blablabla


3/30/2013

Weekend Writing Warriors: Story in 8, Part 2


Hello there, you! Welcome to the Wewriwa Easter edition. Does it have to rain all the time, I'm asking, naggingly? Is that really necessary? It makes for a good underwater egg hunt this year. :) Anywho, back to the story in 8, my attempt to tell a whole story in only 8 sentences. Actually, this snippet is from a short story I wrote this year called The Impostor. I thought it had the bold potential to withstand being cut and edited into 8 sentences. Now I'm not sure. Is it? 






These were all lonely women, every one of them, lonely and very very rich, especially this one, Augustine, the name of an old duck. She was a hard nut to crack. For weeks, Paul had made several attempts to meet her, but as withdrawn as she was, she hardly even made eye contact with the world.

He had to resort to drastic measures; and deliberately running into her shopping cart with his was indeed drastic. It wasn't exactly cute, the way she almost tipped over and against the shelf with stacks of canned fruit, but it put a chink in her armor.

The next part was easy, as it fell in line with his natural talent. He spent the rest of the day paying court, pampering, and spoon-feeding her the usual repertoire of lies. She was just like any other woman he ever had deceived; gullible, desperate and starved for male attention.



3/24/2013

Weekend Writing Warriors: Story in 8, Part 1




The ringing of the phone took her by surprise, the person calling, however, didn't.
"You still there?" he snorted.
She looked across the room, the black handbag was yet to be zipped.
Like a signal from above, the ceiling light cast a spotlight on it, and the item she had put in last.
She would need both her hands to use it.
"Will you ever leave me?" he slurred, when the tavern row in the background died down for a moment, "or is it like that last time, when I had to come pick you up from the station,
remember that?"
Her hand choked the phone.
"Honey," she said, "I could never leave you."

 ___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Welcome to another Sunday with WeWriWa and beautiful 8 sentence snippets. This week, I want to try something entirely different, it's an experiment. This is an attempt at telling a whole story in 8 sentences. Did I succeed? Please don't hold back, hit me with your comments and feedback! Happy Sunday everyone! :)

3/19/2013

How to Get Filthy Rich in 3 Days


You may have been wondering how to do it, that time you fantasized what it would be like sitting on a Dragons chair, instead of only daydreaming about it on a faded IKEA sofa. How I know that? Because I have. And you and me, we are not that different, my friend. Basically, there are three different strategies to tackle the problem of getting rich. Filthy rich. Wanna hear them?


Be a hard worker

Yes, it is possible. All you have to do is to start immediately. Don't even finish reading this piece of junk. Mind you, that we talked about how to become rich in 3 days, not 5 years. So thinking about climbing the career ladder is not an option, unless you're in the mafia.

Robbing a bank could work in that short a timeframe, so could raiding a diamond mine. But the success rate is slim to none. You can write a bestselling book. Release a sex tape on Youtube - Gangnam Style. Blackmail a politician. Sell information to intelligence.

Of course, all these things require that you actually know stuff. And who really knows anything on how to get there besides the people who are already there. Those bastards! We need something more than that!




Be an entrepreneur

Yes, if hard work is hard, being an entrepreneur is even...harder. Please write that down. That sounds like an eloquent proverb.

Anyways, there are ways to do it. Invest a little of grandma's inheritance in shares at the stock market. Become an Ebay sales phenomenon. Market the water from your rain water tank as though it was Bling H2O.

Then again, this requires that you actually know something, like the market and consumer habits, your way around a computer and the internet. But many a time, you'll also need a talent that you'll be able to sell, especially if you're in the arts business. Good for you if you already have that luxury.

But I'm asking on behalf of the rest of us, who can really afford to acquire a talent? It's 3 bloody days!? How can Cletus Spuckler become rich within 3 days?



The fallback: Be very, very lucky

Be the child of Bill Gates, spawn of the Koch media tribe or marry someone from that litter. But in that case, you'd probably already be filthy filthy rich. Bastard, you!

Win the lottery. Become a Kardashian, a Reality TV superstar. Again, you'd probably need more than 3 days to reach an audience to develop that lucrative love-hate relationship with. Who knows, you may get lucky.

Visiting a talent show without having any talent is also an option. Actually it may be our best option. But it's kind of mandatory that you're unaware that you have no talent. Mocking the system doesn't work that way, unless you're a star comedian. And that, again, would be some form of talent. So touché, my talentless friends, we're in a cul-de-sac on the road to success. Cul-de-what?





Don't fall into despair. Chances are, that if you're pursuing one of these things, one of anything, for a really long time, you'll eventually become good at it, successful even. Not in 3 days, but maybe in 3 years. Or 30. Van Gogh only sold 2 of the 2000 paintings he created during his lifetime. He made exceptional art in the belief that he was a complete failure as an artist. Now look at him. What a filthy rich corpse.


3/16/2013

Weekend Writing Warriors: Ebony Eyes




 

Hey there, writers, and welcome to another beautiful Sunday with wewriwa! I want to continue this week's snippet where I left off the last time - Artie's relaxing at the Town Square in Southampton, when a woman and her dog show up at the fountain. First, doggy gets a lift on top of the brim to quench his thirst, then walks over to inspect Artie...









On top of the brim, the dog edged his way towards Artie.

The woman smiled and lengthened the leash, 
“Ah, he likes you." 
He sniffed around the edges, then shook, and thick drops of water landed on Artie's bare arm; water and dog drool
His face spasmed in disgust,
“Well, what’s not to like…”
The woman laughed a hoarse laugh that quickly grew into a dry rale cough. The dog's ebony eyes were glued to his as he sat down in front of him.  
Artie reluctantly moved his hand to pet the dog’s head. 
A coat of firm bristles met his palm.



3/13/2013

Spring Blog Makeover

I have been spring-cleaning my blog, fiddling around with several layouts these last few days, including one by the enemy. Wordpress. Although the ones from wordpress looked spiffy and polished, after some days of trial running, I hit on several problems.

WP imports caused a myriad of problems, including squeezed thumbnail pics, wrong interpretation of code and a general laggy-ness in page rendering. Along the lines of Cobbler, stick to your trade, I have ruefully returned to using one of the classic blogger templates.

A warmhearted welcome back, Awesome. Inc! Hey, plus I added a new typeface to represent a more grungy outlook! Let's see if it'll last...

3/08/2013

B.L.O.G. spells LOVE


2009 was the year Idiots and Earthquakes came into the picture, when I published my first ever blog post on the 6th of July. First steps, it was titled. 

I was unsure back then, as to blogging in English was such a good idea for me. First of all: blogging. Hubby and I set up this crazy vacation blog in 2007 and him and I had a blast writing it together. 

I never thought that I would have enough material to write a blog by myself and without a theme. As it turns out, life is an excellent inspiration. 

Secondly, blogging in English? Scary notion. I was adept at comprehending the language, thanks to the crazy amount of English fantasy books I had been reading, movies I had watched, and audiobooks I had listened to. 

Writing in English, I knew, was a different story, as it was a completely untrained muscle. I didn't have much practice, plus I didn't know a lot about writing. I knew I would need a lot of time.


 

Now, with close to four years of exercise under my belt, I have made some progress. I'm beginning to understand what I can and cannot do here on this blog. 





I believe that the early stage of my writing was distinguished by a more artful and spontaneous approach. 

Being green has its advantages and with time, I think I've lost some of that initial spark. I've gained some technical skills however, and I feel as though my intentions in presenting my thoughts have a better chance to come through. Still, the execution sometimes feels clunky compared to those of native speakers.

Why didn't I write in German? No snobbism. It was a question of audience more than anything else. I knew, that my German friends and family would have no problem "understanding" my English. But I didn't want to shut myself off to begin with. 

I'm still thinking about further developing a mean little political blog in German, since there is always room for debate about idiot politicians stomping around our political landscape, causing earthquakes

Who knows, once the amount of aggro in my rage bar hits a critical level, it might happen. For now, however, I am a happy blogger slash writer. Yes, this blog is much more than a sidekick to a possible writing career. It still is the main event.



3/03/2013

Weekend Writing Warriors: At the Town Square



Hello and huzzah to another fun-filled Weekend Writing Warrior extravaganza! I'm jumping ahead in my story. Artie has crossed an ocean and finds himself in a place called Southampton, Hampshire...


Artie slid his arms through the leather straps and dropped the backpack on the stair in front of the fountain. The street café across the town square was jam-packed with sun worshippers and children, spooning ice cream from bowls with the most luscious formations. He closed his eyes to the noise, the clinking of glasses and the sound of their banter.

As he re-opened them, an elderly woman with black sun glasses and a heavy fur coat made her way towards the fountain. A brawny dog padded besides her on a leash. She dragged herself up the steps towards the brim, and for a brief moment, Artie noticed the dog frowning at him in passing.

The woman groaned with exertion as she lifted the dog up on the edge of the fountain. Once he was at the top, he craned his white neck towards the surface and began drinking the water.




Thank you for stopping by and have a wonderful Sunday! :)