I've been writing stories for 5 years and now I have had 3 of my works published in magazines and another anonymous writing in Chicken Book for the Teenage Soul II. At the moment an editor is going over one of my books and hopefully it will be published soon (cross my fingers and knock on wood) until then I keep going with the creativity God has given me. Who else likes to write???
I love to write, I always have since I first learned how. Unfortunately writing takes time and I have only had a chance to write a few small things in recent years. I would love to be able to take like six months off sometime and try and write a book.
I find it really relaxing, it helps me organise my thoughts by pouring them out onto paper (well onto a computer screen now-a-days).
Can you post the thinsg you have had published? I love to read anything from anyone. Good luck, I hope your book gets published, that would be amazing!
I've been writing stories since around the fourth grade. Let's just say I've evolved since then. I'm currently writing a short story (although it's becoming too long now to be considered a short story) that doesn't really have a title yet. It's a little hard to classify. I write more screenplays than anything else, and one has pretty much completely consumed me for a long time. It's in revision. I don't know what I'll do with it when I'm done, I just know that I have to write it out of my system.
Kevin: Remember that one time when I ate those napkins?
Me: (laughing) Yeah.
Kevin: That was funny. Do you remember what made me do it?
Me: I'm pretty sure you just said, "Hey, watch me eat these napkins".
Kevin: (laughing) Yeah, that sounds about right.
I do a bit of conjuring, but not much proper writing. I've never taken any classes, but I was always encouraged as a youngster to write by all my teachers. They seemed to like my stories, and always gave me great marks for anything I handed in (whenever I got around to it...).
I guess I've always had a passion for the creative side of writing, but not much patience for the trials in putting together a tightly-packed piece of fiction. I've only recently decided to make an effort to write a few proper short stories, but since I've no formal training, I'm not even sure how well I'm doing... Oh well, the process is rather enjoyable so far...
I love to write, always have. Alas, it is my one true goal in life to be a published author, to write a best-seller. But the problem, as Schmiggens noted, is time. I too, wish that I could take some time off to pursue this dream.
"What one believes to be real, will be real in it's concequences"
"You must be the change you wish to see in the world"
I have six nonfiction books published (statistics tomes that wouldn't remotely interest anyone not involved in the industry that they address) but my real love is fiction. I wrote my first book when I was 5. That one is long gone, but I still have all the ones that followed. I waver between surreal/fantasy and action/drama, usually with elements of both.
Although I have no problem with my nonfiction books and worked for a newspaper for years, I have an issue letting other people read my fiction. I write for my own entertainment and am considering self-publishing just get a couple of copies of my fiction books to put on the shelf next to my more serious professional work. I tried to explain this on a forum at one of the internet self-publishing vendors and got some screwball harranguing me as if I was making it up in some attention-getting ploy. (As if no one in the history of the world wrote fiction for any reason other than to be a Famous Best Selling Author.)
I write on evenings and weekends, but only sporadically since the data work I do for my nonfiction books I also do on the side.
Here goes..I hope someone will like this short story.. I will write it in installments, and continue on later....
She shone the flashlight into the wooden crate. She couldn't see anything. She slowly inched her hand into the box. Something closed on her hand. Something hot, wet, and very sharp. She tried to get her hand out. The something held firmly.
Poodle And The Invisible Girl
by Becker....
Alexandra was running scared. Only she couldn't run. Alexandra was strapped to the operating room table.
"I hope this surgery is necessary. Doctor Baron said there is something inside of me that shouldn't be there."
A needle pricked her arm.
"Begin counting back from 99." Alexandra saw blurred green clad people at her sides.
She heard Doctor Baron saying.."Nothing to fear, Alexandra. Everything will be all right."
Alex started counting "99-98--97" and drifted off.
A summer storm raged outside United Hospital. Loud thunder. Erratic lightning. Noah's Ark kind of rain. Doctor Baron held a scalpel over Alex. His hand lowered. Lights dimmed and went out. the hospital was dark. backup generators failed. All activity ceased.
"Whew! What a way to end the show today. I won't be able to sleep tonight."
She clicked off the mahogany veneered RCA Television. She leaned back in bed. Susie's eyes moved down her body. She thought...
"Gosh. Looks like I am not in shape. My skin is pale too. I'll be ten years old tomorrow. I think I will wash my hair....Three weeks is long enough."
Susie rolled off her four poster maple bed. She went into the bathroom. She looked in the mirror.
"I look short for my age. I wish I was prettier. I hate thinking about going back to school after the summer vacation. I never get grades over a C. No one even notices I'm there. Like I am invisible."
The bathroom was small, but had the necessary sink, shower and toilet. All stark white porcelain. Susie looked at the ugly green walls.
"Blechh ! I don't have one good friend at that rotten school. I'm going back to bed."
Susie climbed onto her messy, lumpy bed. She felt the rumpled. overused pillow under her head.
"Gadzooks! This pillow feels terrible."
She threw her pillow to the floor.
Susie grabbed her bag of chips and shoved a handful into her mouth.
"My birthday is tomorrow. I wonder if anybody else remembers. Dad took a job with our San Diego Zoo. He's going around the world looking for rare specimens. Mom hasn't even said a word. The only thing I'm sure of is my name is Susie Decker. I don't think anybody knows I exist. I must be invisible!"
Downstairs, Susie's mother, Jenny, stood in front of the green GE Electric range.
Jenny, slowly stirred eggs in her Teflon coated pan. The egg's yellow "eyes" were swimming for their lives in gobs of melting butter. The kitchen LCD clock displayed 2 PM. Jenny Decker still had on her faded blue housecoat. She.......
stared vacantly at the kitchen walls that once boasted bright aqua enamel. Now she saw steam streaked drabness.
Jenny's face portrayed a "What's the Use" expression of disinterested depression. She no longer looked youthful and vibrant. Her husband, Edward, had been away for six months this time. Jenny didn't care enough to stay neat and clean--or eat--or rise early. She did not care about the simmering eggs.
The door bell sounded. Jenny snapped out of her lethargy long enough to reach the front door.
"Who's there?"
"U P S" maam. I have a package for Susie Decker. It needs to be signed."
Jenny opened the door and eyed the brown uniform. She took the computerized "Thingamajig" and signed for it. Jenny took the package and looked down at a wood crate that had holes in each side.
"Susie, I have a package for you and something inside is moving."
Susie's ears pricked up. She gulped down the chips and hurried down the stairs. Jenny yelled again.
"Susie, come down....."
"Mother, I am standing in front of you. Can't you see me?"
Susie took the crate from her mother. She climbed back to her bed. She looked at the tag on the 16 x 16 inch wooden box.
"For my poopsy oopsy dear Susie Q. Your tenth birthday is here. I love you very much. This is a gift that will change your life. I found it in Nepal."
Susie flipped her red hair back and opened the crate door flap. She looked inside. She did not see anything. Susie got her Rayovac flashlight from under the TV. The light did not help. Nothing was visible inside the wooden box.
"Dad wouldn't give me an empty crate for my birthday...Oh well dare not, get not."
Susie carefully reached into the crate.
Something grabbed her hand. Something hot, wet, and sharp. She tried to pull her hand back. Something held on. She slowly inched out. She was pulling something that resisted. Finally her hand came free of the crate. Susie stared. She saw nothing at first. She narrowed her eyes to slits. And saw a small dog. The dog was almost invisible. Its curly coat was white. The dog was almost translucent.. It peered back at Susie returning stare for stare. The dog's eyes were white. It stood only ten inches
high. The ears were long, flat and wide. The ears lay close to its head. Its almond shaped eyes were alive and alert. The dog stood on small oval webbed paws. The tiny dog looked like an ordinary poodle except for its unusual eyes.
Susie brightened considerably when she saw the dog.
"Are you a Poodle?"
The dog nodded.
"Do you piddle in the house?"
The tiny dog shook its head vehemently.
"Are you hungry?"
Loud barking. Vigorous nodding..Excited nodding and tail wagging.
"I wonder what you eat?"
The miniature Poodle jumped to the floor.
It raised a small paw and beckoned.
"You want me to follow you?"
It nodded.
"What should I call you? How about Poodle?"
Poodle's head moved up and down.
"OK Poodle. Lets go."
Poodle trotted quickly across the burning sidewalk. Susie tried to keep up. Finally they reached the neighborhood Food Market. The sign in front displayed "Mama's Deluxe Food......
02-06-2004 04:33 AM
