..... just kidding.
Kinda.
In the past few weeks I have been trying my best to get back into the field and zone of writing. It's never as easy as it seems, but once you get those juices going it's easy . . . (That was a rather bare-faced lie right there, but it does, ask any published writer).
Now - writing isn't exactly an art form.
It's a frustrating process that makes you want to, and often succeeds, in tearing your hair out.
I've been going back over previous works throughout the years and doing some re-writes. It's made me realize that I often have a great foundation and basis for a story before I peter out and lose interest in the story. Coming back to it years later I've found there is more motivation and inspiration to continue with the story.
Well, with all that ado, I present to you a re-worked little short back from years ago and redone in this past year's NaNoWriMo. No title, just the story.
As always, leave a little comment below to share what you're working on.
Changing my address had seemed like a great idea. The
reasons were this: the way things were going, or the path we were heading down,
I didn’t want, or shave have bothered with staying in the same boarding house
for more than a few days at a time. If I became sick I would take a week to try
and recover, but never for longer than that at one address. I continued moving
around, one by one, just having the gut feeling that I should always be on the
move. Keeping on the run to make things difficult for whomever it was I was
running from. I made a certain point to avoid all of the places that I’d
frequented the previous occasion that I’d been here. (Which was sad because I
missed all of those places.) I was only here to avoid people in the general
populace. I didn’t want any more new people in my life, nor any of the old ones
either. I’d keep it that way. I’d managed to keep it up; at any recent address
I would dine alone, content to avoid all of the other tenants, doing my best to
avoid mingling or small talk.
Though, every resolve finally burns in the embers and dies
out.
I knew there’d been a bush I’d been dancing around,
figuratively. I’d beat around the bush for long enough. I had to finish what
I’d come here to do. I had to find the one person in this city who’d been there
the last time – we had to talk about what had happened before.
Since it would be a reunion of sorts I decided to dress for
the occasion. I kept it looking nice, while at the same time practical: skirts
(many layers of), a practical shirt with a bodice, a small overcoat, then my
regular overcoat, a pair of gloves, and a scarf wrapped around my neck to
combat the chilly fall weather. I went out that night with every intention of
finding him. He had to be easy to find, right?
I knew what I wanted to say to him, I went through it like a
monologue in my mind, playing the words over and over again in my mind. It
would be simple. All I had to do was find him.
I didn’t know where to go, or start with, so I sort of
ambled all over Paris hoping for a great turnout. It wasn’t the worst city to
be wondering rather aimlessly around – there were plenty of places that I could
pause and sit for a moment to relax with a small sample of food and a drink.
The best sorts of food and drinks provided.
After passing such another location I soon found myself
wondering on the steps of Notre Dame (to which I dare you not to sing that
aloud or in your head). There were plenty of other single walkers out that
night, of each sex and persuasion. It was a pleasant evening out, so it was no
wonder the streets were becoming full of people, out and about on such a lovely
night. I looked up the side of the building at the gargoyles guarding the
towers and turrets and bells of Notre Dame (again, I defy you not to sing it!).
Most of them seemed rather happy up there, the exception being a few of the
more sinister looking creatures who chose to glare down at the masses of the
city.
Don't forget to leave a comment, and have a fantastic week!
