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I'm cycling back. Maybe I should make a new blog, or get a microblog account or 12 (then again, with my propensity for verbosity, that probably wouldn't work. Or perhaps that would help prevent the the loss of focus and burnout?).
Yeah, this blog is so 2005. Heh.
As I have said so often, I'm not really the social type. I don't snap a thousand fifty-six pictures and upload them for the world to see, I don't network with people (Friendster? Deleted. Eskwela.com? Deleted. Dozens of invites to Multiply and the like? Ignored. I'm sorry, I really, truly am. Maybe tomorrow, the Procrastinator says.), which is why I lose touch so frequently. I don't really update or, erm, share, because I don't have the drive and energy. Or because I just forget.
In case the above sounds like a self-involved whine, well, I suppose it is. Let me assure you, however, that the state of things is my fault entirely, and that I'm (somewhat) fine with things as they are.
I miss writing, though. I haven't created anything of worth in literally years. That's the sole reason for this.
Right now I'm just trying to re-familiarize myself with writing, as I think that that part of my brain has atrophied. So forgive me if things don't make sense.
A Snippet, v1I'm not sure what that was. The approach is interesting for me, although admittedly somewhat cliché. It's a different version of an old short story I wrote. I'm basically trying different writing styles.
It happened slowly, like an avalanche.
It's not an oxymoron, dammit. Do you think that a mound of snow appears instantly, snap, now there's snow packed at critical mass, ready to blow? Snow falls and accumulates on a steep slope until it reaches a critical mass, and only after a trigger, a shout, a squawk, a whir, and only then does it go boom.
So yeah, exactly like an avalanche. And that last one was onomatopoeia, so you're still wrong. Mwah.
How did we meet again? Was it Beth who introduced you to me, who set up the conversation to make you appear thoughtful and intelligent and (other)worldly? Or did I ask Beth for the setup? I can't remember, I'm forgetful that way.
I know, shut up.
So yeah, critical mass, and a trigger. Snoring is a fair trigger, right? Your snoring is loud enough to cause the heavens to fall from the skies. Like a fighter jet on turbo, and with limitless fuel.
Hyperbole and simile, love. You got it the other way around.
...What? I can't believe you're mad. Do you blame the mountain when it explodes? How the hell can you blame me for smothering you with a pillow? It's simple enough: no oxygen for you = no snoring for me to hear. Duh.
Dude, if I knew you'd be more talkative dead than alive, I never would have killed you. Fuck you.
I didn't mean that literally, dammit! How can somebody so smart not understand figures of speech?
Everything I've ever said, ever done, has been a metaphor for love.
[end snippet]
It's actually part of a larger and somewhat surreal story, but this particular scene is interesting to me, so I wanted to try and write different versions of it. The figures-of-speech theme is something that wasn't planned and basically appeared while I was writing it, but I found it cute so I kept it. I'm trite that way.
I'll try something else in a few days. If I can find the motivation, as usual.
Labels: snippet
posted by Jael @ 7:57 PM
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