write a story

I have been writing my whole life, but never really finished any one story. I am determined to finish one! I will do it. I have no desire to publish it or anything, I just want to get it out of my head and on paper!

...but I think that the more vague, the less imposing the goal, the easier it will be to achieve. And why a book, and not a story? neither will ever get published; at least, that’s not my motive behind writing. I just like stories, I like making people. I feel like I have this amazing new friend when I write a “good” story.
I have this new idea for a story, I’ve been working on it. But I’m taking a creative writing class next semester, and so maybe I can use that class to develop this story, which I quite like.
: )

“when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
.for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved”

( “oh you poor lonely girl” )
ghostlike hands skittering across piano keys in the dark
felt out not so much by touch but by heart.
the little king sits and reads his bible
while you smoke a cigarette on the balcony,
nicotine stained fingers curled into fists.

I’m still putting ideas together and wondering what to write about. I was talking to my friend in class if Australia ever had it’s own war we reckon they would have to call people to serve int he army and we were talking about how much it would impact so many of us and apparently if you don’t go you’re sent to court and jailed… some ideas floating around that…

t.s. eliot, “the little king” and the birthday girl, carnival lights, porcelein dolls.
thumping and lurching beneath the floorboards. dream of kings and underdogs,
“the king is dead, long live the king!”
we’re all just gears and pulleys.
the freckles on his cheeks match the constellations.
skeleton hands grip wayward ghosts
trace the veins on the map.
“big star states spit big stars” etc etc.
mirrors sown into your pockets,
under the sun we’re all just pillars of salt.
the language of crickets.
teacup ciphers.
the shadows creep on stealthy fingers
they’re always brightest in the light.
his tongue tastes like a trigger.
and his neck was curved,
( etched burned and shaped )
to fit her palm.
natalie marie and 1cc
save your life, fuck and flee.
voodoo girl hung on lonely strings
she’s like a drawing you’d tape
to the front of your refridgerator next to the grocery list-
curved and focused, outside the lines.
hair not blonde or gold
but crayola yellow
the type of girl you fistfight petals with
“she loves me, she loves me not”
but love has nothing to do with it.

sapphire eyes, pearl teeth, ruby tongue. blood diamond skin. fabulous clockwork of lungs veins and heart.

himerus and eros, knotted around your wrists.
curtain up, spotlight on, break a leg.
candle wax, “little king”, hollow men with violent souls.
this is our town, where safe is just a state of mind.

I’ve got lots of great ideas, and I’ve started a few times but never finished. I want to finish at least one.

Ive got so many good ideas floating around in my head maybe it’s time i finally put it to paper.

Any kind but mostly “Ellis In Wonderland” stlye :)

so, i wrote a short-ish story, about the end of the world.

it is quite dark and sinister – something that would be expected from me, and i quite like it.

_” i saw the world burn.
The darkness had finally overrun its defences and we could see the great cities in flames. The tall glittering skyscrapers were tall dead pillars of fire. The sky was blacker than the coldest night and filled with deadly poisonous clouds. The horizon was a thin red line of flame; and death.”_

It’s been a while since I logged into this, and since that time, I was able to write a few short stories. Probably they’re best defined as vignettes, but still, a story is still a story. I’m proud that I was able to muster up the effort and weave together words.

I don’t think once is enough. I’ll go and write something more. :)