a new story…

I never just stare at a blank page.

I don’t start to write unless I have something to write about.  A picture.  A line.  A thought.  But, that can be problematic because the need to write is often so pervasive that it distracts me from other things.  So, then I sit down with whatever snippet of an idea, or even less than that on occasion, has been paramount in my thoughts and I plunk at the keys to see what comes of it.

Rubbish usually follows, of course.

And I will then delete what I wrote and move on with my day.  On the rare instance that I like what I wrote, I’ll still end up reworking it because the original idea wasn’t related at all to the result.  However that “reworking” process evolves, at some point I will look at the words and tell myself the following:

Write something worthwhile

Write something provocative

Write something memorable

Write something funny

Or

Just write

I want to be good at the first.  I aspire to the second.  I would love to do the third.  I feel like I used to do the fourth sometimes.  These days, however, I just need to write.  Whatever the words end up being, if I write enough of them maybe I’ll find my way back to something that actually means something to somebody, myself included.

That day is not today.  For now I’m in search of inspiration and I would enjoy some help along that path.  I seem to do better at writing projects that involve other people at the moment.  Somehow that keeps me focused in better and able to actually see it all through to some sort of conclusion.  So, in that vein, how about joining me for a game?

The rules are simple.  Create a character and I’ll use all the characters to write a story.  So, I’ll create a character.  You all create characters too.  Either send them to me directly or post about them and link back to here.  Then I’ll write a story that somehow incorporates all of the characters.  I’m not promising it will be more than a short story, or more than a blog post for that matter.  I’m not promising it will be worthwhile or provocative or memorable or even funny.  But, I will write something.

How does that sound?

Good, I’m glad you like the idea too.  I’ll start…

Here’s my character:  We begin with a girl.  Because there’s always a girl.  This one is named Heather.  She has hair that beams golden in sunlight as it cascades below her shoulders.  Her eyes, hazel, crinkle at the edges when she smiles and her laugh is far more playful than she ever intends it to be.  She lives in a small apartment overlooking the beach, though she never actually bothers to gaze out towards the breakers or walk along the edge to let the waves lap at her toes anymore.  She doesn’t even hear the crashing booms of the waves echoing on the otherwise silent nights except on those nights when she needs sleep the most and the noise agitates her rather than sends her to sleep.  She spends her days at an office an hour commute away, where she does work she enjoys but is always left exhausted and feeling like she’s missing something by the end of the week.  She loves movies and books nearly equally, in all genres and styles.  She cries when she’s happy and when she’s sad.  And, she knows she will always be single, but isn’t sure why that it is.  There is some part of her, something buried or forgotten, that she doesn’t fully understand.

And, that is your introduction to Heather.  So, who else is going to go into this story?  Let me know so I can get started on it!

Just a little bit

Interrupting my regularly (pre)scheduled posting to bring you some art…

and a request…

because nothing is ever truly free…

and I have a friend in need.

Like what you are seeing?  Everything featured here is by the talented Lindsay of The Mad Tea Party in My Head.  She is currently looking to sell some of her art, and would love to do some commissioned work too.  Interested?  Pop over to her site, leave her a note and she’ll quickly get back to you.

Thank you!

Today, we’re winning.

We are looking for your story. And, yes, err know you have one. And, yes, we know it is worth sharing. And as a wise dinosaur once said, “chances are, [we] love you.”

Stories that Must Not Die

This post was due yesterday, but… life.

It was supposed to be one of those quick and easy writing projects with a specific goal. The ones where words tumble out so deliberately and evenly that it almost reads too easily.

It was supposed to tell you to contribute here, to Stories That Must Not Die, because everyone has a story, and even just the simplicity of that idea is what pulls the rest of us through. It was supposed to say that there is a home here– for your strangest, most painful, most complicated, most vague words. And for you.

It’s supposed to explain how, after living a series of dramatic Stories, I have a new appreciation for the strength it takes to tell them, so there will be a space on Rarasaur blog for everyone who contributes here. A page link to all contributors, and a rotating banner…

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Welcome Back Rara

Head over to the Stories site to wish Rara a welcome return to the blogosphere.

Stories that Must Not Die

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It is with much joy and love that the Stories crew get to welcome one of our own back to the blogosphere. She is an inspiration, a light in a dark world, a smile and hug when nothing else will do. She lifts us up together and makes us all better as a whole and as individuals.

So, however you know her – – Rara, Radha, Radhika, Ra, The Amazing Blogging Dinosaur – – please take a moment and leave her a welcome back message in the comments.

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They Lie

The talons of the day sink through tattered flesh to rest in the bones below.  Strangers pass by, refusing to acknowledge the shrieks of pain and pleas for aide.  They are strangers after all.  What business is it of theirs?  They remind themselves of their own struggles and miseries to fend off and quickly scurry away to their fluorescent rooms of shadow.

“Pick yourself up,” they mumble.  “Help yourself,” they admonish.  “You must not want success/health/power/prosperity badly enough,” they lie.

The shackles of the day chain tired feet to the burning pavement.  The heat radiates upwards as the boiling whirlpool of swirling hate and ambivalence welcome the sinking flesh.  Strangers jump over, and sidestep to avoid frantic hands scrambling for purchase to keep from being swallowed.  They are strangers after all.  What business is it of theirs?

“You got yourself into this mess,” they mumble.  “You can get yourself out,” they admonish.  “You must not want to survive badly enough,” they lie.

The night at the end of the long day crushes against the horizon and lays waste to all the light had dared to touch.  Strangers stumble and fall, but refuse to offer guiding hands or work together.  They are strangers after all.

“This is your fault,” they mumble.  “You could make a light if you applied yourself,” they admonish.  “We can find our way perfectly fine without you,” they lie.