I'm busily writing fiction again.
I woke up this morning with a first line full blown in my head. By the time I got out of bed, I had the first two paragraphs composed. (Below) By the time I left for work, I had the entire first chapter done (1000 words). (I'll save you from that.)
I even have a title: the above, "I'M ONLY HUMAN."
It's exhilarating, at least until it's exposed to critique. I'm going to go ahead and read the first chapter at writer's group tonight (7:00 at the Bookmark). Probably shouldn't do that, but I need to show the new members that I actually DO write.
I may have to change the name of the creatures from kimmel, even though I like the sound, because of a certain late night talkshow host.
The story is going to be a supernatural noir, it appears.
"You're going to turn into a common street kimmel, if you don't behave," my mother declared whenever I did something unnecessarily tacky.
I haven't seen a kimmel, common or otherwise, in over a hundred years. The horseless carriages were their final doom, I believe. The nasty fumes, the hard tires, the blundering human drivers. Kimmels had less chance than your average possum or gray squirrel of surviving the roads. They were cute, but they weren't exactly canny.
Ah, yes. Blundering humans..."
I woke up this morning with a first line full blown in my head. By the time I got out of bed, I had the first two paragraphs composed. (Below) By the time I left for work, I had the entire first chapter done (1000 words). (I'll save you from that.)
I even have a title: the above, "I'M ONLY HUMAN."
It's exhilarating, at least until it's exposed to critique. I'm going to go ahead and read the first chapter at writer's group tonight (7:00 at the Bookmark). Probably shouldn't do that, but I need to show the new members that I actually DO write.
I may have to change the name of the creatures from kimmel, even though I like the sound, because of a certain late night talkshow host.
The story is going to be a supernatural noir, it appears.
"You're going to turn into a common street kimmel, if you don't behave," my mother declared whenever I did something unnecessarily tacky.
I haven't seen a kimmel, common or otherwise, in over a hundred years. The horseless carriages were their final doom, I believe. The nasty fumes, the hard tires, the blundering human drivers. Kimmels had less chance than your average possum or gray squirrel of surviving the roads. They were cute, but they weren't exactly canny.
Ah, yes. Blundering humans..."