Writer’s Log: 2123 Willfulness

Back when I sucked at writing (much more than I do today), I was, what I’d call, story willful. I wrote with willful intent to put story to paper. And the stories flowed. (The writing was awful, but the stories were solid.)

In trying to coerce better writing from my fingers, I’ve transitioned into technically willful. I focus on sentence structure, transitions, phrasing, cadence, etc. at the expense of story. In fact, without my story willfulness, my writing has become hollow, shallow even.

Having penned fifty-thousand words or so in the last six months, and specifically these last few thousand words writing scenes, I realize that the one key component missing from each mini-story is story willfulness. It’s as if I began to ignore the seriousness of each story’s purpose. Now, the story might have nothing to do with being serious, but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t write without serious intent, that is, story willfulness.

With each scene, thus far, a thought came to mind and I spilled the words, an ad hoc seat-o-the-pants type story. Well, for me, such things often come across as silly or empty-headed. I’m no comedy—Sunday paper casual-reading—writer, but that’s what each reads like (to me). Reader’s Digest bits. That would be okay, I suppose, were that my goal.

But it’s not.

Do you write willfully? Or whimsically? Wistfully? Woefully?

(See, it’s that kinda thing that’s good in a blog but not in my work.)


SepSceneWriMo: Niner

Lacy’s Run

Lacy’s grip on the polished brass pole held her like a bronco rider beyond her mandatory eight seconds. The calliope music didn’t help. Neither did the rotational momentum nor the pumping motion—up down, up down—like she needed her bucket filled during the Dust Bowl, and her well had run plum dry.

“Lacy dear, it’s a ride, honey. You won’t fall off. And if you do…” (What kind of psychotic rationalization is that?) “I’ll be here to catch you.”

Continued…

https://davecline.wordpress.com/2019/09/09/sepscenewrimo-niner/


SepSceneWriMo: Eight

Missing

“She’s this tall,” Tooq held his brown hand up to his chin, “and she laughs like a goat when you tickle her. And… and she’s all I have left.”

When the bomb detonated beneath the fruit seller’s stand during Tuesday morning’s market, Tooq and his sister had been two stalls down, hunkered in a corner of the wall of the now defunct tannery, nibbling cast-off laffa bread. The concussion had blown the palm-thatch roofs of both the spice and the filigree brass stands over top of the children. Tooq, a boy of ten, and Fenta, a dazzling eyed child of seven, screamed for each other but their hearing had temporarily vaporized with the explosion and though they tried, they could not link hands, touch each other’s fingers.

Continued…

https://davecline.wordpress.com/2019/09/08/sepscenewrimo-eight/


SepSceneWriMo: 5, Six, 7

• Orbital Odyssey

• Small Change

• Final Grades

Continued …

https://davecline.wordpress.com/2019/09/07/sepscenewrimo-5-six-7/

Each of these deserves another swing with the writer’s bat. But, well, NOT.


SepSceneWriMo: Four

Long Pig

The King’s cook thrashed about the kitchen seeking inspiration, a sign, a clue of any kind that might, by the end of the day, afford him his life. An emissary from a distant province had arrived the evening past. Notice had filtered down that the King required a fitting banquet.

The oaken backdoor’s hinges creaked and Fain the meat monger peaked through, his long mottled beard waving with the breeze.

“Shut da fookin’ door, won’cha? What are ya, a comely neighbor come to beg a cup?” Simon crossed his thick arms and cocked a hip. Before Fain could respond he continued, “How fresh?”

Continued…

https://davecline.wordpress.com/2019/09/05/sepscenewrimo-four/


SepSceneWriMo: Three

Rosie

Dorothy plucked another plastic bottle from the dumpster behind the Classic Town Mall. The bottle still held three quarters of its brown-colored fluid and her cheap trigger-handled claw slipped and let it drop. Damn kids can’t finish what they buy. She tried again and this time used two hands to pinch it and releasing it to fall to the pavement.

“What do you think, Rosie?” she whispered to no one. “I should water the bushes with this tooth-rot?” She didn’t wait for a reply. Using rubber gloves, she picked up the bottle and waddled over to the concrete barrier where she dumped the Coke into the dirt on the far side. With the bottled stuffed into a plastic bag, she returned to her collecting.

Continued…

https://davecline.wordpress.com/2019/09/04/sepscenewrimo-three/


WizardEarth: The Forgotten Web

Nearly twenty years ago I decided to create a collaborative writing website where many authors could team together to contribute to writing fan fiction (or whatever).

I called it WizardEarth and I built a whole database and web application to support it. Today, as I dug around The Wayback Machine looking for TomBeingTom’s old page, I happened to enter some of my old domain names and there were these images I’d manufactured, all those years ago, to start the authoring process.

To begin, I’d created four foundational stories. Each was a Harry Potter sequel. I never really got anywhere with it. But I still own the domain WizardEarth.com (empty now).


Jamie Potter and the Ghost of St. Marks
(Jamie was Harry & Jennie’s daughter. Yeah, I figured that those two would get married right after I’d read the 2nd book.)
JamiePotter

Lawrence Potter and the Eye of Mistraal.
(Larry was their son.)
LawrencePotter

Lady Josephine Potter and the Drakar Revolt of 1863.
(Josephine was Harry’s grandmother on his father’s side.)
LadyJosephinePotter

Sir Leopold Potter and the Starfire Treasure Defense.
(Leopold was Harry’s grandfather on his father’s side.)
SirLeopoldPotter