Isn't It Sad That...

I love envisioning myself sitting at a desk, scrawling out some novel on a blank piece of parchment; but sadly, I write alllllll of my inspiration on my family's computer. I literally have hundreds of pages in a folder of old stories, new ones, ones I want to finish, or fragments of stories I haven't written all the way.

I had this absurd thought one afternoon, of inventing my own style of writing. Of course, without a doubt, the technique is already taken and labeled, but for my sake, I pretend like i was the original pioneer of it.
It's called, as far as i'm concerned, Patchwork Writing. You write a beginning, and the the end. You write a plot summary, it can change and morph as you write the fragmented middle, to fit the bill you wanted at the beginning. After however long you want; you start to put it together. The beginning, and then the foremost fragment of middle, and then all the rest of the fragments and the the end. Knitting everything together in the end with little details and characters and what-not.

So... yeah, hope you enjoyed and please comment!
dh

Suddenly...

AGH i think of much to say, so...

Suddenly Alexa felt something warm and thick on her lower leg; she looked down and nearly fainted. Her jeans were ripped open to reveal her practically cleaved in half leg; blood was running freely down into her slippery shoes. Just as she felt herself collapse (no doubt because of sudden blood loss) she felt someone catch her around the waist, and then everything was black. Unfortunately the noise of the anguished and dying were not blotted out like her sight; the intense pain had now receded to a continuous throbbing, intensifying if she was bumped or a cloak brushed pass. She heard the clang of sword against sword, whoever was supporting her was panting with the effort of fighting one handed and seemed to be loosing the battle...


eh... bit gory, but i was writing in the moment :P

Descriptive...

I got my inspiration from the car trip back from Co-op, so don't blame me if this turns out lame!

Bria sighed; the damp but pleasurable scent of a coming rainstorm filled the air rushing through her opened window. She lifted her large grey eyes to see their color reflected on the undersides of rolling clouds. Below the stormy canvas of sky the tall, skinny trees at the edge of the Moor's property swayed eerily, a crow squawked and flew out of the topmost branches. Bria chewed her lip, she hated the way the whole world seemed to quiet down before a storm, the animals and critters of the outdoors had no time for singing, they had to prepare for the worst, unlike the humans who lived in anticipation for a scene of nature's power; safe in their homes...

Okay, Sorry...

I haven't just written anything about my life recently! it's all been "Part one of this" and "Part one of that" so now i'm going to update you all on my day and week...

This morning i left at like, ten fifty to be poked and prodded (went to the doctors in simpler terms...) and then went home and then got ready to go to West Chester (like the city...) to 'model' for a friend photographer in the city's streets. After standing against brick walls, siting down in an empty parking lot, and getting a Grande Caramel Macchiato, we came home and now i'm sitting in the warm family room, writing this... As for last week... well, i can't really remember! but maybe that's a good thing...

Love y'all :D
DH

Part Two!

Pt #2 of Indigo & Yellow...


…Yellow rushed forward, making to seize the old photo from Indigo’s hands; but Indigo, fast as ever, dodged away. Leaping over Yellow’s head he cleared the desk between them. Indigo glanced again at the photo under the cracked glass. It was signed by Yellow and a large heart encompassed to scrawling signature, a triumphant smirk spread rapidly across Indigo’s features. Turning slowly on the spot, crunching glass underfoot, Yellow confronted Indigo. His handsome face contorted into a kind of fearful rage.
“You didn’t tell me you knew her…like this” Indigo said, still in a half crouch, ready to sprint in any direction should Yellow decide he had had enough of talking. His grin widened as he remembered the almost clumsily drawn heart around Yellow’s name.
“Why would I?” Yellow straightened up, as if to show he had no intention of attack.
“Well… we do run into each other occasionally, we run this city together… remember?” Indigo said quietly, he knew he was treading on already cracked eggshells, his last words, he could tell, had stung Yellow.
“Yes. But Scarlet trusts me; she’s never met you…” Yellow replied curtly, standing feet apart in a defiant stance, as if determined not to be lured into action by Indigo’s bait.
“And she doesn’t have to, my report card is, as I’ve heard, is straight A’s. No tardiness to be sniffed out…” Indigo shifted his weight from one foot to another, he was sure this time Yellow would react to his spiteful words, but Yellow remained where he was; though his face was now almost pure rage.
“Get out. Please” Yellow said, his voice was clipped and aggressive.
“Yes sir…” Indigo suppressed a smirk, though not very well, for Yellow had finally let vent to his intense embarrassment and anger. Springing into action, Yellow bulldozed right into Indigo’s midriff, bowling him over easily; the already cracked frame split in two, leaving the raw photo of Yellow and his signaturein Indigo’s hand. Indigo tried to wriggle out from Yellow’s massive dead weight, but Yellow was planted on top of him, like a tree.
“Get…Off…or I’ll rip it!” Indigo threatened, Yellow looked up, his iron grip slackening a fraction. But a fraction was all speedy Indigo needed, he bucked and writhed and finally struggled free. Darting to the office door, he laid a hand on the brass knob.
“I hear footsteps… looks like are to be reunited with your paparazzi soon, dear Yellow…” Indigo allowed himself one more victorious smirk, and then leapt through the door, darting down the corridor beyond.
Yellow sighed. His handsome features furrowed in a frown. He sat down in Scarlet’s would-be leather throne, and looked out the floor to ceiling window. Sighing again and looking forlorn, Yellow picked up a blank piece of paper and an ink pen and began to write; he was writing to Scarlet.

Scarlet,
I’m sorry I wasn’t your hero this time… our mutual friend, Indigo man, you’ll find is better at the job. I won’t give up on us though.
Y

Pulling himself together, Yellow heaved himself out of the comfort of the chair and exited the destroyed office, weaved through the flood of reporters and journalists, and caught a cab.
“District of Amber, please.” Yellow exhaled to the driver, and watched the Governess’ home vanish out of the back windshield.
“You heard about the Governess?” the driver asked, turning onto Cloud Drive.
“Oh… yeah, who hasn't?” Yellow replied distractedly, he was thinking of were Scarlet could be trapped at that moment, and the fact that he was being driven home in cab, comfortable and relatively happy…
“Yeah, the reporters have only gathered that she may have been abducted, but by who? Nobody knows…” the driver shook his round, bald head.
“Don’t suppose anyone is willing to step into temporary governess or governor?” Yellow asked, tearing his brown-eyed gaze from the window.
“Nah, they’re all afraid they’ll be taken to, I mean, it’s only happened once though, right?” Yellow nodded and then realized the driver had his eyes on the road and hadn’t seen him and said,
“Hmm…”
“Maybe it had to do with her being a lady and all?” the driver pulled the stick shift into park and turned in his seat, hand extended for pay.
“Yeah, maybe…” Yellow said thoughtfully and dragged a fistful of cash from his shorts and exited the cab.

Haha...

Here's Part 1 of this tale of Indigo and Yellow...


There were once two super heroes, the notorious Yellow, and the crafty Indigo. They both had to share one city, the city of Purple; the Governess was called Scarlet, she was breathtakingly beautiful and smart. Yellow was somewhat of a stereotype, tall, good looking and athletic with a certain amount of proud dignity and charm about him. The one thing Yellow did not excel in was honesty, which made him a kind of crook in his own way, his deceptive weakness left him in a mess of covered up debts to other credible men, and a trail of heartbroken lovers that often hindered his burden to help and save the public of Purple.
Indigo’s profile, on the other hand was what some might identify as criminal. Small, crafty and charming, Indigo made his name infamous by figuring out the police forces’ most tangled crime cases. Indigo’s ninja like silence made his sudden appearance on the scene of crime baffling even to the fastest transport systems; he often beat Yellow to the damsel in distress.
One thing Indigo and Yellow both acknowledged was their respect for Scarlet, the Governess of Purple. What Indigo did not know, was that under Yellow’s tangle of lies and deceit, Scarlet actually had a relationship with Yellow before he became a country wide hero. In his ignorance of this fact, Indigo tried to win Scarlet over, to favor him instead of Yellow and give him the title of city hero. Indigo did not want the country wide responsibility (like Yellow had), but he loved the city of Purple and therefore wanted to have the respect and burden of so many civilians upon his shoulders, and his alone.
It happened one night some time in the month of Grey, that the starling morning paper, Green Bugle, announced the Governess, Scarlet to be missing. It just so happened that Yellow, having just woken up from an exhausting adventure in the village of Orange; had picked up the paper at the same instant as Indigo. Indigo was pacing his apartment when his mail was spit out from his mail slot at the door, with the Green Bugle on top of the bundle. After dressing in both of their suits, Yellow a pair of basketball shorts and a muscle shirt, and Indigo an indigo t-shirt and black sweat pants; the hero’s hurried off to the Governess’ house at the center of the city. Upon reaching the graceful building, Indigo chose the back door and Yellow the front. Indigo sped through dark hallways and corridors and eventually reached the lobby, where he witnessed with a slight grin, Yellow being assaulted by scrambling reporters, desperate to know what he would do about the missing Governess. Indigo ducked under the caution tape and jogged up the marble staircase to find Scarlet’s office. Yellow managed to answer two questions and then sprinted after the man in the blue shirt and black sweat pants…
Once he picked the lock, Indigo walked into a trashed office. Clumps of chair stuffing were scattered around the thick carpet, a pair of fuchsia slippers were flung near the base of a long cherry wood desk. Indigo picked his way through the tipped over furniture and broken glass to behind the desk. Official looking papers were crumpled, half burned and ripped lie spread out on the surface, and just in the corner was a piece of wood…
Pulling it out from underneath the paper, Indigo beheld to his utter astonishment, an old photo of none other than, Yellow. There was a click; Indigo’s head snapped up to see an angry looking (but embarrassed) Yellow looking apprehensively at the cracked frame in his hands…



P.S Briana, you ought to have laughed at this one :D

Something New...

Here's something to look forward to!

Part 1 of the story of the: Riddle-Marrow Scandle:

On a chilly, moonless September night, the thin silhouette of the Riddle-Marrow estate's house keeper could've been seen, trudging up from the manor houses' smartly trimmed garden. The sinister, though blotted shadow of a pair of hedge clippers swung at the woman's side.
"Mrs. Brown?" a thin weedy voice called weakly from the mansion's back door.
"Coming Mr. Crowley, I was just clipping the hedges so it took a little longer to come running..." Mrs. Brown grumbled, tossing her heavy outside apron on the nearby servant's table, hanging the clippers by the door.
"I saw you... in fact, I've seen other gardener's do the same work, same pattern. But Lady Ella seems to think the symbol is attractive, so who can complain..." the old man sighed, filling his teakettle with water.
"And i can tell you, " Said Mrs. Brown, picking out a cigarette and lighting it, blowing off the smoking match, "That if you know what's healthy for you, you won't tell a soul..." she exhaled a puff off dense smoke and ran her dry tongue around her yellowing teeth,
"You haven't told anyone else about it have you?" her steel grey eyes softened just enough that one could detect a certain, particular fear behind them.
"Because it's not secret, I was just renewing the hedges because the gardener left early..." Mrs. Brown attempted to cover up, but the man was unbelieving.
"No, not a soul except you, tonight..." Mr. Crowley leaned back against the wide sink's side, his watery grey blue eyes kept flicking from the smoking woman and back at the door...
"I was wondering... do you need... shall I say, someone to spill the beans to? I've been around the place for more than a decade, and i still haven't found out the mystery of the symbol" Mrs. Brown's taught face seemed to turn uncharacteristically slack and then she said,
" No, but thank you for the thought" she got to her feet sharply and threw her cigarette in the ash tray,
"Goodnight Mr. Crowley" she swept from the kitchen, her face slightly concerned looking...
"Goodnight Mrs. Brown..." Mr. Crowley lifted his teapot away from the fire as it started to whistle.
"I'll figure her out sooner or later..." he muttered to himself as he settled down with a mug of strong tea. But little did old Mr. Crowley know, he would not 'figure her out sooner or later' at all. He would never figure anything out after the dawn of the new day...



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