#writing
https://paulkater.com/manuskript-software-for-writers.html
My first post about using #Manuskript for writing stories.
"I want to dispel some of the myths about Writer’s Block, and undo the mysteries that surround the condition. What’s happening when we feel blocked? What can we do to find our way back to the keyboard? Can we accept Writer’s Block as a potential ally to our creativity?"
"The first thing that needs to be said is that writers get blocked almost constantly. During the composition of this very paragraph, I stopped typing thirty-seven times (I counted), stumped as to what I wanted to say next, and how. I got up and made a snack. I went outside to chase away the woodchuck living beneath our storage shed. I came back inside and turned off the app that turns off my internet and spent a solid half hour researching how to poison a woodchuck."
"I considered what would happen if I poisoned the woodchuck—or worse yet, the baby woodchuck—and my wife found out. I made a bunch of linguistic tweaks, most of which I unmade, before erasing the whole paragraph and starting over. At every phase of this extremely shitty and inefficient process, I was suffering a block, a moment in which doubt and indecision overtook my faith. I am still eyeing this paragraph suspiciously."
https://lithub.com/how-to-write-egoless-prose-at-least-for-a-little-while/
Ep - 17
Desist the coffee remain aromatic, my cup one of java noteworthy, remained for the unclassified franchise, they choose cup over rebellion, they glow with ignition. Remarkable their eternity sequesters a nuclei of fusion, the very realm required for reappearance, atomic catalysts the microwaves of one mice, the chlorophyll seeded in mouse life, then energies of a temporal fusion, extracting interacting computations, they seized the millenniums internal calculate, with a coexist analogy of format, timing in weightless energy, binary to the fall of generational Two, one thousand the more they alighted, free spirited a co pilot, infinite spacetime should replicate them a very incriminate of patchwork ornament.
Caretakers are you of divided time, the service proviso in suggested nutrients; cup one coffee, we all share, later those intakes, refuelling our expedience, capital pastries with patchwork ornamentation, very suffice would the peels of branchless those baring a seasonal shelf. Space in accordance metric ages of the ruminant pastures a thrill to congest those seedless hoopers, align with oceans a see, abundance you and i the replated fixtures, fuelling us a replenish of wishes. Stardom works the binary glucose, hearth our bakery sufficient, gloss the appetite with autocorrect seeds of bushes or make the reminders a enterprise of select berries, calculate the time provided, stock repatriation the congestion needless those incumbent of thoughts.
Solitude burnt the warfare, the territory masked those reapplying wellbeing. Locality the prosperous introspection, destruction of a catalyst made inclusive by interim coercion, internal cohesion of enabled destitution, shapeshifting a familiar attire for the rotational expedience of a princely summation, congestive or retrospective, the earth salient of plentiful dilation. Two factions of remedies, gluttony reduces a shifting authority, one reprimanded with exile as the profited welfare is shaped in governance, the concluding factoring in the maze one redefines exclusive by default, the jitter of welfares affirmation, the burnt destruction of capitulating the acceptance of captivity, thwart by the toxicity of national discourse.
The hours surpassed grace, those more the less juxtaposed their returning hearth, a genuine recall of energies, they updated the millennial nutrition, a exercise in formality, capital saving a gratitude, the very intrinsic affirmation, What you don’t have, isn’t that you don’t have to energy a reshare, it’s we accordance those familiar with acceptance, love, the provisional time withheld, bond with our planetary attributes, those sold by contributing the lesser valued wares, a earth responding displacement, contributary by empirical fortification.
Geisha mouse rounded the firstly cocktails, muds of salty caramel, cordial to the spoken of return for cups by the founding coffees. Delicious pinks of a print of charred biscuit, savoury bit sized whispers the fortunate plater a contender of seized bite safe returns. Two courses of cheeses, replenishing the first. Monument a sacred earth her rounding thoroughfare, crusts or bun’s, Yorkshire pudding out paced the time we remembered those firstly mice were weighted by patronage, physiology updated there inclining threshold, they held to the carvery, one combustion of fusion, cellularly spaced for reaffirming our land belongs the ethereal time we keep to hours, to beloved a indifferent inherent. ©️ #writing
#trees #mywork #writing
I wrote this a number of years ago. The inspiration for the poem was the precious golden resin from the myrrh tree that can only be obtained when it's wounded. Myrrh has a long and interesting history.
The Myrrh Tree
I was with you before this world was created.
I know The Beginning. This mortal life is The Middle.
I have been run over, shot down, cut to pieces, left for dead,
hospitalized and placed in the black abyss of a coma.
I have been abandoned, betrayed, forsaken, slandered, tortured,
robbed, left with nothing, starved and worked like a slave.
I have been a dog chained to a post. To wait and wait,
and then, to give up hope.
I have imprisoned myself with my faults and fears,
in a cell that isn't locked. I closed the door.
I am a tree that bends. I have been shaped by the
strong winds of unrelenting adversity.
I have not been uprooted and blown away. My roots are deep.
Please forgive me if I am odd. My heart remains tender.
Tender as a rose pedal, and I write upon it ~
‘I Am Your True Love.’
Something for the writers out there
#Writing #writers
100 Random Character Development Questions #Writing
Broken Men On the Outskirts of Town
“Trebuchet,” flash fiction by Avitus B. Carle
https://electricliterature.com/trebuchet-by-avitus-carle/?mc_cid=44a6c790d8
Ep - 16
Choose inclining climes, to metric in abundance, factual in another timeline, corridors to replenish store. Cast was included with the resolving works of artistic endeavours, berries or the season with grains, the same wall held to the everlasting drone, framed in ink and shelved by the fashionable tones. Two reds one blue, a distant painting dissolved, flagrantly once in colour, the compromise were shadowing the bountiful rest, framing in the textural flavours one colour to remedy the personal attributes one conceives as belonging through disarming confliction. Our tenure to expand formalities, betrothed to eon, the flesh of the recovering page, two lines of timeless shading, procuring the sound of light. Balances rich in contrasts, piqued summaries the fictional Samuel redressed his landscapes, apertures the directional earth, expedient coverages the remissible language folded vestures, retail limits the homogenous traffic, congestion fired patronage, a visible singular shaded the recovery price.
They noted Ken to magenta leaves, koalas see into the respite of bracken and Ken koala occupied their thoughts, dreams are heard throughout these climes, shedding bracken, shedding branch. The wall flickered as if the artist has two paints, one colour drifted to the coffee, there the spirit light wrote infinite occasions, replicating in voice. Samuels vest was tunic and thorn, over threading him visually prone to replication, the standard fuel burnt the symbolic colour a higher Senate, they clothed his visitation, as the warmth reclined to age the salient outline. Abundance one colour more. Ken left the painting to revive the magenta night, Samuel loaned supportive solitude, those words mentioned, fashioned too another place in foundation, orange arteries are skeletal passengers, founding the equivalent way to views in monochrome displacement, Paris fell the trusses, framing in the only conclusion, as Samuel redeployed his holster.
The sky were in disguise of Nanas sister, winter intervened with abreast colour, the fell needed reporting, should nurture or suture need extracting, coding came early to the finial production, the chair decides a wavier of contention, seating for the servitude made redundant. Geisha mouse reappeared the previous years end, in contrast to the theatre, the droll framework was chambered to restoration, the residing Koala reeled those eons, pines were introduced the following year, shipment inland founded a suitable tailor, they coordinated open fashions. The acknowledgement wrote: display of the artistic endeavours are inviting the encompassed spatial, a three bedroom house, bath, stove for hearth, one years supply of vallance, cushioned stayovers and contours of orange paint.
The valued pint repaid, the landscape with mediation, fait occupation becoming of state welfare, those generationally displaced practitioners were disarmed by excessive tutorage, warmongering the fearful anxious expedient fashion design, tutelage the canvassed audience, staged the seasonal patronage void of comprehending interactive application. Ruins of patronage replaced the voice of colour, mingling with those infinite patients, credentials surpassing the destruction of renewal, ambition in recourse of propriety, lesser the disarming equality by manufactured infrastructures, the very self worth seen through inhuman conduction, seeding the planet with eon and intrinsic inertial inheritance. ©️ progressive #writing
I enjoy writing a lot. Mostly that is non-fiction blog post style stuff but I also dabble with fiction. Once I even finished NaNoWriMo with a novel I will humbly describe as a steaming pile of shit. But I did write it! After finishing Asimov's "I Robot" I have decided to try to get into shorter fiction writing. As luck would have it the Novlr platform has a sale on their lifetime Pro membership and becoming a coop owner-member for a one time fee of $399. Even if I end up never doing more than dabbling I love the idea of helping fund a cooperatively owned enterprise that can help create a solid product for fiction writers. #writing #novlr #Cooperatives #WritersOfMastodon #art
Novlr: A writing workspace owned by our writers.
Ep – Fifteen
We sit the moon, name our linear binders, epochs to the treble starlight, once appearance, twice appearing static shimmery, those rounding features of moonlit junctions. Emblematic flora and humanities tonic plates, conspicuous rivers domains the times sensual contention, relic to war and swain, garden to mind and precious minerals, phosphorous or silica, we actual to the moon. Domain to reappearance, the lads sun arose, night fell with the ambient backslash, the theatre we upended to the future, they disarmed to rewrite then styles, instrumental cadences supported actual fractions, those intertwining gossamers shared threads of revision. The esteem funded catalyst lobbied as the swains, unexplained with expedience, nomenclature advanced in stylist foundations, all astute learnings to atomic harmony, sliding welfare to those allies.
Beta blocks never withstood advancement, Geisha mouse accounted to then a secondary moon, to thesis them a tidal patronage of silvery fissures, once systematic to the pregnant season’s. Gem placement the resilient geometric quantum atoms, those calculate winters prizing in homogenous seasons, reread the timeline of institutional impairment, the calculus subscribed to Nepal’s cat whom, lain the dormant supplement application. Estuaries of precious singularity, the subscription were valour to instrumentalist of piecemeal equality, forgeries of distraction made the war genuine, the fragmented one in recovery, sold aptitude by the declaration of a closing space, phosphorous silver silicon forecasts, all intermittent recovery news.
Geisha mouse aged with the acknowledging knowledge, pre-existing a prior to welfare the learned learner, a habitual approximation too social identity, brotherhood withstood to the founding thesis, all independent news is journaled with the same application, becoming news to the factual idolatry infirmed brotherhood. Conspicuous gratitude leaves the quantum failures for then global distractions, various seasonal attractions, prone to awaking cultural displacement, linage displacements the cost of intermediate forgeries, one moon, two expectations, founding insecurities in the familiar presentation, fashion rewards consumers of independent quest.
Two unforeseen circumstances in time and space, closures of restoration, fathoms in time, replications in near spatial starlit moons, two sequential sunsets, one made with linear time, the light intermittent of age. The other reclaiming the sunrise mornings, occupational of sundries nightfall, the same timeline existent, resilient wares in aboded, inflaming spectral journalist of war, coverage to the open camera lenses, fashion twixt the moon, wars fashion the twixt embody, regression for the infantile mother of manifold vicissitudes. ©️
progressive
#writing
#myphoto #planter #writing #flowers #plants
The Social Hall Planter. Photograph from "The Last Bus To Ogden'.
- It took several months to remove a lot of the old soil, and bark, and then replace it with new, good soil from a garden center nursery. I hauled it all in by bus. I also transported the plants on bus trips. I transported the rocks (except two large ones) in a backpack from the Research Area where I worked - to the planter. I hauled water from my apartment to water the plants.
People started to have some respect for the planter, and the amount of garbage I had to clean out of it was greatly reduced.
#writing
The Last Bus To Ogden
Last year I wrote "The angels were up in the night casting handfuls of pearls on neglected and forsaken ground.."
That time is here again, and I saw beautiful Morning Glories, also known as Moon Flowers, this morning while I was on a campus shuttle bus going to work. I said to myself,
"The angels were up in the night casting handfuls of pearls on neglected and forsaken ground."
When I look at them, I can always hear sweet, high, little voices singing, like flowers in a beautiful Walt Disney cartoon-
"Good Morning! Good Morning! We love you. Have a wonderful day."
As I looked at them, I remembered an old drunk man I met one night in front of a UTA bus stop, when I was working in the Social Hall planter in downtown Salt Lake City. I had adopted this forsaken planter. He rode up on his bicycle, huffed and puffed, and said it was a steep hill. He was wearing shorts, his legs were tanned, and he looked to be in good shape in spite of the fact that he was old, drunk as a skunk, and stinking to high Heaven. I thought if that's what riding a bicycle can do for you, I should buy one and get my own self in shape. He sat on the edge of the concrete planter and was taken aback, and then delighted when by the light of a streetlight, he saw all the flowers I had planted in the planter. Thinking that he must be in the middle of some kind of alcohol induced delusion, he asked me what the names of the flowers and other plants were, and why was I out there late at night working in a flower garden? I told him the names of the flowers, and how I had adopted the abandoned Downtown planter, and it wasn't my property. I explained that it was better, and easier to work at night when it was cooler, and there wasn't a crowd of people around the planter waiting for their buses. He asked if he could help me, and plant a flower. I said he could, so he dug a hole in the dirt with his hands and planted a flower.
He enjoyed it all so much that I suggested that he should plant a garden where he lived. He explained that he once had a home and a wife, and back then he also had a garden that he tended. He said his wife slept during most of the day, and working in the garden was how he kept busy. But she died. He put his head down and was silent. Then, he told me that now he lived by a river in Ogden, and it wasn't his property so he couldn't plant anything. I got the feeling that he must live in some kind of tent, or lean-to. I pictured him being cold in the Winter.
The old man said all he had left was the VA Hospital he goes to, and that's where he was earlier in the day. He had been in the Army in World War II. He showed me the battle and surgery scars on one knee, and said he lived in pain all the time. I thought perhaps his physical pain was one reason he had turned to heavy drinking. His doctor appointment was the reason he had traveled from Ogden to Salt Lake City on the bus. A trip that took an hour or longer. Now, he was waiting for the last bus to Ogden. That sounded like the name of a song to me, or a movie title. "The Last Bus To Ogden." He asked if he could plant another flower and I told him no because he was much too drunk, and would accidentally damage them. He asked me why I was so mean. I could almost hear him gently saying those words to his deceased wife. I told him it was my job to care for the flowers. Understanding the responsibility of having a job to do, and the condition he was in, he shook his head "Yes" and didn't argue with me about planting anything.
Then he said,
".. most people think of them as weeds, but I really liked them....they're little, white, pretty flowers.."
"..Morning Glories?"
"Yes. That's them. I really like them."
"I like them too. Shall I plant some here for you?"
"...No..I used to work for the Forest Service for many years..wildflowers are the most beautiful..out there where they belong..in their own natural setting..it wouldn't be right to have them here."
He spoke in a sober, serious, intelligent Forest Ranger kind of way, deserving of respect, and not like an old, drunk man, on his way alone in the dark, to finally fall down beside a river and go to sleep.
The next day as I was walking with a co-worker to a Deli for lunch, I mentioned to him, because he knows about trees and gardens, that I really liked Morning Glories. I said I had been thinking about digging up a few plants from the nearby open field where we worked, and planting them in the Social Hall planter. He replied,
- "No..you don't want to do that. They're weeds, and their roots go way, way down. You'd have a hard time digging up one. Why would you want to put weeds in a flower garden? They sell ornamental Morning Glories-they look good."
My co-worker was correct. Ornamental Morning Glories are very pretty flowers, but somehow they remind me of a bowl of plastic apples, oranges, bananas and grapes that sat in the center of an aunt's dining room table. Real-but not real. But maybe I'll get over that one day, and plant some orientals in the Social Hall planter. It's silly to keep an unreasonable thing in your mind. You know, get over it!
My co-worker was also correct about the wild Morning Glories having very deep roots. I did get out there in that dusty, dirty forsaken field, and dig up some plants, with their long vines, and the flowers that I loved so much. It took over an hour and it was hard work. I transported the wild Morning Glories home on a bus, in a large grocery store paper bag, with their roots wrapped up in wet paper towels. It was rather thrilling to have this treasure in my own personal possession-to be mine, to look at and enjoy to my heart's content.
Once home, I put the wild Morning Glories in Mason jars and vases filled with water. I also filled up one side of my kitchen sink with water, and put more of them in the sink. They were all doing just fine, and I must have looked at them a hundred times.
I put the vines that were in jars and vases out on my second story window ledge of the Downtown building where I live. To see and touch this little bit of wild Nature was wonderful. When the Sun went down, the little Morning Glory flowers folded up and disappeared within the leaves of the vines!! I was thrilled! When my alarm went off the next morning, I raced to the kitchen to look at the Morning Glories I had in the sink filled with water. All the little white flowers were in full bloom.
"Good Morning! Good Morning! We love you. Have a wonderful day."
Some had a slight touch of pink on them, and others had a touch of light blue. All-so beautiful to me. The flowers that were out on the window ledge were also in full bloom. I was very happy.
I kept the wild Morning Glories with me for over a week, and knew I would have to plant them soon or they would die. But in thinking about it, I had to agree with the old man, the Forest Ranger, that they were at their most beautiful in their own natural environment. It was selfish of me to have them. And, the Social Hall planter was no longer a neglected, forsaken piece of ground. It had me to love and care for it, so they really didn't belong in the planter.
I transported the wild Morning Glories, "a heavenly gift to barren and forsaken places", back to the barren field where I had dug them up. I planted them, and watered them every day until I was sure they would be alright. I looked at them when I was passing by, and a few times I walked out into the field for a closer look. Winter snow covered them, and then one Spring day, bulldozers were bulldozing the large, empty field-smoothing it all out. The Morning Glories were plowed under. I walked out there and asked one of the workmen what was happening. A new medical clinic was going to be built there. I thought of the old Forest Ranger, taking a bus from Ogden to go to a doctor appointment in Salt Lake City. Maybe one day his doctor would send him to the new clinic that was to be built? And as he sat in the waiting room, he would look at the clock on the wall, and think about making the..last bus to Ogden.
Ep fourteen
The slightly folded precept crevice, carried between thoughts of wisdom of the doctorate spices, they charged the ambient spirt longing for wisdom, fourteen the plastic bridal filleth their spatial airs. Leaves are the coherent justify in locality, the flora has redeemed the ritual imprints colonial trespasses, the frequency one scorns, suggestions of mid central industrious world parties, small comfort in jetsam dreams. My phosphorus dreamtime, falling amphibian airs, prone to extracting the sprite of recovery. They courage them to remain in coherent foundation, instinct fractions spaced the tenure of expedition, the obvious was their dreamtime, collaborations with reconciling with the epic, those in a survival platform honours listing.
Shifting rock for dirt, eyeing then inescapable trails, was the rounding child of thorn and twig, bark fallen night, the exchange provided wells in teary pulp, memory were their recorded solitudes, the tramlines network lain infinite to watches. My name the land, they recoiled the intermittent suggest, a transfer for affixing localities, the published Kangaroo aged with frailly remembrance, Samuels a introvert in subversion, the old gregarious Kangaroo drew the landing a matrimony for Samuel to return those spices he buried his shoulder with prosperity. Music had replaced with inner city ends, traversed the optical dreamtime fluent in county.
They had verse in redressing verse, playing the least occupational landing, rare the phonic lad had relayed their protest nuptial, my convenient platitudes rested in his offerings, in lieu of disarming constriction, we played the game and berries through fortifying attest, the same address burnt with punction. The painting became optional, they fell the firmament, when the night arrived saved. Quantum space interluded his professor a gem in time, winter eroded the fragile customary thought, tickets were sold by Samuel for the inexpensive tram, genial in time, they refilling wine sold by the content. Cylindrical counters the dress folded fabric cost to their pregnant dingoes, Samuel reloaded a plating, the emergent figurine comely in fabrics radiant skyline.
Nana dingo in winter clothed, with spite ales contenting love, shutter speeding those tickets informal, the lazy night awoken, ambient sister in related terra, wore to whisky the hemline sorrows the eye, mind in thought, pleasures of the emergent sky. #writing
