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Post by Jenny (Reffy) on Nov 6, 2013 16:42:39 GMT -5
Feel like it's just me rattling around in this sub-board :S I am so lonely! James: show me a snippet or something! |
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Post by Kaez on Nov 6, 2013 17:16:26 GMT -5
I've been slacking for sure. IRL has been a real son of a bitch, the past few months, man.
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Post by Jenny (Reffy) on Nov 6, 2013 17:22:10 GMT -5
I've been slacking for sure. IRL has been a real son of a bitch, the past few months, man. Real life: some times it has to take precedence. |
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Post by James on Nov 6, 2013 19:09:54 GMT -5
... can I count cover letters to potential employers in my word count? I feel like that should be allowed.
What about various e-mails and text messages sorting out a social life? Those count too.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'm going to storm back with some 3,000 words days. I swear.
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Post by Jenny (Reffy) on Nov 6, 2013 19:16:16 GMT -5
... can I count cover letters to potential employers in my word count? I feel like that should be allowed. What about various e-mails and text messages sorting out a social life? Those count too. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'm going to storm back with some 3,000 words days. I swear. Best of luck! Tomorrow may be difficult for me. Doing lunch with Chris's parents (they're lovely) and then going to see new Thor and Loki film with friend so I may not get time to write. I'll probably try to do the minimum like today. Keep the buffer going at the very least. |
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Post by James on Nov 6, 2013 19:30:32 GMT -5
I might tack to a short story. Then again, Jonathan's narrative is actually quite breezy to write because of the informality of it. And I am looking forward to the next chapter, which is purely just going to be a conversation between him and Edward, an underlying critique of masculinity and the male friendship.
... I'm being a grown-up.
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Post by Matteo ((Taed)) on Nov 6, 2013 20:09:24 GMT -5
... can I count cover letters to potential employers in my word count? I feel like that should be allowed. What about various e-mails and text messages sorting out a social life? Those count too. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'm going to storm back with some 3,000 words days. I swear. Best of luck! Tomorrow may be difficult for me. Doing lunch with Chris's parents (they're lovely) and then going to see new Thor and Loki film with friend so I may not get time to write. I'll probably try to do the minimum like today. Keep the buffer going at the very least. It's not .... It's not "Thor and Loki." They're not a puppy and a kitten who go adventuring downriver on a raft. |
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Post by Kaez on Nov 6, 2013 20:12:02 GMT -5
Best of luck! Tomorrow may be difficult for me. Doing lunch with Chris's parents (they're lovely) and then going to see new Thor and Loki film with friend so I may not get time to write. I'll probably try to do the minimum like today. Keep the buffer going at the very least. It's not .... It's not "Thor and Loki." They're not a puppy and a kitten who go adventuring downriver on a raft. Aren't they?  |
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Post by Matteo ((Taed)) on Nov 6, 2013 20:15:42 GMT -5
I have literally never been happier to be proven wrong.
EDIT: How fucking overjoyed were you when that turned up in the search?
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Post by Kaez on Nov 6, 2013 20:34:40 GMT -5
I have literally never been happier to be proven wrong. EDIT: How fucking overjoyed were you when that turned up in the search? I had to go back and re-read your post just to believe it was real. |
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Post by Jenny (Reffy) on Nov 7, 2013 7:10:30 GMT -5
Tehehe. I knew of that cartoon. Pinterest <3 The Geek board is full of it, and Thor sexiness, and Loki sexiness, and the yummy Winchester brothers, and Benedict mmmmmberbatch!
... cough! I mean, yeah, word count will happen today. Will need to be done after meal and between film ... or after film depending on how late I stay out. Friday is going to be worst: family meal from 11am to meet my new niece and my aunty is talking about getting drunk and staying the night. I don't have the heart to tell her I don't like getting drunk or drinking wine (ick - give me some mead! Or cider instead!)
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Post by Jenny (Reffy) on Nov 7, 2013 19:11:14 GMT -5
Just about made the daily target. Phew! Going to make a start now for tomorrow's count which will be another tough day.
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Post by Jenny (Reffy) on Nov 8, 2013 18:06:52 GMT -5
BOOM! 20k :] Exhausted. Did you manage to get some more of the novel done, James? Are you going to share some snippets? |
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LLV
Junior Scribe
Posts: 17
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Post by LLV on Nov 8, 2013 20:17:57 GMT -5
 I'm kinda embarrassed to say it, but I'm way behind. |
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Post by James on Nov 8, 2013 23:02:09 GMT -5
BOOM! 20k :] Exhausted. Did you manage to get some more of the novel done, James? Are you going to share some snippets? The bridge was empty by the time I reached it. The van and its inhabitants apparently having moved onto bigger and better things. It didn't stop me slowly checking for signs of blood upon the metal bars or concrete floor, just in case. I couldn't quite push out of my mind the image of that person being yanked toward the railing. Pulling my jacket even tighter around me, shivering at the thought, I lent across the bar. While it didn't help that I wasn't wearing my glasses, you could hardly make out the water below. The fall would possibly kill you before the cold, flowing water could make its own attempt. All four bridges were suicide hotspots. Admittedly, that isn't a great selling point for the city. Oh, some places might only have one spot where people want to top themselves. Don't worry, we have multiple areas.
Of course, only one bridge was the real deal. The other bridges had cars running up and down it at all hours and so someone was always there to try and talk you down. Those bridges were for the people who didn't really want to jump. The local newspaper would call them attention seekers. People who had nothing better to do but comment on newspaper articles online would suggest that if they really wanted to kill themselves, they should have just used a gun. Obviously these types of people had put great thought into it. I just thought they were desperate. They were desperate for someone to be interested, to care, and I couldn't hold that against them if they caused the bridge to be shut down during my commute.
The bridge I was on, though, was where people actually went to die. When I first found that out from a school friend, I avoided the place for weeks. It added another twenty minutes onto my bike home. I'm not sure exactly what I was afraid of. Perhaps it was some spiritual side of me that believed it would be haunted. Or maybe, I was afraid of witnessing something myself and having to stare dumbly at a grieving relative and confirm to them I had seen their loved one die. What I can say, with an odd sense of pride, is that I don't think it had anything to do with the fact that I was worried I might, midway across the bridge, decide to join the various tragic cases before me. Even now, living life as a cuckold, I didn't fancy climbing over the railing and embracing non-existence. It was all a bit self-defeating.
I knew I had to make a move, though, working my way slowly down the length of the bridge. A few years back, it had got to the point where the council had to act. They had installed cameras that were perched upon the few lampposts that were scattered along the bridge. If I didn't move on quickly, someone might think that I was considering jumping and within an hour or two would slowly meander down and see if I had. It wasn't a great system. While the council was adamant that it was a preventive system, most people knew that was rubbish. It was more to do with cutting down on time spent on missing persons cases. If someone reported someone missing, they got dragged down to the little shack where the videos were kept. Did he or she have a history of mental illness? Did they seem different lately? Depressed? Here, is that them jumping off the bridge while you were sleeping two nights ago? Yes? Brilliant. No? Oh, I'm sorry you had to see that.
Already I could hear the sound of proper Friday night activities floating down the concrete path that I had emerged onto from the bridge. A student city, at the very least, always had something to do. There were far too many clubs for people to parade around, trying to forget about the painful realities of life. Surely there was some supply-demand equation that suggested we were about to reach critical mass for heaving, sweating moving bodies. On the more cultured side of things, the city even had a fair few poetry reading cafés and book stores hosting short stories competitions. I used to be a frequent visitors in my younger years. I'm quite happy to listen to both near-professional writers yearning for an audience and evolving college radicals who would read poetry that consisted “not of words, but shapes.” However, I had started to shy away from them as of late. It seemed that in the last few years, my students were becoming more and more aware of these peaceful, excellent little places than served as substitutes to waking up with your head in a gutter and the end of your hair dipped lovingly in vomit.
Quite frankly, I was impressed like a father watching his son not failing at a sport that my students were such well-adjusted young adults. It did make going to these places, though, a little more unattractive. There are three types of students in this world. The first sect are those boys and girls still stuck in a high school mentality. They are so stunned and disgusted that their university professors would have lives outside of teaching and marking that they would stare at you for most of the time from across the room, letting it be known through glances that you were ruining their night. How could they possibly enjoy themselves with their professor right there? The next group were arguably worse. You couldn't enjoy a drink or a bite to eat without them coming up to you, asking you questions, being kind, wanting to show off. These people are suck-ups. I'm sure there's the odd person who is genuinely nice and looking for company that I have unfairly lumped in with the rest of them. However, sometimes you just want to be ignored. That's what made the last group such an attractive group of people. They would acknowledge you, come over and say hello, and then disappear for the rest of the night. In effect, they treated you like a normal human being. That was nice. Sadly, the last type is a rare breed.
With that in mind, I skirted around both the clubs and cultural centres of the city, walking down the side-streets of boarded up businesses and half-empty restaurants. My clothes and hair flapped in the wind. The small, narrows streets operated like wind tunnels. Concrete and stone rising up on either side of me to funnel the chill straight down the road. No, I didn't feel in the mood to listen to my own misfortunes be read out a hundred times in a hundred different disguises in a small, darkened room. My stomach had been rumbling throughout my walk, giving me regular reminders that I was, in fact, starving. I wasn't going to go into one of the restaurants and ask one of the drama students if I could have a table for one, though. There was an excellent night market several roads over in an empty car park. I licked my lips just at remembering the smell of the place, let alone the taste of the food that was sold. There was where I could find a decent bite to eat, some exotic cuisine to drown my sorrows in.
And if the pretty woman who had a stall selling photographs was there to talk to, well, that was hardly my fault, was it? |
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