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Mar. 10th, 2005 07:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Pick up to five of your most stubborn WIPs and story ideas that you can’t get down on paper. Write them as drabbles (100 words exactly). See if you feel better :)
I doubt it. Drabbles never make me feel better.
But I think FirstNovel needs drabbled.
They were free spirits once. They bound themselves to us then, and we grew strong, and wise, and we made beautiful things.
Strength was corrupted, wisdom occluded, beauty overdecorated, and we fell into savagery, and destroyed one another.
Then they left us.
Here we are, sad haunted remnants: ugly squat stone structures sheltering ignorant men, or scattered tribes who forget. Still we are savage, still we seek to destroy one another.
They returned to us, to retrieve us from misery, to make us as we were before. But though we have forgotten much, we have not forgotten how to hate.
Faugh, I can't drabble. I write until there are 100 words, and this is what I get. Good enough. Do I feel better?
No, mostly sad. FirstNovel is a relic of the way I was for a very, very long time. I might go back, but of course nothing I wrote can still be used. It is a lovely little sprawling epic about a strange little world, a dual world of spirit and matter, and the spirits who cross the divide-- and the creatures of matter who cross in the other direction. It reflects a lot of my high-school preoccupations with reality and fantasy. And also contains a lot of highschoolish angst. But it's quite pretty, in places, and belongs to a part of me before writing was public. And as such, I suppose, is sort of sacred.
And also, bad.
That novel is, by the way, the source from whence I derived this screen name.
I doubt it. Drabbles never make me feel better.
But I think FirstNovel needs drabbled.
They were free spirits once. They bound themselves to us then, and we grew strong, and wise, and we made beautiful things.
Strength was corrupted, wisdom occluded, beauty overdecorated, and we fell into savagery, and destroyed one another.
Then they left us.
Here we are, sad haunted remnants: ugly squat stone structures sheltering ignorant men, or scattered tribes who forget. Still we are savage, still we seek to destroy one another.
They returned to us, to retrieve us from misery, to make us as we were before. But though we have forgotten much, we have not forgotten how to hate.
Faugh, I can't drabble. I write until there are 100 words, and this is what I get. Good enough. Do I feel better?
No, mostly sad. FirstNovel is a relic of the way I was for a very, very long time. I might go back, but of course nothing I wrote can still be used. It is a lovely little sprawling epic about a strange little world, a dual world of spirit and matter, and the spirits who cross the divide-- and the creatures of matter who cross in the other direction. It reflects a lot of my high-school preoccupations with reality and fantasy. And also contains a lot of highschoolish angst. But it's quite pretty, in places, and belongs to a part of me before writing was public. And as such, I suppose, is sort of sacred.
And also, bad.
That novel is, by the way, the source from whence I derived this screen name.
