I checked my blog today and noticed I lost a follower. Most Facebook friends know me or know a member of my family, so they know I'm liberal and not afraid to speak my mind. Most of the time when they drop it's because Facebook isn't for them or their profile got compromised. Twitter drop offs can be attributed to Twitter bots.
My blog has very few followers so a loss of just one is noticeable. Now I'm left to wonder...was it something I said? Maybe I'm not posting enough? Are my blog posts not useful or entertaining? Maybe my posts are just so horrible that this person felt dumber for reading one? Who knows, but an explanation would have been nice.
I'm new at this whole blogging thang and any feedback or criticism is welcome. Since I'm an aspiring writer I don't feel I'm in the right position to offer advice to other writers. Occasionally I'll rant about a topic unrelated to writing, but mostly I use the blog to post scenes from WIP's as a way to receive input from readers outside of my critique group.
For those followers that have been blogging a lot longer than me, any insight you can offer will be greatly appreciated. To my followers, thank you for sticking with me! :)
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Short Story in Progress
I'm working on a short story and using this to stretch my comfort zone a bit. I normally don't write paranormal and thought I'd give it a try. The story is from the P.O.V of a demon. Walking around in a demon's shoes has made me write some pretty disturbing sequences, but it's been a thrilling process. Forcing myself to pull from the darkness (which I think exists in all of us, yet most of us choose to keep buried) is proving to be a challenging, yet beneficial exercise.
Here are the first few (still to be edited) paragraphs:
I hover above, watching my masterpiece unfold. Flashing lights from two dozen or so emergency vehicles cover the town square in a frenetic blue and red pattern. News reporters crowd around the front of the school, lying in wait for a glimpse of the macabre. Stretcher upon stretcher are wheeled out, full black body bags their cargo. The massacre occurred as school was letting out for the day. Now it’s close to midnight and the mess is far from being cleaned up.
Grief, anger, guilt and blame build in the air and swirl around me. I breathe it all in.
As the night wears on, the crowd dissipates. I grow tired of watching. My work here is done. Another town on the horizon is begging for disaster.
In my free form I’m a mist. If people catch a glimpse of me it’s fleeting; a shadow or dark cloud passing over the sun. I can still move objects in my natural state, cause goose bumps to ripple across skin, but when I find a body to manipulate, that’s when the fun really begins.
Humans make perfect puppets. They’re so malleable, emotional and weak.
Here are the first few (still to be edited) paragraphs:
I hover above, watching my masterpiece unfold. Flashing lights from two dozen or so emergency vehicles cover the town square in a frenetic blue and red pattern. News reporters crowd around the front of the school, lying in wait for a glimpse of the macabre. Stretcher upon stretcher are wheeled out, full black body bags their cargo. The massacre occurred as school was letting out for the day. Now it’s close to midnight and the mess is far from being cleaned up.
Grief, anger, guilt and blame build in the air and swirl around me. I breathe it all in.
As the night wears on, the crowd dissipates. I grow tired of watching. My work here is done. Another town on the horizon is begging for disaster.
In my free form I’m a mist. If people catch a glimpse of me it’s fleeting; a shadow or dark cloud passing over the sun. I can still move objects in my natural state, cause goose bumps to ripple across skin, but when I find a body to manipulate, that’s when the fun really begins.
Humans make perfect puppets. They’re so malleable, emotional and weak.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Dream Blogfest
Thank you Amalia http://hellia.blogspot.com/ for hosting the Dream blogfest! This dream sequence is from The Beautiful People, which has been the manuscript I've used for all other blogfests. I kind of feel bad for Natalie (my MC) as I haven't been very nice to her. She's a tough girl though and can handle it...
Soon I relaxed enough and began to doze in the tub. Sleep might come tonight after all, I thought as I dried off. I crawled into the king sized bed, which seemed enormous and empty without Dominic and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.
The dream started out nice. I was swimming in the ocean, the sun high above and reflecting bright white off of the sand. I floated weightless in the water and bobbed with the gentle lapping waves. Dominic and Grant were on the shore waving at me. I waved back and dove under the surface. When I came up for air the atmosphere had changed. Dark, stormy clouds boiled in the sky and the water had become choppy. Alarmed I looked for Dominic and Grant on the beach. They were gone. Something bumped into my back and moved away then collided with me again. I spun around and screamed. A body floating face down in the sea moved with the surf. Panic set in and I started to swim toward the shoreline. When I turned, a different body blocked my path. Then I noticed the water was blood red and corpses floated on the top of the ocean, in every direction as far as I could see. I opened my mouth to scream again and nothing happened, the air around me was void of sound, muted.
I woke in a cold sweat and with a pounding heart. I reflexively reached for Dominic, but he was gone. Disoriented, I panicked, still caught between my nightmare and reality. Finally the surroundings of our bedroom became familiar and I remembered where Dominic was. My head ached and I had cottonmouth, the beginning of a hangover starting to set in. I rolled over and stared at the closed bedroom door. I wanted the comfort of my mom. On her good days she would make the nightmares disappear so I could fall back asleep. This time I couldn’t tell her the source of my terrors. The boogieman wasn’t in my closet and there wasn’t a monster under the bed, the horrors in my dreams were real.
Soon I relaxed enough and began to doze in the tub. Sleep might come tonight after all, I thought as I dried off. I crawled into the king sized bed, which seemed enormous and empty without Dominic and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.
The dream started out nice. I was swimming in the ocean, the sun high above and reflecting bright white off of the sand. I floated weightless in the water and bobbed with the gentle lapping waves. Dominic and Grant were on the shore waving at me. I waved back and dove under the surface. When I came up for air the atmosphere had changed. Dark, stormy clouds boiled in the sky and the water had become choppy. Alarmed I looked for Dominic and Grant on the beach. They were gone. Something bumped into my back and moved away then collided with me again. I spun around and screamed. A body floating face down in the sea moved with the surf. Panic set in and I started to swim toward the shoreline. When I turned, a different body blocked my path. Then I noticed the water was blood red and corpses floated on the top of the ocean, in every direction as far as I could see. I opened my mouth to scream again and nothing happened, the air around me was void of sound, muted.
I woke in a cold sweat and with a pounding heart. I reflexively reached for Dominic, but he was gone. Disoriented, I panicked, still caught between my nightmare and reality. Finally the surroundings of our bedroom became familiar and I remembered where Dominic was. My head ached and I had cottonmouth, the beginning of a hangover starting to set in. I rolled over and stared at the closed bedroom door. I wanted the comfort of my mom. On her good days she would make the nightmares disappear so I could fall back asleep. This time I couldn’t tell her the source of my terrors. The boogieman wasn’t in my closet and there wasn’t a monster under the bed, the horrors in my dreams were real.
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