Below is a snippet from a very cringy story I wrote in serialized style starting back around 2002. Above is an upscaled and modernized version of the cover that I had designed when I still had illusions that I would publish this tripe. Mind you, this is one of the best sections in the some-200 pages I wrote and, while I can see some salvageable elements, it is still pretty awful in my estimation. It is a tale full of not very clever stuff that I thought was clever at the time and includes one thing I have grown to detest as I get older: an evil overlord.
Drifter has a problem — he turns people to ash quite unintentionally when he touches them, he has a wafer-thin evil overlord pursuing him, and can walk through walls. Evil overlord wants to use him to stop a young lady who can keep the apocalypse from occurring — which the evil overlord would find annoying.
In this scene, Evil Overlord sends his minions, Glum and Treacle, to make sure Drifter picks the right side in the global affair.
It’s all very silly.
I am publishing this solely because Tara Caribou dared me to post something awful I had written. As I warned her, I have very little shame. Some light edits are involved. I have a modicum of pride, even if I have no shame. You can throw blunt objects at her if you read the following. I am innocent.
You may want to skip this post.
The scene setup is that Drifter is being woken from a dream of the beach with his lost love. She was complaining about the birds breaking clam shells on the rocks as the tapping begins.
In the comments area of one of my last posts about the gloamfell experiment I am exploring on Twitter, one of my regular visitors to Sceadugenga, Harshi, asked about posting the tale here instead of redirecting to Twitter. At first, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but I got to thinking that it might be an easier read and more apt to be read if I flattened out the thread into a single narrative and gave the experiment it’s own page on the site.
And so I did.
The posts will still follow being posted on Twitter. I want that to be the main limitation on the “how” of writing until someone decides I need to be banned from writing fiction, especially on Twitter. I like the way the limitations force me to consider how I write (although I’ve found a minor workaround that gives me breathing space). But now, you can read the story here as it progresses.
Keep in mind — I have no outline for the story, just some vague plot threads in my sieve-like brain tumbling about. In fact, tonight’s series of posts were entirely unplanned up to the point of me sitting down and asking, “so…. what happens now?”
Anyway — if you’ve not read any of the story yet, you can start on it’s new homepage:
On that page, there are links to each “shard” of the story, with the date of publication to help determine the “freshness” of the page. Comments are open on the individual pages, in case you feel compelled to make a comment.
I gave a short background yesterday as to this thing I have going on in the Twitterverse. I’m actually surprised at how something about the finality of each post has actually been somewhat inspiring instead of feeling defeating.
If you’re unfamiliar with the platform, the idea is that each tweet (post) can be up to 280 characters long (including spaces). No edits unless you pay for the privilege, so once it is written, your only option is to delete, which doesn’t work real well later on in the thread. It breaks the chain, so to speak.
I was continuing to feel inspired, so I added a bit more to the story with Winter. I’m not gonna post the whole additional thread, but another nine fragments added to the original starting with the two below. Follow the tweet link for the rest. It’s probably dreck, so click with care and watch your step.
A bit of something for a new Twitter communityAnne Morrigan started. Don’t know if my poor effort will end up being anything, but I’m always good for falling on my face in front of a crowd (no liquor required!). First five to start off. Let’s see if twit-lit will be my thing.
As I warned everyone a few days ago, I’m moving forward with writing a serialized bit of fiction here, written in real serial episodic, soap-opera, fashion: totally by the seat of my pants. Depending on how it is received, I will try to add episodes weekly — if it is roundly criticized as a turd, then it’s lifespan will go the way of most primetime television shows and be cut off, perhaps “mid-season”. If there is continued interest, I will continue to write for it to see where the story ends up.
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