Progressive writing and other genius ideas from yours, truly

So, I don't know if you've ever surfed around my old posts, but a while ago I submitted myself to what I call my 'progressive writing scheme'. Aim of the game: at least one sentence a day, every day. Then, when you've written (or rather I have written) one sentence, I write two the next day, three the day after, and so on and so forth. Originally I meant to double the previous day's offerings, but that was an illusionary aim, I'm sorry to say. This way is better.

Then, when I have no time for the right amount of sentences, I start over again.

And guess what: IT WORKED!

I have not made it past 20 sentences in proper order, but it has worked, and this has really given me a boost. I tend to over-plan my time, you see - aiming for things that I cannot possibly achieve. Well.

No more. Now I have my scheme. One sentence a day, that I can do, no matter what, no matter where, no matter when.

Hehe.

Internal Conflict Blogfest

This is my entry (early this time, I know) for the Internal Conflict Blogfest hosted by The Alliterative Allomorph. Thankfully I have by now managed to retrieve most of my files from the corpse of my last computer, so I'm back in action ; )

This scene was actually written as a kind of character study/background 'helper'. It doesn't have a place in the actual story. I guess you could call it another 'deleted scene' ; )... I'm sorry it's a bit long!

It takes place in the dungeons of Frost, one of the Royal Cities of the Kingdom of the North. Beriael, Lord Callean Kingson's companion, has been locked in a cell...

“You cannot be serious.” 

Deleted Scene Blogfest - I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date...

Allright my dears, I'm so sorry it took me so long. Emergency surgery was performed on my computer but it didn't survive, unfortunately. So I'm still stuck on my friend's computer, and had to do a complete rewrite, so I hope you'll forgive this last-second (or rather very much too late) patch job...

So this is my entry for the Deleted Scene Blogfest hosted by Mia of My Literary Jam and Toast.

It's a little monologue by the Dark Passenger that accompanies Dexter from Jeff Lindsay's books (you might have seen the TV series?). I'm sorry it's not very humorous (and rather short), but like I said, emergency last second effort, heavily influenced by the fact that I've just finished the latest Jeff Lindsay book... hope you forgive me!!!

I am Dexter and I am not. I am darkness and the absence of light. I am everything and I am nothing. I am the beginning, but mostly, I am the end. 

The Zen of Doing My Nails

I had a long weekend. 

Lots of people, lots socialising, lots of family. I'm now sitting at home on my couch, watching reruns of The Mentalist (and loving Simon Baker...hmmm I have a thing for blondes *sigh*). I've unpacked my nail-care stuff. Nail-polish remover, various files and buffers, little cuticle scissors, cuticle care balm, extra-rich lemon scented hand cream, clear strengthening base polish, a selection of colours and my favourite extra-shine top coat. 

This friday, I had a dinner meeting with my cousin, who's getting married end of may. I'm one of his witnesses, as we call it these parts - that means I stand up for him in church, sort of like a maid of honour but for the groom. The groom's brother is a witness, too, as are two of the bride's best friends. 

We had all planned on meeting up that evening to go over the schedule for the wedding. Various spouses and siblings came along, too. Bride and groom presided over the meeting, although the bride definitely had things well in hand. She handed out five-page printouts of her List of Stuff To Remember so we could all make notes on our own copies. 

Those lists covered everything from how many chairs we'd have to put up in church (yes, we would have to do that) to who would hoover the carpets and check the lightbulbs. 

I've taken out some cotton wool thingies and removed my current nail polish. It's Noir de Chine, or rather it was. Once I've rubbed away the most stubborn bits of black, I go wash my hands, scrubbing my fingers with a soft-ish little nailbrush I bought last week. I dry them off and go back to the couch. 

The Mentalist is over now. I channel surf until I hit Transformers. It'll do. 

I was rather surprised (and somewhat amused) to learn that my main job for the wedding (it had to be my main job, it was mentioned no less than three times on that list) was to supply a large amount of our family-made plum schnaps (lethal stuff) for the banquet on the evening after the wedding. Right. 

Bad Girl Blogfest

Right, first time I've ever done anything like a blogfest... but it sounded like fun, so here I go. A bit early, I guess, but whatever...

Aim of the game: a Bad Girl's scene
Hosted by: Andrew Rosenberg AKA Iapetus999 at TheWriteRunner-Blog

This scene is actually from one of my incomplete stories - Thia and Val are two of my all-time favourite characters in my incomplete-story repertoire - but I hope it's not too much out of context:

Thia had always loved watching Val dance. 

A new week...

It's Monday again.

Now, I've never been much of a Monday-fan - perhaps conditioned to dislike it from bygone days of having to go to school? - but Mondays do have some positive connotations, too (believe it or not).

They are the start of something new, a beginning, almost like a new chance.

In my case, a new chance to get sorted. Weekends have this weird effect on me. I'm not the most organised person to begin with, but on weekends, things go haywire. Daily routine is abandoned, to-do lists are ignored, chores put off till later (or Monday, as it were). Particularly if the weather's nice outside.

Now, you might shake your head and give me a disappointed sigh on that, but there it is. Weekends are a toxic wonderful mixture of too much time and too little planning.

I love it, I really do. Social life happens, the weather's great for sports, nobody from the office calls with new problems/tasks/catastrophes, I get to sleep in (and as anyone who knows me can tell you, I am so not a morning person)....

Take a peek, continued

Takes place a few paragraphs further on than the last 'peek'. Merle's opponent has looked him over, and judged him wanting. He smiles a condescending little smile at Merle. 

One way or another, this would be my last fight for the day. 

I smiled back, showing my teeth, and the crowd roared again. I was the favourite here. The crowd didn't care that this man was twice as broad as I was, didn't care that he had a sure decade of experience on me. They loved the fact that they'd seen me dance the blades upon these sands three times that day alone. I was the campion, and I'd held my post for longer than any champion before me. 

They probably believed me invincible. 

So did my master. He sent me out to fight, over and over again, even though the Arena regulations cited one fight a day per fighter. He sent me out to fight, and to win him money. 

I was young for a fighter, but luck had been with me, and I had won. Over and over again.

I was champion of the sword, the youngest the Black Sands had ever seen. The crowds loved the champion. All of Corsette loved the champion.

They didn't love me. He wasn't real, this champion, wasn't me. I lived, I fought, I survived. Maybe today I wouldn't. Either way was fine with me. The crowd roared louder, and I lifted my sword again to engage the enemy.