“Son? I’ve been sterilized for decades!”
Butterfly sits on nose; leaves bruise.
When we were small, we had in our backyard what we thought of as a field of sugar canes. It wasn’t that, of course, except for in our imagination. We have sugar beets, not canes, here in the Scandinavian North. Up until this day, I don’t know what those imagined sugar canes truly were – maybe bamboo or a type of weed? – but I do know that they were tall, green, round and juicy, and I also know that they made this delightfully crisp sound when we harvested them with our makeshift play-scythes. I remember those days vividly and with fondness, but I understand now, sister of mine, that you perhaps never saw those sugar canes, but that I, and only I, was the one who did.
Oil-shortage: robots or environmentalists to blame?
Once upon a time, there was village on top of a hill. It was small village, a friendly village, and it was surrounded by trees as thick and tall as palace towers. Every other month, food and water would be brought to the village from faraway lands and the village would fill with lively chatter and children’s laughter. And yet, no matter how happy the villagers were, they did not leave the top of the hill, because at the very bottom of that selfsame hill lay the forest – and the forest grew thick and strong like weed underneath the sun. The forest was safe only to the merchants who traveled with the lights of their lanterns to guide their way. At night, if the moon sat high on the sky like a perfectly round pearl, you could see the moving shadows of the forest as it circled the hill. Some villagers said that the forest was haunted by evil spirits who would grab you by your ankles and drag you into the heart of the earth unless you screamed loud enough; others said that the brushwood was so thick that you fell straight through, no evil spirits needed!
The village sat on a hill, surrounded by forest as far as the eye could see, and nobody walked off the hill.
As for those who did?
Those we do not speak of…
(illustration done by me)
Fireman grows beard; beard incinerates – oops?
She remembered naught except for him.
“The library, after midnight, bring parrot!”
First, I’d like to throw my thanks at R. L. Tierney for tagging me to do this, providing me with a great way to spend an otherwise dreary Danish Sunday. Next, if you’re not interested in my personal perspective on writing, you probably wanna skip this post… probably, possibly… definitely…
Amalie (not a misspelling; sorry!)
- Five words that describe your writing?
Dialogue, subtlety, versatility, wittiness… erm, animals in armor?
- Literature / art / films you’d recommend?
Outlander by Diana Gabaldon – rarely have I read such extraordinary characterization!
Pixcell-Red Deer (sculpture) by Kohei Nawa – something about this series of his is just so gurh for me; it’s vulnerability and force combined.
The Rurouni Kenshin Trilogy (Japanese) from a couple of years ago, because wow, the best manga-to-anime-to-liveaction adaption that exists on the market! Plus, the soundtrack is to die for!
- Images, symbols, and settings you associate with your work?
I’ll give you one overall image: a tightrope of brightly colored wool stretched taut between the trunks of two trees, hard rocks scattered on the ground below, water lapping gently nearby.
- Themes / concepts you are hesitant to write about?
Hm, I can’t think of any. I’ve done a lot, including LGBTQ and (admittedly poor) erotica, but I suppose I haven’t done… well… fables? Ah, no, wait, I have done that, too – damn. Ah, an epic! An epic would be something that I would hesitate to write. I plan my novels as I write them, and I imagine that planning an epic only while you write it is… well… a bad idea.
- What would you tell someone who’s nervous about starting out?
Writing is like getting your first tattoo; you feel afraid to mark a clean canvas, but once it’s marked, it’ll be a part of you forever (and what a fantastic thing that is!)
- Three of your writings you’d recommend to people who’d like to know more about you?
Children of the Gods (drabble), Showtime (novel), Rubble (poem) —— though, honestly, I’m super versatile, and my best stuff is not accessible online, but kept on my dusty windowsill, ready for adventures in publishing!
- What pushes you to keep writing?
……… air? my lungs? ……. my roommate that pesters me for more chapters first thing in the morning and last thing in the evening?
So, this was super fun! I’ll keep the trend of tagging alive, and tag three of my favorite writing blogs below, but even if they don’t feel like doing this – which, really, is their decision and all; I’m not interested in forcing their hand – I still urge you to check them out. The content on their pages is just superb!
(Inspired by TODAY-THIS-DAY-RIGHT-HERE!, when I spilt a drop – one single drop! – of water on my touchpad, dried it off carefully with a finger, and then suddenly had to wage war on my laptop as the cursor grew a life on its own, moving and clicking random shit until I finally managed to shut it down – talk about panic; what if it had deleted my novel and short story folders right before my very eyes!?)