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Contest 5/1/09- 5/8/09
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*****LAST DAY TO TURN IN YOUR STORIES IS TODAY, FRIDAY, MAY 8*****
Mod
Title: Unexpected Happenings
Inspiration is a funny thing. You never know where it'll come from. Sometimes you stumble upon it, while other times in stumbles across you. Something happened to me not so long ago that made me wonder greatly upon inspiration and its affect. Let me share it with you.
I was tiered. No, I was exhausted. No, I was on the verge of falling over and staying there in a profound sleep. My eyes itched to close, the weight of the lids pulling them downward. I was drained, cranky, and utterly annoyed with the world. A perfect state in which to do some serious writing.
I poured myself a strong glass of ice cold water, collected my pens, took out a fresh notebook, and sat down at my desk. It had been a long, unproductive day. It appeared that my second cousin had been going through town and decided to stop by my place to let me meet my new third cousin. Now, there's something that you have to understand about me and people. We are completely incompatible. They do not understand my world and I can not stand theirs. There is a strong barrier between the sane and insane, it's just that most insane people do not see this and thus spend their life trying to get past the wall into the world of “normal”. I, for one, have accepted this fact when I was still just a young girl and understood it by the age of four. I'm not like other people. I'm like me and I'm the only person I can relate to or converge with without frustration. Okay, perhaps that last bit is a lie. I frustrate myself just as much, if not more than others, but then it's not really me that I'm angry at, more my voices. Now you began to see my label of “insane”. I have, and always had, voices, “people”, in my head that I live with and talk to. They talk to me too, obviously. I'm not so crazy that I talk to myself! These beings, aside from being my constant companions in life, are also my living and sole source of income. Ah, here again I must explain. Most people would call me a lunatic. I call myself a writer. Same difference. I write stories – tales told to me and lived by my “voices”. “Oh, characters!” you may say, with an air of smug understanding. “No,” I would assure you and perhaps chuck a ballpoint pen at your head. I despise this term with the utmost conviction. The word “characters” suggests that I have created these people or a least have found them, when, in truth, I have done neither. They have found me; some have been with me since birth while others have come strolling by chancing trying to find a place to belong. There are voices that I love, voices I don't understand, and voices that annoy. But this story is not about them – their tales are told in my novels.
Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Second and third cousins. So, as I said, I have chosen to not have much contact with the outside world. Some of course, how else could I hope to be a legendary writer? There is a thing about lunatics that is not readily understood and I will put it here: we like to live, and be left, alone. Now, as I've already explained, I'm not truly alone, but I will not go into that again at the moment. I do not have much family connection and very few relations, even distant. Why then did I have to be surprised by a visit from a third cousin?! Where did they have to find these remote relations? And why me? My “town” is Seattle, one of the most major cities in the USA. Why then did my second cousin, upon going through this popular city, feel the need to see me? I couldn't even remember her name, she had to remind me twice. How did she even remember that I lived here in the midsts of navigating the crazy traffic? I had realized though that, no doubt about it, I would have to endure such happenings with most of my scarce relations in the near future. Since the recent rise of one of my novels to the top of the best seller's list, they would most likely want to gently remind me of their presence and remind the world of our connections, no matter how faint. I knew that this was most likely the reason for my second cousin's visit as well. I could just imagine what she must have been thinking; maybe I'll get interviewed because I went to her house, maybe she'll work me into some tight circles, maybe she'll even dedicate her next novel to me or little Carrie (who turned out to be my step-third cousin).
Anyway, I am not use to entertaining people, much less people with whom I am related. And on top of that, they stayed for 5 hours! This meant that I had to dig up something decent for dinner. I don't eat on a regular basis – preferring to grab whatever, whenever – so there's never much that's edible in my house. I have a lot of condiments, but I didn't think that Lucy (my second cousin) would appreciate a meal of Ketchup and Heinz-57. She was the one intruding, however, and I seriously did think about it. In the end I had made some macaroni and served it with...some sort of sauce.
Now, I sat in front of my paper, exhausted and ready to write the night away. I lifted my pen and began. I think I wrote for a half-hour like that, scribbling words, lines, paragraphs. I stopped all of a sudden, took a swig of the water, and read what I had written.
“What?”
None of it made since whatsoever. Not that my writing usually does in the first draft (I have the tendency of rambling, you see – my editor has quite the job condensing my thousand page manuscript into a six hundred page novel), but this was extraordinary. People were flying all over the place, one minute mad the next in ecstasy. Confused, I crumpled the pages and threw them into the towering pile of paper in the corner of the room. I stared at the end of my pen for ten minutes straight. What was wrong? Your blocking it, Shannon, one of the voices said. I recognized the voice, it was Ada, the only voice that was there just to be a friend. Block? That made me think of writers' block. No, I never had writers' block, that just didn't happen to me. With all of these voices, how could it? No, your trying to ignore it. Now who's calling who crazy? Write freely. Oh, I'll so you free writing! I put my pen to the paper and tried again.
Oh! And hour had passed, much easier than the first half. I was reading the words on the pages. This was something I had never expected. Before me was a little girl with golden hair and green eyes. Her stepmother was a beautiful woman with keen eyes, little lips, and little hidden motives. I didn't know these voices. Not once before had I ever written something that was not dictated to, or shared with, me by my “peoples”. This was something completely new. I liked what I read, but unsure I set it aside and decided it was time for some sleep – a very rare occurrence, I might add.
It sits there still, the papers with a different feel. They shine with a different light than the rest and I always know what they are without reading them. I still do not understand what happened that night. It was a quire sort of inspiration. A different one than most. I've wondered if that is how other authors are. Do their works reflect the real world more than their own? I don't know. I do not detest it, yet I doubt that it will ever happen to me again, or at least not for a very long time. I continue to write from my voices, but...I wonder. Will I ever again write about that little girl? What will happen to her? I may just have to adopt her as a “specialty member” of my voices. And outside voice of a sort. I wonder...
((Sorry I don't have time to post it on goodreads now as a link!))
I am torn between the two. You both stayed in the limits. Paige, your spelling and grammar were quite a bit better than Elaine's, however, I thought that Elaine's story was more about inspiration than yours, and since I think that the quality should count over the spelling and grammar, I am giving Elaine first place and Paige second place. In my opinion the quality is over the grammar. I'm not saying the grammar part isn't important. There are times when I am sure that will be the overall winning factor.Once again, ELAINE GETS FIRST, PAIGE GETS SECOND.
Mod
Wow, thanks Randi! Cool! Alright, wow! This is great! I'm glad you participated, Elaine! Your story was very good! New contest starts tomorrow... :)
Mod
Minimum length: 1000 words
Maximum length: 3000 words
Theme: Inspiration
Genre: Fiction or Non-Fiction, your choice.
Judge: Camerandi
Judged on: Fitting guidelines above, spelling/grammar, quality of the story.
1st, 2nd and 3rd place will be announced, with honorable mentions going to 4th and 5th place.
NOTE: Please post your entries here, either in a link or in a post.