Or why writing is wonderful
I’ve always loved writing. Whether it be putting thoughts on paper or letting my imagination go wild it was therapeutic and creative and wonderful.
Back in 2008 I signed up for deviantArt, and posted some crap artwork [back then it was all about the views/favourites; I did a lot of anime fanart] and kept my writing hidden. As I’m sure is true for many writers, the words you author can be intense, clunky and sometimes personal, as though a segment of your soul is on show. Even when they’re edited and polished, sharing them can be daunting. If you criticize my work you’re attacking me.
Since my first posts on my site [InklingsofOblivion], I’ve gone beyond dipping my toe in the writing pool and jumped in fully clothed. My confidence has grown in myself and my work, and looking through my posts, I can see I’ve progressed in my style, subject matter and construction. Being part of deviantArt’s Flash Fiction Month had a huge impact on this: picking a theme and churning out 50-1000 words everyday in July makes you write and think and create. Here’s a little piece I wrote back in the day . It’s not the first ever piece I wrote, but this was one of the first flashes of mine I loved.
After 7 ate 9, 8 felt quite lonely: 9 had been an exemplar older sibling, in fact the only one 8 had left after 10 let to join the double figures club. 7 had always been a source of annoyance: as the golden, lucky child he could do no wrong but still 7 always felt dissatisfied with his lot. There’d been no need to destroy 9 out of boredom and spite. Besides, the Numerate Dorm had been fully stocked with impossible and imaginary digits to feed on.
8 hit the bar, passing the hours hiding amid whiskey glasses and chasers. Maybe one too many was had: 8 nearly threw up, but fought the urge, pretending to feel fine. Six minutes later, her severely altered ego came out; she was just the right level of inebriated to cancan, channelling ballet moves learnt a lifetime ago. &, for that’s who 8 was now, shimmied and kicked across the wooden floor, laughing in the faces of those alpha-numerate who tried to bring her down.
& danced giddy as judging faces and whispering mouths blurred into one happy accident. For a moment, clarity struck: & swore there was 9 waiting for her across from the table she was standing on, smiling sadly and beckoning her down. In that moment, her concentration slipped: leg raised, she couldn’t right herself, and so she fell over, for ∞.
Thoughts? Questions? Comments?
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