ROW80 Week 10: Bearings

(other participants)

This was a fairly busy week, mainly due to unexpected things at work.

Despite that, it was good for poetry; as well as reciting poems five days this week, I wrote five of my own, and made some progress editing one I’d given up on.

Conkers didn’t do quite so well; I only wrote 270 words of the 300 I was aiming for. However, I’ve had some insights into why I’m not getting anywhere:

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What Was To Be

The day was due when all the world would break,
When things too strange to name would rise and roar,
From mountain peaks to seabed, stone would shake,
Then cease to be. This globe would be no more.

While still we lived, we took all we could spy,
Abandoned lives for trips we wished we'd made,
Played one last waltz, so dancing we might die,
Or gambled all on games we'd never played.

And now we wake, alone, without a cent,
To birdsong and the sunrise through the smoke.
And try to find someone who'll share a tent.
We all attempt to see it as a joke.

We who, deceived, believed our doom was real,
As such did act, and thus true doom did seal.

ROW80 Week 9: Incidental

(other participants)

This has been a good week for things that weren’t goals:

My best progress was with memorising poetry, which I managed to fit in at least six days this week.

Writing wasn’t so successful: five days out of seven, but nothing very long, and nothing towards Conkers.

Hopefully I can change that this week — work has got me looking into mindfulness and ways of avoiding distraction when programming, and I suspect writing requires a similar kind of focus.

While I don’t have a reading goal at the moment, I’ve still been reading. Both these stories got me thinking about how to write alien perspectives:

China Miéville’s Perdido Street Station has a monster that only very inhuman minds can fight.

Bravemule, by “Kevin Snow + collaborators”, is a story based on a Dwarf Fortress game. The characters have strange personalities to match the sometimes-strange decisions the game AI makes.

Good luck and happy writing!

The Deeper Scar

The end drew nigh, and evil trod the land,
In form of fleshless bones, with gaze of fire,
With blood-red rats, that ranged at their command,
And gnawed strong bricks to sand, to serve their ire.

Who held against the horde was honoured high;
One spoke not such a name, but sang of hope.
For most, to meet the rats meant flee, or die,
And few could run to match the bone-beasts' lope.

In time, the most grew few and heroes died,
Til evil's foes were bones, or made of bone.
The sole survivors crossed the seas, and cried
Despair on each dry continent of stone.

By means most grim, they lived past evil's fall,
Then fell in lands restored, on gallows tall.