Archive for the ‘Fiction’ Category

Old ideas

Tuesday, March 15th, 2016

Back in the day when I started writing I didn’t have a computer. I used to write by hand in this big red notebook. It was a working combination if I was writing an idea that wasn’t too formed, because then I had the patience to concentrate on the handwriting. But if it was an idea that I had mulled over for a good time, I could sometimes barely read what I had just wrote. It still happens to me, you should see my writer’s notebook on some pages, it’s like trying to decipher hieroglyphs when you’re not an archeologist, an egyptologist or indeed either of Dr. Joneses.

Things took a turn for the better, somewhat, when I (or rather my sister, the more avid of a writer of us) got an electric typewriter. She had already confiscated dad’s old manual typewriter earlier and basically sat on it so I couldn’t get to it (you could read what had been written from the tape if you were curious enough, yes children, it was a different time, you and your touchscreens and tablets, we had MACHINES to type with). When she got the electronic one, she still wouldn’t let me have the old one, but I would sometimes get to type on the new, posh one. So I wrote some stories with it (you could still read the tape if you wanted to, but it would take a lot more effort and you would most likely break the cartridge and replacement tapes weren’t exactly cheap) but I still continued to mainly write by hand.

And then, the computer arrived.

We had some old shit that dad had gotten from work, but it had a word processing program and a hard disk drive. I typed with that bastard like there was no tomorrow. I stored my scribblings on the disks and kept them in a safe place, so no one could read what I’d written. When I finally got my own computer years later, I transferred all the files from the disks to the computer hd.

Except for apparently one story.

I remember writing it, I remember it was one of the most solid ones, plot-wise, and it had a lot of potential. I made up characters that were easily approachable and not mary-sues or anything shitty. It was probably the first one of my more mature stories.

And I can’t find it anywhere.

I’ve destroyed all the disks because a) I thought I had everything transferred and b) who the hell even has disk drives anymore? Not I. I’ve dug up old backups of my hds but no. It’s nowhere. It can’t be found. I’ve thought about it a lot lately and I have been trying to remember what happened. Because I’m going to try to revive the story, revive Sandrine and Ed, try to tell their story again, maybe make it better. And maybe when I’m done, the original story will pop up somewhere, like when you need a thing and you buy a new thing because you can’t find the old thing and the old one appears right after you come home with the new one.

Here’s hoping.

Writer’s block B-gone

Friday, November 13th, 2015

What better way to get your writing going than a good ole piece of smutty smut, a pure plot-what-plot.

-Are you not coming to the shower? You should. There’s a whole lot of me all over your thighs. I’m worried they might stick together.
She put her hands on her eyes. –Is there any way you could be more disgusting?
He winked at her and flashed a wide smile. That was the face that could get anything from her, anytime.
-I hate you.
-Yea yea. I’ve heard it all before. You’ll be all over this -, he gestured to all of himself. –In no more than five minutes. Come on, get up, he extended his hand and she took it.
Of course.

Theme songs

Thursday, February 19th, 2015

You know sometimes some songs remind you of a person, or a place or a particular time of your life. I have a few of those. I can’t listen to Keane’s Everything Changes without remembering me, my sister and my RingPal Juk driving in her teeny-tiny red Renault to local landfill a day before our house had to be empty. (mom sold the house after the divorce with dad, so we weren’t evicted or anything)

There’s Ihmeiden Kaupunki (the city of wonders, roughly translated) by Finnish band Leevi & The Leavings which reminds me of being a kid and playing with my sister and our summer cabin. A song about more innocent times. Just like Scorpions’s Wind of Change, which really needs a post of it’s own (remind me if i don’t get to it).

Talking about Scorpions, there’s Rock You Like a Hurricane, which used to remind me about a certain time my brother-ish and his cousin did a striptease number while that song was playing, but now it mostly reminds me of one of my husband’s friends who is a die-hard Scorpions fan and trust me you don’t want to mix those two images. So that’s a sort of a frustrating song in the reminding of -sense.

Certain songs I try to avoid because they aren’t necessarily triggering, but I’ve played them a lot while manic. Such as Jörn’s version of The Sun Goes Down, which really quite honestly describes not only addiction, which it originally is about as far as I understand, but also being bipolar. It’s a magnificent song, even the Thin Lizzy original, but I like Jörn’s version better.

And then there are the songs I listen to when writing. I usually make a playlist in Spotify with songs that give me inspiration so I can play that whilst writing and be in the correct mood. (i usually write with my earphones on because occasionally (lol all the time) i’m playing the same few songs over and over and over again and my husband gets irritated, bless him) Like Jess Mills’s Live for What I’d Die for will always remind me of Karina and Tem’s love story. Roxette’s Sweet Hello, Sad Goodbye has Rainne and Daryl written all over it. Takida’s You Learn is Zorana and Sean all the way.

There are the sadder stories. Gabrielle Aplin’s wonderful version of Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s Power of Love plays when Eleanor drops to her knees on her twin sister’s grave, in so much pain that she is determined to join her. Dennis Shephard’s Bring Me Back plays when Rainne sees Daryl being shot in the head. Depeche Mode’s marvellous Higher Love has always been to me a song that I imagine being high on drugs feels like (bear with me, blame the synesthesia), so naturally that is what I play when I write about Eleanor and Alex getting high.

And there are songs that mean so much to me in a personal level, that I don’t want to associate them with anything or anyone for that matter. The original of the afore mentioned Power of Love. I once had a guy asking me if I’d dance with him when that song started playing at a bar and I said no, that it’s nothing personal but this means so much to me that I just want to sit here, listen to the song as it’s blaring out of the loudspeakers and have a fag. He said wow and then he said can I join you in that and I said yea and that was it. And there’s U2’s Love is Blindness, Zooropa and Heartland…

I need to start a Song of the Week, because I could go on and on. I can and I will.

Writing (procrastinating)

Wednesday, February 18th, 2015

I’ve been avoiding opening any and all text files. Because I haven’t had the chance to really get into writing mode. I know, I know, excuses excuses.

So today I made myself a motivation poster. Can you see how I’m not writing?


i don’t know what you’re suggesting but i’m saying yes



I have been getting some writing done earlier tho. Some. Not much.

Jesus wept, she thought to herself. Forget the fags and slice me a piece of that.
-Do you often say weird shit like that? his golden brown eyes were looking at her with an amused expression in them.
-I’m afraid I do. Say weird shit I mean. I’ve been locked up for so long that I’ve forgotten how to socialize. Oh my god Eleanor stop babbling, I’m terribly sorry.
He laughed and his laughter did things to her and they were things that she didn’t want to be done to her when she had just met a guy and jesus fucking christ she was in a psych ward and for all she knew he could be some deranged killer but my god if he wasn’t the prettiest sight she’d ever laid her eyes upon. She smiled, then thought how smiling made her face look even more crooked and had a pan of anxiety.

This is why we can’t have nice things

Saturday, November 29th, 2014

“There was a rattle behind her and with a quick inhale she snorted up the whole load. With a wide smile on her face she turned, sure to see her sister somehow miraculously risen from the grave. But it was Alex. In his grey hoodie and his dark blue jeans and black jacket and she’d never seen him looking so worried and oh how she loved him, loved every inch of his scrawny, meth-ridden body and his narrow face and the patch of hair on his chin and then it hit her like a freight train and she could taste the bitter foam in her mouth and all she heard was a high-pitched buzz and a terrified scream of Sinjin no and then everything went white, like static on television.”