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  • taraskelt 12:06 am on October 31, 2011 Permalink | Reply  

    Hey everyone, NaNoWriMo is mere hours away, and I hope that we can all welcome in the month as a group, and begin our stories as a result! Looking forward to more activity in Querk and so much writing and coffee and exhaustion that I feel like I’m going to collapse, but my fingers are burning for a keyboard and my mind racing, so it will be worth it. See you all soon!

  • taraskelt 7:27 am on September 25, 2011 Permalink | Reply  

    Hello everyone, and welcome back as we draw ever-closer to National Novel Writing Month!

  • taraskelt 7:24 am on September 25, 2011 Permalink | Reply  

    Beginning scene concept for Leeder’s Grain 

    I can imagine this scene at the beginning, where Mollith is sitting on a jutting rock where
    the forest descends and diminishes into the fields of corn that are the beginning of the
    village limits. She's lying flat on her stomach and walking her fingers across the surface
    of the rock, bored. A small little pixie, about the size of her thumbnail, dances along
    after her fingers, and climbs up, spiderlike, to sit in her palm as she opens it.
    In this scene, Mollith is introduced, and we also will show how faeries are abhorred, feared,
    and rejected by how she hides the small creature (carefully), to prevent discovery. She is
    shown again, once she's run through the fields and disappeared into cornrows to escape
    discovery, the fairy clinging to the fabric of her shirtsleeve, as she runs to the edge of
    the cornfield and releases the small creature near the edge, just over the edge of the barren,
    scarred land of charcoal and fired remains that exists in a half-circle around the village
    limits, cutting it off from the forest. For a good forty feet charred ground stretches before
    an enormous, lush yet forboding wood. 
    She stops just at the edge, looking over the charred ground. The fairy, small pin-sized eyes
    wide, looks out over the charred land and clings to Mollith's thumb. If she crosses and touches
    down on the burnt, damaged land between here and the wood she will die; she needs to be returned
    to the patch of moss where she and others like her live, some distance in, but she is small and
    was carried over by the wind.
    Mollith has never crossed over into the wood before, but this time, to preserve this little life,
    it's a necessary risk; small faeries have always sought her out, and most have been kind. She tries
    her best to return that small kindness when the chance is given. Taking a deep gulp of air and
    swallowing the lump in her throat, she sets off at a mad run across the charred landscape and into
    the thick greenery of the forest.
  • taraskelt 1:32 am on March 2, 2011 Permalink | Reply  

    Older Dreams 

    She’d felt it coming on, the panic as she sat, fingers tapping against the surface of the desk, flexing in and out as if to leave behind scratches in their wake. Her dull nails made a weak, grating noise that wasn’t quite as horriffic as nails on a chalkboard, but was close.

    She could feel it rising, that sharp, violent urge to run, to scream, to just burst with the feeling of it all as she found herself suddenly aware…too aware, really, of her body, of her small little existence in the world that meant nothing, that was always silent, empty, alone.
    She could hear the crashing of desks as she bolted from her chair and ran into the hallway, collapsing against the wall with a weak shudder. He wasn’t there. Not this time. There were no classmates’ eyes following her from the room, no desks tipping as he stumbled after her and collapsed at her side, arms curled around her small form. There was no comfort. No smell of dried oranges and sawdust, no warmth of his breath on her cheek.
    It was cold. She didn’t know how long she sat there on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as she hugged her knees and counted tiles, waiting for something that would never come. Hours passed, and the light outside the window changed.
    Slowly, she stood. Bones cracked and popped as she stretched and walked to the window. The sun was setting on the opposite side, indiscernable save for the burst of colors it cast from behind her, over the few clouds above, lighting them with a haze of golden-pink and orange.
    An odd color for winter, she thought.


  • taraskelt 4:28 pm on February 22, 2011 Permalink | Reply  


    Tap, tap tap….tap…tap–

    “Miss Damling! Stop tapping your pencil, you are disrupting the class.”

    Mary stuck out her tongue after the teacher turned away, but ceased tapping in favor of staring out the window. There was always something interesting going on outside the second-floor window, whether it was people walking down below, a bird in the nearest tree, there was never a dull moment. And when there was, all Mary really had to do was make up something interesting outside the window. Today there wasn’t really much of anything happening outside. All she could see was snow. Maybe school would be let out early today? Nah, that never happened. Mary knew from experience that the day would drag on and on as the teacher droned about the civil war from the background.

    Her mom told her that when she got bored, words went in one ear and out the other. Mary could only wonder at why words would want to go into people’s heads in the first place, especially through people’s ears. Maybe that was why phrases like ‘waxing poetic’ existed…poetry was boring enough that the words would go right through her ears too, and get all waxy.

    But it didn’t make sense, not the way she saw it. And in a sudden rush of thought, she found that she saw the words in long filaments, flowing from her teacher’s mouth, swiveling through the air at crooked angles as they looked for a head to hide in.

    Mary looked around. There were words everywhere, and not just coming from the teacher’s lips. Words were slipping from the heads of other students, in little clouds of letters and numbers that slowly dissipated in the stagnant air, replaced with a continual stream of thought.

    There was one person in the class whose thoughts were not drifting out his ears. It was Bryan, the boy who sat one seat ahead in the next row. Bryan, the boy who handed in his spelling tests covered in doodles of aliens and otherworldly cityscapes, with weird, misshapen skyscrapers outlined against a loosely-penciled half-moon. Bryan, who at that moment was paying avid attention to the paper before him as his ballpoint pen whizzed over looseleaf. His hands were dyed black with letters, flowing to fall neatly before him, radiating outward from the center of the page..

    Slowly, Mary leaned over and peered at his notebook, and wrote what are you doing? in the top corner. Bryan’s hand stilled, the scritch of his pen silenced as he glanced up. After a moment of thought, he wrote in sloppy chicken-scratch letters beneath her own, writing a story.

    About what?

    Miss Damling, I suggest you direct your eyes forward and pay attention!”

    She flashed him a small apologetic smile and leaned back in her chair, staring out the window. This time, with pen in hand, scrawling doodles across her paper.

  • taraskelt 4:33 pm on February 8, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Higher flash fiction prompt American Dream post status   


    “Daddy, daddy, look at me!”

    Daddy looked, and smiled as Casey swung higher.

    “Careful, if you go too high the sky might swallow you up.”

    “Really?” She stopped moving to stare at him wide-eyed, letting momentum carry her back and forth. “Then where do you go once it swallows you up?”

    “Somewhere amazing,” he said softly, flicking away the butt of his cigarette and clasping his hands before him as he watched her, a smile on his lips.

    She swung.

    Higher, higher.

    The old man stood, sparing one last glance over his shoulder.

    “Just watch me.”

    Today was the day. Fifteen years later, and today was the day she would finally make it. She kicked her legs out before her, pushing forward and falling back as she urged the swing higher, higher. And all she could think as her fingers let go of the ropes and she lifted from the seat was that she was going somewhere amazing, somewhere that she would see her father again, with his whiskery beard and sharp blue eyes, and he would hold her in his arms and tell her he never meant to go.

  • taraskelt 3:05 pm on February 1, 2011 Permalink | Reply  

    Something Beautiful 

    “It’s not what I expected.”

    Ren took a drag of his cigarette, and flicked it aside as he stared up at the Seattle Space Needle. The enormous building was tilted to the side dangerously, on the verge of collapse.

    “Well, nothing can be trusted enough to be expected, these days,” Ren whispered in that gruff, raspy voice that he’d had ever since that drifter hit him in the throat with a crowbar.

    Every city they’d gone to was dead, save for those too stubborn or too crazy to leave behind the wreckage of what had once claimed to be a great country.

    “Eh. We should get going and scavenge for supplies. I’ll bet we can still find a few canned goods in some of the stores, at least,” Pete said, scuffing his foot in the dust that coated the street before he walked off. It was only when he realized there was no sound of footsteps in his wake that he realized Ren wasn’t following.

    Ren stood, eyes still fixed on the dilapidated skyscraper, silent. “Come on, we should get moving before any mercs spot us.” Still, he stood silent.

    Ren cleared his damaged throat and said, “It could’ve been something great, you know.”

    “It could have.” They stood in silence for a few spare minutes before Pete suggested once again that they move on. Ren spared one last glance over his shoulder, before they continued onward to walk the streets in search of survivors.

  • taraskelt 4:35 am on January 26, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Caterpillar   

    As the poor creature’s orange innards spilled over the tarmac, all I could remember was how you used to stomp on caterpillars when we were children just to make sure they didn’t become butterflies, and that my ugly, fat little body was still boudn in my own chrysallus, shuttered off from the world and yet still not nearly as safe as I thought behind my wall of silk, and that any day you could come along and pluck me down, and my armor would crackle under the immense weight of your converse sneaker.

  • taraskelt 4:46 am on January 25, 2011 Permalink | Reply  

    “I kissed him during South Park.”

    “Don’t cut wrists and blame me.”

    “I learned to see with eyes closed.”

    “Everywhere I look are more friends.”

    “I find enemies when not looking.”

    “My pen’s ink full, words empty.”

    “When will I get a job?”

    “Technicolor screens eat all my time.”

    “Why do art supplies empty wallet?”

    “I just busted my wallet today.”

    “They took loans, debt for life.”

    “Every word thought burns my fingers.”

    “Every little kiss makes me smile.”

    “Home doesn’t feel like home anymore.”

    “Looking forward to days spent here.”

    “Six words say so much today.”

    “I wish he would ask me.”

    “I want to have wild parties.”

    “Not looking forward to being 21.”

    “He smiles and I shine brighter.”

    “Being in love makes others bitter.”

    “You cannot stop me from singing.”

    “I wish to have exceptional writing.”

    “Will I ever be good enough?”

    “There is no lie like perfection.”

    “Quiet nights make my mind wander.”

    “Won’t be sane unless book’s finished.”

    “I fell behind, didn’t finish nano.”

    “Querk has brought happiness, amusement, inspiration.”

    “I didn’t think the pizza was edible.”

    “Cafeteria food sucks, order wonton instead.”

    “Word wars: a battle of numbers.”

    “I could do this all night.”

    “Reading manga wastes time. Still fun.”

    “Girl’s night on querk. Good memories.”

    “Cross-dressing and Rocky Horror? BRILLIANT!”

    “Lake-effect is making my toes cold.”

    “NEGATIVE six ddxegrees. Really, Jack Frost?”

    “Miss high-five, and look really dorky.”

    “It is good to be nerdy.”

    “Don’t light bonfires on windy days.”

    “Watch where stepping, beware of snakes.”

    “Good books are better than television.”

    “Reality shows kill people’s brain cells.”

    “Some people only have their pride.”

    “You remembered sledding, but not me.”

  • taraskelt 3:33 am on January 25, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: prompt   

    The new prompt challenge: Write a six-word flash piece describing your life. You can write as many of them as you like, but keep it to six words each.

    • chaseasteroid 4:44 am on January 25, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      I learned to bleed without wounds.

      Contingency plan failed; drink more beer.

      War tore it, poetry fixed it.

      Lies we tell: “I’m not enough.”

      “Negative seven, where are my tits?”

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