Inspiration
I can’t tell you how long I sat in front of my computer attempting to write this blog. All I can say is that it was too long. I know what I wanted to write this blog about: the story that I’ve been working on here, but what does my brain want to write about? Not that. I’ve been thinking about a completely different story, and have spent a lot of my time planning and writing about that. For weeks it’s been increasingly apparent that my heart has not been in “Working Memory.” The chapters are short and released last minute, and I feel like I have to justify...
Read MoreWorking Memory: Chapter 3
Clare drummed on the table with her fingers, picking up the pace as her anxiety increased with every ring. How busy could the police station be? Nobody ever reported crimes anymore because nobody ever remembered, and even if they did, nothing was going to get done. Finally the phone was answered, and before the person on the other end of the line could even introduce themselves, Clare had begun talking. “I need to report a crime.” Clare said hurriedly. “Ma’am, did you mean to call a tip line?” “No. I need to speak with a…” Clare drummed her fingers...
Read MoreWorking Memory: Notes
So, I wanted to take a break from the actual story this week and just do a blog about some mini-thoughts on writing. It’s not going to be all inclusive, I just have had these ideas as I’m going along the process, and thought that I should share them to you. I really don’t like writing serial fiction. If I don’t like it, then why did I do a blog? Easy. I wanted to challenge myself. The thing is, I’m much more of a planner. I like to have all of the back stories to all of the characters set in stone and my world well conceived before I ever write a story that puts...
Read MoreWorking Memory: Chapter 2
The last thing she remembered was being in an alleyway. There had been green, and then there was blackness. She was out of memory.
Read MoreThe Sieve: Chapter 2
s she walked down the stairs, the edges of her world slowly melted away, further softening the sights around her and creating a haze around her world, as if she was walking in a cloud. Or on a cloud. At some point she had stopped stumbling and started gliding down the streets. She didn’t know where she was going, but that was ok. It was better that way. Better to enjoy the journey. That was what slipping was all about. Journeying without destinations. Destinations were too hard. Too definitive.
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