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About Literature / Artist jenniferFemale/United Kingdom Group :iconblood-vow: Blood-Vow
 
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:iconlacoterie: Hey, I've been trying to think of something to say about this for a while now. Sometimes I have a lot of trouble actually wording my ...

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FInally finished typing up Red Velvets in the Rain. Woo, that was a trip and a half! Never expected this to emerge from the prompt "strange times at the cupcake pagoda." Just under 5000 words currently, closer to a surreal encounter than a short story but I like it all the same!

An excerpt, since I won't be posting the full thing here: 

    Before they opened the door, Undine spoke up. “Do you know what I’d call you, were it my right to choose?” When Alice made no answer, they continued on unabated. “Marina. I think it’d be a good name.”

    Alice thought for a moment.  “Marina… But aren’t they tethered to the shore?” It seemed surprising, that Undine would harbour fascination for such a person.

    “On the contrary.” Undine’s hand tightened on the doorknob. “I’d argue that they are more like gateways. “With nothing left to say, Undine opened the door and the two of them stepped through into the clouded daylight.

A flurry of raindrops splattered through the open door, guided by the wind, and slowly began to soak the cupcakes that Alice and Undine had left behind - Alice’s half-eaten, Undine’s barely touched. Slowly, the glimmer of water spread across the plates and formed two shivering pools. The rain continued, unrelentless.

-now to find a hapless lackey to help me reduce this into something wonderful :3
Ok so I've been reading about this French vending machine that dispenses short stories, of the 1-minute, 3-minute and 5-minute kind. I'm wondering what it means to write a 1 minute story or one of the others. Does that mean a story which takes one minute to read to the end, or one minute to read aloud? I really would like to experiment with these formats :P

www.independent.co.uk/arts-ent…
I found him at the back of the town hall, washing away graffiti that swirled in endless spirals and almost seemed to glow. He was straining to reach the highest curves of paint - I could hear his grunts from where I stood, twenty metres away. It was a warm afternoon and I’d just finished work, so I sat down to watch him for a little while, opening up a water bottle from my bag.

While watching him work, I studied the man. It was difficult to tell exactly without seeing his face, but it didn’t look like the years had been kind to him. The skin of his hands and neck was mottled and worn, like crinkled paper. His hair was thinning and streaked with grey. The skin below looked almost transparent. It looked like removing the graffiti was tiring work, but he kept on wearing it away regardless. There was an almost tender care about his movements that kept them from seeming automatic.

Eventually he turned around, the wall cleared, and noticed me. “You’ve been sitting there a while, haven’t you?” He asked with little emotion. He didn’t even seem surprised to find me there. The weary look on his face contrasted starkly with an almost meticulously neat moustache.

I shrugged and got up, heading for a nearby bin. “I’m in no rush,” I said, disposing of the water bottle. He refused my offer of one of the bottles left in my bag. He looked exhausted - I could see a faint glimmer of sweat on his face - so I was surprised, but tried to ignore it. “Were you doing that all afternoon?” I asked, shouldering my bag and walking over.

He nodded silently. He hadn’t moved an inch while my back had been turned. His stillness was beginning to unnerve me. I began to feel disconnected from everything, watching him.

“Sounds tedious.”

This time he did speak. “I don’t mind. They’ll come back in a couple days and mark it again.” His lack of any word resembling ‘though’ bemused me. It was starting to sound like he was happy the kids were painting graffiti on the wall. Behind him, the cleaning fluid shone on the brickwork, no trace of the paint left behind.

“You don’t seem annoyed about that.” My response brought a cracked smile to his face.

“Like I said, I don’t mind. It is pure expression.” He sighed and ran a hand through what was left of his hair. “I’m just glad they’re not any taller or I’d have to get out the ladder,” he said. I noticed a slight jolt of his hand, gesturing towards the wall to indicate his meaning.

I was confused. Did he mean the walls or the kids? For now, I focused on the ladder. “Wouldn’t a ladder make it easier?” I asked. “You wouldn’t have to strain so much with the high bits.”

“I’d have t o keep moving the ladder, which is more strain.” He fell silent for a moment and watched me without blinking for a full minute. My ears started to throb. “I don’t want to mark their messages. I simply wash them away.”
“Messages? The kids’?” I spoke with clear disbelief. Sure, graffiti often included words, but nothing I would consider a legitimate message.

“If children created this, children would remove it,” he said. His hair rippled in the breeze, like the surface of a lake.

I nodded in understanding. “Community service. I hear it’s a common task.”

“This is not the work of children,” he answered.

I walked closer, studying the wall. Children and teenagers weren’t the only demographic to paint grafitti, I knew that. I actually hated the thought of an adult graffiti artist. It felt much more scummy, like the person was a waste of space.

It didn’t sound like that was what he meant, though. “Who, then?” I asked.

The man’s back straightened, his eyes drilling into me. I felt my own begin to water. “Things without mouths.”

His answer hung in the air as I stared at him. “What do you mean?” I asked, walking forward and watching him intently.

He turned away. “I must rinse the wall or the bricks will decay.” None of my questions after got any response. He just ran his cloth over the wall, seemingly oblivious of me. Eventually I gave up and headed home.
things without mouths
Just a short thing based on an image/phrase prompt. Tried to focus on dialogue. I've done a few others focusing on characterisation and description/imagery, but I don't like those as much. I wouldn't mind exploring this idea further at some point. We'll see.

Most of the writing I'm doing at the moment is articles and blog posts, so it feels good to get this out. I'm following a twitter "Magical Realism Bot" which I really want to write from at some point, but man it's hard. You get things like "A woman steals the dawn of time and hides it inside a church." and since the magic needs to mean something to the story - it can't just be 'for the sake of it' - writing it really takes some thought. I think I just need to read more of it. Murakami and Yoshimoto aren't quite cutting it, here.
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So after a daft and frustrating mishap, I can officially say I just submitted one of my stories to apex magazine. Here's hoping they look upon it favourably!
Oh, for pete's sake! I'm going to focus on this cover letter and pretend I didn't just do that... XD
Ok, so Robert Shearman is an awesome person and writer and I am definitely getting one of his short story collections when I get around to it. He wrote the Doctor Who episode 'Dalek', in case you're wondering. Yeah, a really decent episode. I suddenly feel so misty-eyed. Hell, I guess I really like Dark Doctor Episodes x3 I want more of those angsty feels.

Di I mention? Robot Shearman came to my uni and did a talk. One of my lecturers was running it and she looked like she was very close to fangirling C:

Also, I miss the fancy journal layouts... *sigh* back to basics for now, ne?

Now, to my ps2, Steam (I need to test a dongle thigummy my housemate lent me) or more Anime? I have too many series to catch up on...

yeah, yeah, I know what I should be doing. I also know what I'm not doing.

Oh, and by the way? The Winter Soldier is really really really awesome and everyone should watch it.

ciaooooo

edit: I just realised I put Robot in place of Robert. Bollocks. *shakes fist at subconscious*
  • Reading: Pride and Prejudice
  • Watching: Sailor Moon S
  • Playing: Jak 2: Renegade... again
  • Drinking: Pepsi

deviantID

Lychalis
jennifer
Artist | Literature
United Kingdom
Poet by name,
pretentious by nature.

There's a novel in my chest:
split my ribs, pull it out,
have a read -
bedtime literature.

I hope you
remember my
name, strange creature.

Love you too much for words, Snubbs :heart:

Blood Vow: A House of Night RPG - Blood Vow: A House of Night RPG

Current Residence: Sutton
Favourite genre of music: Alternative, Electronic
Operating System: Windows 7
MP3 player of choice: Ipod
Personal Quote: Insanity is a virtue.
Interests

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:iconinkedacrylic:
inkedacrylic Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thank you so much for faving my writing :wow:
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:iconthesolipsisticsluagh:
TheSolipsisticSluagh Featured By Owner May 18, 2015  Professional Writer
Thank you very much for the favorite. :heart:
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:iconankredible:
Ankredible Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2015   Traditional Artist
:iconcuteyoyoplz:Thanks for the FAV:iconyoyobowplz:
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:iconpierreartou:
PierreARtou Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2014  Student Digital Artist
Thank you for the watch ! :D
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:iconlychalis:
Lychalis Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2014   Writer
You're welcome!

I'll let you know if any of your artwork inspires my writing :D
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:iconpierreartou:
PierreARtou Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2014  Student Digital Artist
That would be a pleasure ! :)
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:iconraspil:
raspil Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2014   Writer
happy birthday :heart: :D
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:iconlychalis:
Lychalis Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2014   Writer
thank youuuuuu ^_^
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:iconcality:
cality Featured By Owner Dec 22, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the :+fav: and the lovely comments!
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:iconlychalis:
Lychalis Featured By Owner Dec 22, 2013   Writer
no prob :D
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