[Day 7 of 365]:
Everyday is a fresh start or at least I hope it is; because today’s writing sucked. It sucked hard. It sucked so bad, I don’t even want to post anything that I wrote. My Inner Critic is having a field day, ripping the results of today’s attempt to shreds and I hate to give it more timber for the fire. On the good side, I wrote. I tried. I took a prompt and gave it my best shot. On the bad side, it was awful, dreadful, boring, and trite.
Instead of letting myself feel embarrassed, I’m going to just be happy that I wrote something. I’m going to post it, so I can remember that time I wrote crap and didn’t give up. I’m going to leave it here at day 7, so I can look back on it on day 200 and see how much my writing has improved. I’m not going to give up, give in, or use it as an excuse to stop writing. I’m going to remember that I’m a beginner, with no formal training, who is just playing around with words. And I’m going to leave it here, so other writers know that just because you’re struggling, doesn’t mean you’re alone.
Truthfully, the scene started with plenty of potential, but there’s something about writing in the morning that seems to drain the energy out of my characters. I LOVE writing at night, when my devilish Muse and even darker thoughts come out to play. The words just seem to pour from my fingertips in an endless flow the fills me with joy, fear, and excitement.
Today’s writing proves that I am definitely NOT a morning person. So, I guess I’ll chuck this failure up to a creative misunderstanding. And take it as a lesson that my writing is meant for the darker hours of humanity. Oddly, this failed writing session gives me permission to stay up late and write when I want to, when my logical mind is asleep and can’t get in the way. Perhaps my Muse is communicating with me again. –LV
Begin a story with the line, “The clock winked.” Prompt #34 from CreativeWritingPrompts.com
The clocked winked and Jane threw her teddy bear at it. She’d hated that clock since her mother bought the damn thing. It was supposed to wake you up gently by slowly increasing the light and then flashing erratically when it hit the alarm time. But so far, she’d wake up thinking the incessant beeping and flashing lights are the cops invading her bedroom. It would probably help if she wasn’t still holding on to the package.
Freida gave it to her and said Lisa would be by to pick it up a day later, but it’s been almost a week and there’s been no sign of either of them. jane was starting to freak. She had no idea what to do with the damn thing. Most of the time, Jane didn’t think about the packages. They show up once a month, sit in the closet, and come with enough money to pay my mortgage. Because of the packages, Jane only had to work part time to pay the bills. The way Jane saw it, she was just renting out space, nothing more.
Frieda always told her, “As long as you don’t look in the package, everything is cool.” But, this one started to rattle yesterday, making sounds like something was scratching on the inside. So everything is definitely not cool.
Jane kept worrying, “Packages aren’t supposed to be noisy and they aren’t supposed to be around this long either.” Freida gave it to her a week ago and nobody’s asked about it since. What was she supposed to do with a forgotten package. It’s not like Jane could call the cops in to investigate. She’d already left a hundred messages on Freida’s phone. She could just toss it, except that if that crazy carrier, Lisa, comes by for it, and she doesn’t have it, then Jane might end up in the closet instead. Dead.
Jane stepped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She didn’t notice the small form curled in the corner. A long thin tongue tasted the air, mint toothpaste and strawberry shampoo wafted from the bathroom. It waited, hungry, but patient for her return.
Just as Jane started to dry off, she heard a knock at the door.
“Finally,” she said and wrapped the towel around her wet hair. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a purple tank top, “Be there in a minute.”
Jane checked through the peep hole. Lisa looked pissed. Her mouth curled down as she tapped her fingers along the edge of her cell phone. Her lithe figure was covered in even more tattoos than the last time. Jane took a breath to calm herself, unhooked the chain lock and opened the door.
Lisa stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, “Where is it?”
“In the back,” She walked Lisa to the closet next to the laundry room. Jane was glad both Lisa and the package would be out of her house in a minute or two. Small ears flicked as two red eyes tracked their movements from just inside the bedroom door. It prepared itself to jump, bunching it’s muscles tightly, feeling claws extend into the carpet.
Jane opened the closet door, an empty box stared at her. “You opened it?” Lisa grabbed Jane’s arm and shook her.
“Hell no!” Jane snatched her arm back and rubbed at the new bruise, “I never touched the damn thing.”
“Well somebody messed with it” Lisa started to dial a number on her phone. “Either way, you’re fucked girl.”
Just then, a purple mass shot out of the doorway, hurtling directly at Lisa. She threw her hands up, but it’s weight landed squarely on her chest, its momentum knocking them both backwards. Jane jumped out of the way and ran for the hidden baseball bat in the pantry. She came back in time to see it’s claws swipe at Lisa’s shoulders and dig in. She pulled the bat backward, looking for an opportunity to strike the purple, furry thing.
“No, Buster, no.” Lisa started to giggle. “Jesus, Jane, put that thing away.”
Jane kept the bat in the air and paused to stare at the small invader. It looked like a rat, but it had flaps of skin between it’s front and back legs. A pointed snout chirped at Lisa. The whole thing was covered in purple matted fur. “What the hell is it?”
“It’s a sugar glider, stupid” Lisa took a small wire leash from her pocket and attached it to the collar. The sugar glider walked up her shirt and jumped down her bra.
“Why is it purple?”
“Because I like purple. Stop being so damn paranoid.” She left Jane standing with the bat and walked out the front door.
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What did you learn the last time you wrote something that sucked? Did it inspire you to try harder or become a reason to give up for a while? |
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