My throat is streaked with
the age of my sins; they are older
than my friends, older than
any end that in striving for
becomes what I am dying for —
but my face is clean,
clean of the sin that boils
my heart, clean of the pride
that spoils each part of me
that could be redeemed, if
to be redeemed did not require
forgiveness, for how can I aspire
for what I don’t profess?
In the end my throat is pocked
with my offenses — but only in oil,
only in my reflection.
Music Mondays: Part XIV
Fantasy is uni-age. You can start it in the creche, and it follows you to death.
― Terry Pratchett
In honor of Terry Pratchett, I’ve hunted down some of my favorite instrumental fantasy mixes on 8tracks. These three playlists will take you from snow-capped mountains and veiled northern lights to the clink of mugs and smell of woodsmoke in a lonely tavern. As you write, follow the wise words of Mr. Pratchett: start in the creche, and strike your journey until death.
Happy writing!
It’s My Blog’s Anniversary!
Marvelous news! Today is the two year anniversary of Stellular Scribe! It all started in 2014 when I was an awkward teenager (a fact that has yet to change), progressed into the dark ages of 2015 (where months would go by with nary a post), and emerged bright and shiny in 2016! I would like to extend my personal thanks to anyone who has ever liked my posts, commented, followed, or even just stopped by. While Stellular Scribe is first and foremost a labor of love and the number of followers or likes I get doesn’t matter, I appreciate each and every one of you.
On that note, I do have a bit of exciting news. This past week has been incredibly busy and I’ve had to break my posting schedule to make room for everything that’s been going on. On top of training for and running a 5k, I recently finished acting in my school’s production of You Can’t Take It With You, which went off without a hitch.
My big news, however, is that my novel was awarded a Gold Key by Scholastic in the Art and Writing Awards.
What does this mean? I don’t really know. I didn’t win the ultimate grand prize or anything, but I’m still incredibly grateful and can’t help feeling undeserving. What I do know is that this award has offered me the recognition I need to motivate myself. For the first time ever, I want to go for it, and I mean really go for it: editing, querying, publishing, the whole shebang. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll self-publish. It might take a year or two, but I’m determined.
My blog’s anniversary could not have come at a better time. I look forward to another year of reading, writing, music, and mayhem!
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. 🙂
Music Mondays: Part XIII
We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.
― Anaïs Nin
The process of writing is colored by perceptions and realities. We connect what we write to what we know, to faraway memories and distant possibilities. Without reading, these hidden truths remain hidden. Here are two playlists that just might help you unearth some hard truths: slavery and heresy.
If anyone is interested in these playlists and wants to know the full track list, leave a comment and I’ll let you know.
Happy writing! 🙂
Writing Kindling #7
Writer’s block may seem like a terminal illness, but sometimes the smallest of sparks can “kindle” your craft. Today I bring you a list of ten 1-2 sentence writing prompts that will help build up your white blood cells and give writer’s block a good kick in the pants. Copy them, tweak them, consider them, leave them. It’s up to you!
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Curiosity carved a nasty scar into her heart.
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Shelves covered every bit of the scientist’s walls.
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“There are monsters in these elevators,” the receptionist said with an unsettling smile.
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He raised his arms to protect his throat.
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I was out walking in the frozen swamp when the first boom! sounded.
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“That won’t be necessary,” she said, pushing her glasses up her nose.
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Certainly he had loved her madly, but none of that mattered anymore.
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Her hand was soft and composed of spindly fingers.
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The sound of hooves clopping on cobblestones interrupted him.
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Firelight danced in her eyes, and the air was warm with singing and laughter.
I’d love to hear what you come up with. Feel free to share your writing in the comments!
Happy writing!
Writing Kindling #6
Writer’s block may seem like a terminal illness, but sometimes the smallest of sparks can “kindle” your craft. Today we have the painting “Film Noir” by Jeremy Norton.
Ask yourself: Who is he? Where is he? What is he feeling? Why is he smoking? Who is the person in the background? Write about who he is, what situation he is in, and what he will do next. It can be a poem, short story, long fiction, anything — let the kindling commence!
As a bonus, I’ve compiled a jazzy playlist chock full of gritty, undercover agent, noir music to accompany your writing:
I’d love to hear what you come up with. Feel free to share your writing in the comments!
nymph
leaden words on your lips, white etching on the wood —
revile the wicked, beware your toes, they snap in the shadows —
nonsense, your voice drips. dips. regard the good.
don’t you see the cream spotting the path? the moss
is dappled in sun, veiled in virtue.
my feet sink into the dirt. but the etching on the wood —
revile the wicked, beware your toes, they snap in the shadows —
I curl my fingers against the bark. a nymph.
I find myself catching a glimpse
of green eyes in green leaves. let her be, your voice lifts.
she will not hurt you. here, a kiss will set your ease.
what is wicked is not to be believed.
© 2016 Stellular Scribe
I’m Not Related
I’m not related to that dinosaur,
though I saw him sitting on my porch,
like he was my blood-born uncle.
That leather-skinned bigot
stole my place settings.
See, I was going to make a nice table,
and I had a roast in the oven.
I would have invited him too —
out of courtesy, of course —
but he left scratch marks in the wood
and now there aren’t any plates left.
No respect, nowadays, he grunts,
like he’s been around the globe.
Around the globe? Around the years, maybe,
I think, but he hasn’t got a wit to show for it.
Now I’ll tell you again, I don’t know
what he did with my place settings,
and he isn’t allowed on my property anymore —
For God’s sake, I’m not related to that dinosaur.
© 2016 Stellular Scribe
The Art of Bleeding Words
Sometimes, writers get so caught up in the three Ps of prose (prepping, plotting, and plumping)* that they use outlines and character sheets and thesauruses as crutches for creativity. Don’t get me wrong — I’ll be the first to advocate for a little outside assistance when it comes to laying out your story and sparking inspiration. It’s good to do research, to have resources on hand, to feel confident in what you write.
But often, the best way to write free from reservations is to just go for it without fearing run-on sentences or flat adjectives or continuity. I think Ernest Hemingway said it best:
There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
In less eloquent terms: spew out word vomit.
Find a comfortable space. Listen to some music or hone into the natural noise around you. Take a deep breath. Ready your typewriter (or writing hand or laptop or other device). And write. Don’t look at a thesaurus. Don’t go googling every little thing that pops in your head. Trust your instincts, and write.
You should never write to fill space. Write to fill your thoughts.
*prepping — worldbuilding, character development, establishing setting
plotting — outlining, structuring of rising and falling events
plumping — syntax, description, and other word magic.
© 2016 Stellular Scribe
If you’re interested in my illustrations; get this design on a t-shirt or other product at Redbubble! Thanks.
desironious
an un-word, reaped
before the oasis, sees
that palm tree shimmering
at your fingertips, you
want, but it’s not want —
you desire, but it’s too dire
for pleasantries, this is lust
but without the lovelies
it is desironious,
an un-word, reaped
at your bedside, some
nonsense that makes your
stomach cry, you hunger
but it is not to please —
you long so long that you
might cave in on your own
presumptions, because
you are desironious,
simply unceremonious,
not in the bit erroneous.
harmonious?
desironious.
© 2016 Stellular Scribe
Stellular Scribe 