. We live on opposite sides of the city, lol.

I might post my character sketch I already wrote, if you want to read it?  

[Da Flea]

Psychotic Maniacal Sanity

...have my characters trip through multicoloured rape, or some s**t. xd

Say what? O_O;;  

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

I don't know. rofl  

[DesertRoseFallen]

Ya, I would love to read it biggrin

 

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

Well, I'll post that up now then! =D

This is focused on Leo and his wife Lorraine.


Lorraine

Lorraine was always flighty. Even before he married her, Leo knew this and accepted it. After all, only with her did he feel this light, this happy-headed. Only she could create within his soul those little pockets, bubbles of excited arousal and bemused affection. He had never felt anything like it.

On their wedding night, the ceremony over and the guests long gone, she came to him wrapped in a silk kimono the colour of a sunset in winter, shimmering with scarlet hues and dainty purple tones. He could see that underneath it she was naked, the shape of her breasts casting shadows down to her naval and beyond. He was beyond words, sitting back against the headboard of their bed without moving, fearing that something so small as a twitch would ruin the spell she had cast.

She crawled across the hotel sheets with easy confidence, not stopping until she reached his lap. There she lay, with her head in his hands, and began to cry. Her tears were soft and quiet, silvering her cheeks so that she appeared feverish in some places, incredibly pale in others. His heart felt like it was breaking, the muscles in his chest contracting so strongly and so quickly that he thought he might die from her pain. He smoothed away her tears and held her close.

“Oh, Lo,” he murmured, running his hands through the chestnut curls draped across his lap. “Oh honey, please don’t cry. Please don’t. I can’t stand it.” His eyes were narrowed, the thin lines around his mouth clearly defined in the shadows cast from the side-lamp. “What can I do to make it go away?” he asked. “I’ll do anything to make it go away. The sadness. Anything.”

She looked up through her tears, blinking her olive eyes with hope. “Take me away from here,” she whispered. Suddenly she thrust her face into the hollow between his shoulder and his chin, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Take me somewhere far away; I’m dying here, Leo. I can’t stay here.”

He vowed then that he would do all he could to help her, to keep her from the melancholy fear that was at the heart of her life. He didn’t know much about it, only that if he couldn’t help her somehow he would be failing her - and that wasn’t even worth thinking about. Three weeks later they moved to a small town outside of London, and two days after that Lorraine disappeared.

Leo was beside himself, sat for days in an alcoholic stupor after running out of options. The police said she would probably turn up, probably be fine. He couldn’t admit to himself that he might have done something to cause this circle of great sorrow within his wife. For the first time in twenty years he cried himself to sleep, gripping the bed sheets between his fingers as though it might bring her back to him.

She did come back, but she was a different person. Instead of a simple, bashful smile and a little ‘Hello’ first thing in the morning she would pounce on him with a counterfeit ‘Morning honey, how did you sleep?’ He never knew how to respond to this, hovering between ‘Fine’ and ‘Terribly’. She didn’t seem to care either way. She pottered around in the kitchen with nothing to do, avoided her painting and photography as though she had never planned to make a life out of either of them; Leo found her one morning a year later tearing up an old canvas, one she had given to him as an engagement present. It cut his heart in two.

The only thing that brought back her old spark of genuine passion was the birth of their daughter. When Beatrice learned to talk, Lorraine would sit with her for hours coaxing conversation from the young girl’s lips. She showed her how to draw a cat, taught her the best way to mix paint, to take a photograph in the dark. Beatrice was her pride, her little beauty. Leo found her standing by the sink sometimes, or by the bedroom mirror, with a tiny, knowing smile. It reminded him so much of the woman that he had married that he caught himself crying before he could stop it.

Beatrice was learning to ride her bike. She was rolling up and down the road outside of their small cottage, her feet dragging in worn pumps over the rough ground as she slowed down and started up, again and again. Lorraine came to Leo as he was filing some papers in his desk drawer.

“Don’t you think she’s beautiful, Leo?” she whispered, placing her fingers in the hollow of his back. Her breath was warm on his neck, smelling like toothpaste and red wine. “Have you seen her lately? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more perfect child.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Leo said, “But don’t you think you’re being a little over-confident? She’s just a child. Give her room to grow.” He hadn’t realised it, but his voice had come out sounding harsh and broken, like there was sandpaper in his mouth. He swallowed hard and turned to his wife, a frown on his face. “I’m sorry Lo. I didn’t really mean anything of the sort. She’s beautiful, fantastic, the best daughter-”

“Oh save it, Leo,” Lorraine snapped. She drew back from him, retreating into her shell. “Don’t treat me like a child. I just want a goddamn conversation!”

Leo didn’t know what to say. He stood with his mouth glued shut and his eyes narrowed to slits against her anger. Anger was almost worse than sadness because he knew that the tears would come soon and he would be responsible for both. He rubbed at his left palm with his thumb and forefinger, hovering beside his desk. “I don’t know what you expect from me, Lorraine, I really don’t. I can never do anything right for you any more. I don’t suppose I ever could!” A bark of harsh laughter escaped his lips before he could stop it. The argument was escalating, and he knew this, but he couldn’t hold himself back. “Why does everything have to be so perfect?”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the tears began to flow around the corners of her almond-shaped eyes. All of sudden her lips became pursed, her eyebrows furrowed and she was in his arms, gripping him so tightly he thought they might become one person, one entity, and smothering his face with kisses.

“You said you’d do anything for me,” she sobbed. “Do you remember? Anything? You told me you’d get me out of here and you haven’t. I don’t know how to escape Leo, and I’m taking you and Beatrice down with me.” She crumpled his shirt between her hands, winding and tearing. They fell against the wall, Leo’s breath knocked from his lungs by her need.

“I tried, Lo,” he murmured, kissing her head and holding her tightly to him. “I don’t know how to do it. I’ve tried and I just don’t know how. I think we need to get you some help. Outside help...”

Her tears began to slow, the wet patch on Leo’s shirt already beginning to subside. Her hands became less like claws, smoothed over his skin and caressed his cheeks. Slowly, the sun began to draw her back from her shell. Her eyes grew dry, her face calmer. Eventually, she pulled back from her husband and smiled at him.

“We’ll work it out,” she said. “Don’t worry honey.”

But there was that false grin, that fake cheery happiness. The thing that Leo had always valued about her had been her honesty; now she couldn’t even need him without deception. He nodded his head slowly, resigned. It would never change.

Two hours later, when he went to call them inside to dinner, he found that both Lorraine and his daughter had vanished. Beatrice’s bike was left on the front drive, with it’s wheel bent and the tyre punctured. Lorraine hadn’t even bothered to pack.

This time, somewhere deep down inside of himself, Leo knew they weren’t coming back.  

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

~Wednesday 20th October, 2010.

Now playing: Black Sheep - Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (OST)

Hello again, friend of a friend, I knew you when
our common goal was waiting for the world to end...



Ah, good film. Awesome soundtrack.

Today I had a meeting with my creative writing seminar leader. I explained to him the plot/characters/symbolism of the short story I've been writing (that I have to hand in to him in a couple of weeks time to be marked...). He seemed really interested in it actually, and said he thought it had a lot of potential. I really like him; he has some really good ideas.

I need to look at my ending a bit, clarify some stuff, and work a bit more on the symbolism. But first I leave it in a drawer (so to speak) for a week or so before I go back to it. I can't edit if I've not left it for a bit first.

That means this weekend I'm technically 'free'. I'm headed home until Sunday, so I can't work on my final essay (as I'd need to take a shitload of books with me), and I've already done all the reading I can do for my Monday module (I don't own the book - I'm not going to read it anyway, because it's not something I'm interested in pursuing). ANYWAY, I have the weekend at home to be free and enjoy being home! I've not seen my family, even on Skype, for a month, and I really miss them. And my pets. I miss them a lot. <3

Bwah. I think on the train I'll do some pleasure reading, which I don't often get time to do, and hopefully get down some ideas with regards to a creative writing commission I'm about to start. I have the basic plot and the characters, but I have to wait for my customer to PM me a few more details before I can start. I hope I get them before my train journey tonight, otherwise I'll have three hours to do nothing but read - and I don't think I could focus that long on the train today, my head is too stuffy. >_<

So, this weekend is looking good. Then I get back, edit my short story, plan and write my final essay (final for this half of the semester anyway), and go over a presentation I have to give. If I get all that done, I'm home free for at least the first two weeks of NaNoWriMo! Yaaaay!

Bring it on. >D

Now that the truth is just a rule that you can bend.
You crack the whip, shapeshifting trick, the past again

 

[DesertRoseFallen]

Wow that passage was really gripping, I loved the dark undertones and suspense you created. biggrin

 

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

Thanks! I'm glad you thought so! Hopefully the rest of the novel will have the same undertones. :3  

[DesertRoseFallen]

Yeah ahaha I hate it when I change the tone half way through sad

 

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

Me too! And this novel will be especially difficult because I've never written a novel with detective-y themes before. Nor have I written this kind of fantasy before. XD All new. Oh! And the male main character.

Wow, I'm stepping outside of my comfort zone this year. =/  

[DesertRoseFallen]

Wow yes you are! Once you go male, you will never go back! Well...that is what happened to me xD

I say 'Yay!' for experimenting!