BIG SURGE

A mere 7,416 words today, a long write up of the flash process


999 075,997 Words TOTAL (32+4 Days)
999 002,923 Words Daily Average for 26 Writing Days
999 002,111 Words Daily Average Including Blank Days)
999 002,375 Words Daily Average (Year count, adding "freebie" pre-year warm-up words)


"Officially" I've been writing for 32 days

75,997 Words

3,200 Words Tonight

Four flashes and a poem so far tonight (3,200 Words)
and 1,065 Words on Saturday

999 068,581 Words TOTAL
999 002,743 Words Daily Average for Writing Days
999 001,959 Words Daily Average Including Blank Days
999 002,212 Words Daily Average (Year count, adding "freebie" pre-year warm-up words)


"Officially" I've been writing for ONE MONTH

68,581 Words


That 50K a month NaNoWriMo (or whatever it's called), prrrrtttt!

Gone Missing

I may have gone missing from the blog for a few days but lots ongoing.

A fresh Boot Camp session, a new computer, and now setting up Children in Need Flash Night (s)

So, though I'm slipping backwards on word-count, I expect to have some heavy-scoring days Tuesday, Thursday and Friday

Watch this space


If you are interested in joining a group, currently about 20 to flash till your eyes bleed then take a look at


http://children-in-need-writing-marathon.blogspot.com/

It's our 2006 site but the info is for THIS YEAR


alex

New Computer & Stuff

A few non-writing days (almost). Had a new computer as my old one was giving me hard disk trouble. Set the new beast up then fitted a new hard disk to the older one and set it up with three virtual disk. The house is networked. Geek's rule.

But these things cut into writing space and it is SO easy to have a blank day become a blank week.

Managed to slip in 1.000 words, a nice little story.

Here are today's prompts (but writing today will be hard)

A sponge, vinegar, hammer, nails
A starling frantic, from a blocked chimney
Anyone can press a button
At noon, dead centre of all I knew
At the beginning, if you say this doesn’t matter, is it dead?
Beowulf, but then again
Christmas is different for the childless
Demanding attention
Escalators
Every other Sunday they did dinner
First they came for the men who laid concrete
Geronimo!
Harry Lodge and the impossible dream
I am crushed into a corner
I read about a honeymoon in Bermondsey
I wonder sometimes about the jungle
I would like to have delivered milk in a cart
Is this the most cruel thing, the cruellest?
It was our usual Sunday walk
Jump you say. I jump
Kumquat, that sounds vaguely rude
Lead me with your cold, sure hand
Letters from mad people, and lovers
My biscuit-tin
Normal, an interesting concept
Oh for the muse of fire
Pennies squashed flat when the train passes
Queer, Queen, Quiet Now
Reverend Bryson, of whom we heard rumours, nothing proven
Roman ruins under a rubbish dump
See that he is living, and then quietly leave
Somewhere in London, I have family
Standing in the rain
The phone does not ring
The village virgin twenty-one, ambitious
To out mutual satisfaction
Undulate
Violets
We smelled them burning
We started swimming, what else was there?
What a fox does, how otters kill
What a mirror does is not reflect
When match day was a man thing, dignified
Why the world is not quite real from a train
X’s, eight in a row
You said it wasn’t worth the trouble
Your house is too warm
Zephyr Zodia, Ford Consul, Leather Bench Seats

Yesterday, Disaster: Today?

Here are today's prompts



A train, screaming
Beef stacked in vans, hanging with frost
Bloody men are like Lambrettas
Can’t get you out of my head, my head, my head
Christmas, and trust me to be late
Corduroy
Dying, dearest, is hardly the point
Fair cop
George, there are forty Zulus on the lawn
Had hung in darkness and smoke
Have a cigar
He put his wet coat back on, his hat
Her lower lip is beginning to quiver
Hey maybe you haven’t hurt me enough, not yet
Hundreds of women were looking
I am no longer my father, he is no longer my son
I dropped your body into the sewers, you weren’t supposed to come back
I had a lung X-ray. I have no heart.
I kissed a princess. You guessed it – frog.
I may have made her up
I should feel as big as America
I suspect that there were deaths
I want a filthy red dress
If I were you, I wouldn’t be me
In gun factories, when a pretty woman passes
In those days woods were woods, there were no signs
It was late that summer, we were drinking wine
Jenkins. I found the bastard
Like I am in an old film
Love your baboon
Men are chasing a piglet in the square
Mirror fucking mirror
My father burned his arm
My question, are you with us?
Not if you crawled, not if you begged
Now let us move on to
Running down corridors, corridors, corridors
Separate beds
There again, there is the clitoris
There are rules
There is a kind of love like painting rooms
They said, “Sweet,” and put a ribbon round my neck
When did kissing change?
When my father was still big
While while suffices whilst sounds cleverer
You can always kick a dog or shoot a bird
You do NOT touch my things
You wouldn’t let me live, or make me die
Your life goes into reverse
Zanzibar

Good Start to the Day

Day 29 (Day 25 of Year)

001 001,350 Words Story OK
002 001,095 Words Story OK
003 001,025 Words Story OK
004 001,158 Words Story OK
005 000,900 Words Story (Subbed) <<<< GOOD!
006 001,480 Words Story OK
007 000,850 Words Story <<<<<< GOOD!
008 001,491 Words Story Part-Done (Torturous Writing)
009 001,550 Words Story OK to good
010 000,850 Words Story VG!
011 001,145 Words Story
012 001,300 Words Story
013 002,000 Words Article
014 009,095 Words Article (part)
015 001,005 Words Story
016 000,660 Words Flash
017 001,342 Words Article
018 004,931 Words Article
019 001,151 Words Story
020 004,955 Words Article
021 000,276 Words Flash
022 002,554 Words Article
023 000,776 Words Flash
024 001,713 Words Story !!!!!!!
025 001,665 Words Article
026 004,465 Words Article
027 000,765 Words Story
028 000,565 Words Article

888 013,325 Words Other Writings



999 064,316 Words TOTAL
999 002,923 Words Daily Average for Writing Days
999 002,218 Words Daily Average Including Blank Days
999 002,573 Words Daily Average (Year count, adding "freebie" pre-year warm-up words)

01 Submissions
01 Rejections

Thoughts, and a load of prompts

Even the generation of a page of prompts "does something" if you let it.

You can either be cute and clever and TRY to write clever prompts you think make you look so smart, or you can crib lines of poetry and story-starts, and stuff from letters, be meticulous, really thinking about the choices.

Both methods have a large degree of left-brained, deliberation, determination

Or you can flick through pages, grab something the "PINGS!", then another, always ping-ful, but at the same time be allowing the poems glanced at, the words copied to themselves trigger wild, surprising lines of your own. Instead of slavishly copying exact phrasings you let the sick mind twist, invert or subtly change.

You find yourself on a certain track, realise you are choosing prompts all of a kind, you BREAK, grab a different book, write something very silly, or something mundane yet profound. You're trying to access the unconscious, to disturb the beast, to go where it's dark and manic, so you need a four dimensional map. You have to avoid the expected

I hadn't realised until i began to write notes after-the-fact that many of my "prompts-from-poems" are NOT the original line, but some spin off or bastardisation.

but remember that while this may be fresh, the poem, the original may be working, and 2-3-4 poems may be working together, or having a death-fight in your bowels.

Here are today's first batch. If I get a good story I'll try to write up the process again.


A barn in the day is a small night.
A rubber tongue
But what it is, what I mean is, I ache so
Charming! Fucking charming.
Does the twat in Spandex still bang that fucking drum?
Dull, dull as an old egg
Eight lucky breakaways.
Far off, the sound of blood and drums
For he's a jolly good driver
He though how much girls suffered.
Homicide: Life on the streets.
Hot tea, two days on the trot.
Hundreds of us, a football field of fish and chip lunches.
I have a pain, here, here.
I will not let you go until we are blessed
I woke one day to see you, mother
I would prefer to die with drama
If God forgot to have a man be dead
In porn films, they do what I do, mostly, and the women groan
In the vacant lot behind the old ice plant.
It's a football match for orphans. The referee's a bastard
Joan Edison, imagining her birthday
Murderers hide, and things illicit, mice.
My gums bleed
No, what I mean doctor, is it catches
Officiate. A man got sick because of a fish he ate.
On Sunday we will share the pigeon, and some water
On tip-toe, schoolgirls dance
Penny Packer's recurring bad dream
Probably the oldest case, still open, we'll get him
Running round the red-brick block leaping paths, a stag, a horse
Squeezed down, almost hidden
Straw has been strewn everywhere
That first time, something red in knickers
The fust, it is all organic, breathing
The kid, two, barefoot, walking in the rain, a grandmother now
The thing about bad haircuts. Once I shaved my own.
They have no idea
Too old now, but
Trucks have been unloading something all afternoon
Two dollars, nine cents
We roared, we banked the iron walls, we never stopped.
We were the potato-pickers, collected in dirty lorries, not Poles
We're there. Now what?
What if earth, a foetus, aborted
When they moved to Caerphilly, driving by cart
When they were hairy, not so neat
You have to trust me.
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.
You're too literal. Be not so precise.