NaNoWriMo Best of the Daily (28)

Tboi hadn’t spoken or paid much attention to Terra after their disagreement.  Now she reflected upon how nice it felt to have been stuck in the same awkward plight with him.  She smiled her recognition of this when she caught his eyes.  His face, a pleasant mix of relief and contentment, now shifted to one of hurt and disdain.  He looked away and she was bruised by his disgust.

 

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Tune in for quick reads of the best (or least despicable) selections from the previous day’s word count, by virtue of my daily writing regimen for the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).  WARNING:  editing has not taken place.

 

 

 

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The Speaking Tree: NaNoWriMo Best of the Daily (27)

NEEDANAME was a seventh generation folk-teller.  His stories, when he told them, made young and old sit still and stay quiet.  In the early mornings, when most were stretching their muscles, scratching their itches, and hustling to and fro, there was one story he especially liked to tell.  He called it, “The Speaking Tree.”

“When the moon races slower and the Cimarron week is nearly at an end,” he would say, his raspy voice so quiet you had to stop moving in order to hear over the hustle, “there is a MOGUL that lives in a particular tree.”  He would would stand tall and stretch his arms and hands, then freeze, to imitate a tree.  “If you find this tree, you may still never know of this MOGUL, because for one hundred twenty-one days, it never makes a sound.  But if you find it, or happen to be sitting beneath its dwelling tree, you will hear a song and a word or two, and never will you ever be the same again.”

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Tune in for quick reads of the best (or least despicable) selections from the previous day’s word count, by virtue of my daily writing regimen for the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).  WARNING:  editing has not taken place.

 

 

 

NaNoWriMo Best of the Daily (26)

 

“Was there a question somewhere, Bishop?” The Maiden’s voice, less mundane than before and with a bite of disgust, sent ice water through Terra’s veins.

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Tune in for quick reads of the best (or least despicable) selections from the previous day’s word count, by virtue of my daily writing regimen for the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).  WARNING:  editing has not taken place.

 

 

NaNoWriMo Best of the Daily (6)

Drove by miles of slash pile fires in a dark 330am world coming home from a late shift at work. Cold mist & smoke framed burning orange pyre colonies. An idea formed for an incredible plot twist that’s going to take my #NaNoWriMo to a whole new level.  So here’s a little background to the original plot.

     The Spindellar Ordinance was clear in its directives:  eye to eye contact was forbidden unless medically approved or in the practice of medicine.  Spindellar was the oldest of the laws handed down through the ages by the Ancestors who colonized Kepler-Z.  Unlike other laws, it even explained the dangers and need for its existence.  Participant-2014-Square-ButtonNamed after the the now extinct previous inhabitants of the world they now populated, the ordinance was a mix of science, religion, and history.  It explained the electrophysics in brief about how, for some species in space, the combination of the planet’s natural magnetic forces along with the psychotensive elements many (including humans) radiated, eye contact could cause subversive internal bio-damage.  It was tantamount to murderous intent to break the ordinance.  The history of the Spindellites was proof that beings of less cohesive character could exploit this fact and affect genocide.


Tune in for quick reads of the best (or least despicable) selections from the previous day’s word count, by virtue of my daily writing regimen for the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).

i am the needle (August 1999)

like a scratch in a record
skipping back and back monotonously
the needle jumping, reaching for familiar
not by choice or preference
and certainly not for Fate

the needle’s destiny is to stay in one place
and let the vinyl run amuck
round and round
traveling ground
the needle never sees
but because the disk’s grooves
are spiraled it moves
closer and closer
to the center
to the core
where the song ends
until it gets lifted
and a new song begins

but scratches and rifts
throw the needle back
and it is forced to never again
reach.

i am the needle

(to be continued)

Overheated vinyl record

That’s one bumpy ride!