Pappa Gio and The Pizza Capers... mUSE wARS rEVIVAL eDITION - # 2

Part I: The present.
Her face pressed hard against the warm window of the pizza place as the flow of saliva flooded her mouth with a gush. Sal glanced around, sure everyone passing could see the river of drool as it swept past her glands. A gloved hand quickly wiped the imagined overflow from her chin, but as she glanced down to the pristine white there was no trace of moisture. Not a drop nor a mark.

Pizza was her weakness, the one food she classed as pure comfort. Sal felt it linked back to her Grandpa Sol and their favourite story, Gio's Pizza. It was tradition in the Jones household to read it every night the grandchildren came to stay. As one of fourteen, and the only one of the grandchildren to live with Grandpa Sol and Grandma Jo, it meant Sal heard the story at least twice a week for many of her formative years. Grandpa Sol even looked like Gio Fabrizza.

One of the many, hers was merely a face in the crowd of children of their children. But whilst the story was shared amongst the fourteen of them, the recipe at the back and the special nights cooking pizza in the old timber-burning oven were her's and Sol's alone. A treat only they shared, a special bond. Private. Those were the nights Grandma Jo was at her prayer meeting, and if she ever wondered about the lingering odour of oregano, cheese and garlic it was never mentioned. Not once in the eight years Sal lived in their home.

Pizza remained her solace today but her widening waistline and shrinking wallet meant it was a rare indulgence. Something to be enjoyed only on the scarce special occasion when a celebration was warranted. Sal hadn't had pizza in over a year.

She allowed herself one last lingering look before turning away, forcing the urges back, dampening the craving down. Fighting her need. She walked away, a solitary, slouched figure lost in memories. 

Part II: The past.
She crammed the last glorious piece of pizza into her already overfilled mouth. The smell saturated her senses, the taste provoked orgasms of pleasure all through her body, but all the while the protesting crackle of flames reminded her she needed to leave before it was too late. She slowly licked the grease from her fingers.

Sal allowed herself one last lingering glance around what was her home. The place she had visited as a child with her mother, the house she was welcomed into after her mother's suicide, the rooms that had witnessed the pizza nights, her special nights with Grandpa Sol.

"His pizzas are fantastic

There's none that can compare

If you have the luck to try one

You'll never want to share!"

Sal was sick of sharing. So tired of the others crowding her, coming and going as they pleased, only staying for a little, enough to disrupt her life, then heading on back to their mothers and fathers and nice, cosy, safe lives. 

Her special nights with Sol had lost their lustre. Appeal had shrunk as she hit her teenage years and puberty beckoned. Needs changed.

Sal wiped her greasy fingers on Grandma Jo's apron before picking up her backpack. It was sad to think all her worldly goods fitted snugly into the one bag, fourteen years of life crammed into the canvas covers.

The flames began to crackle louder as if protesting her departure, alone in their complaint. Not another sound nor argument heard.

The roar of the fire prompted her to say her farewells. "Night Grandpa Sol, night Grandma Jo."

No more special pizza nights with Grandpa Sol, this was the last.    
Sal stepped over the bloody bodies of her grandparents, glancing down at Grandpa Sol's favourite pizza knife still embedded in his back.  No more was she his special girl, no more would he lovingly caress her as he had whilst they waited for the pizza to cook. Never again would he murmer she was his sexy little secret girl.     She hadn't heard those words for a while now.  
She had sensed Grandpa Sol's revulsion when he looked at her naked, her budding breasts, her developing curves. He was going to leave her even though he had promised not to. He had promised many things over the years, none he had delivered.

As she pulled the door shut the sounds of burning quietened. Sal walked away without a backward glance, not even as the house erupted in flaming splendour.

mUSE wARS rEVIVAL eDITION # 1 - The Watcher

He sat, hidden deep within the undergrowth. Not a breath nor hint of movement to give him away. Waiting, watching.

He knew she would be back. He was patient. It did not matter how long she took, or how cold it was, he would wait. She was worth it. Patience is a virtue his mother always said. She also said he was not as useless as he looked, or as stupid as he appeared. Her last words to him were along the lines of manning up and growing some balls. He wished she could see him now. She would have to eat those words if she could see him now.

The quiet made his head hurt, but it was better than the voices jabbering in his ear as they sometimes did. Quiet could be good, it helped him focus, leave the doubts of his duty, nay worthiness, behind. Away. Not here. Not now.

He allowed himself a moment to look around. The ruins suited this task, were appropriate for the job at hand. Old, deserted, desecrated, forlorn. Forgotten. Forsaken. And isolated. No random passersby, no unexpected witnesses to interfere in the operation. No messiness to clean up or unintended victims to remove. Messiness was terribly unpleasant.

The evening breeze briefly rustled the trees around him, lingering slightly to tease his short hair and brush the leaves across his face in a brief caress. He tentatively stretched his legs, careful not to breach his cover but aware that circulation must be maintained for swift movement the moment it was required.

A noise brought his attention back to the broken walls, something new, something not belonging. Her. He froze, hidden deep within the leafy green, invisible.

She swiftly entered his line of vision, caution forgotten as she seemed to assume this place was safe. Isolated, forgotten, a secret site not known to others. A haven from the outside world. A haven that had been breached, though she was blissfully unaware of the intruder. She dropped the limp satchel from her shoulder, sighed, stretched, pushing her perfect breasts taught against the tight shirt she wore.

He watched, relishing the display. Crouching, still, silent, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His moment. The voices awoke breaking the solitude, intruding on this, his moment. He hated the voices, the conflict they aroused...

"Move in, get her."
"Hold, be patient."
"Don't let her get away."
"Go, go GO!"

Unaware, she bent and picked the fragrant stalks, humming some pretty tune under her breath, she tucked them into her bag. Slowly, methodically, the bag filled. Slowly, tantalisingly, she came closer and closer to his hiding place, her bag now overflowing with the perfumed plants.

"GO,GO, GO!"

He leapt from the bushes, grabbing, twisting her arms to hold, to lock her within his steely embrace.

Her scream echoed uselessly around the ruins. This place had been chosen with care, there was no help, there was no hope. Her voice quietened, then died.

The voices were here.

"Jacqui Tremont you are under arrest for the cultivation and sale of marijuana. You do not have to say anything, but anything you say may be taken down and used against you in a court of law..."

Muse Wars - The Remix - Part 1

Once upon a time there were three little girls who went to the police academy... whoops, sorry. Channelling Charlie's Angels for a minute there.

But once upon a time there were a group of bloggers who participated in a linky of short story posts. Created by Melissa, it was coined "Muse Wars" by moi, yes Madmother copyright peoples, and after 7 or 8 runs it fizzled into the either. Attempted revivals by MM failed a couple of times and then at a blog conference a discussion with the lovely Lori of RRSAHM has resulted in another run.

The gist is this:

* See photo

* Write story (up to 1000 words)

* Linke before it closes on July 27th.

Not sure if Lori is going to continue with the old routine of first to link gets to post and host next photo/linky?

Photo for revival Muse Wars #1:

Will post this then add linky in later for those who wish to join.

Happy writing!

Muse Wars - The Memories.

Lori @ RRSAHM has taken me back in time to a happier world. A group of us joined together in creative writing challenges. Muse Wars. The before, as she aptly calls it. Before I lost Wise Woman, before her own personal tragedy with the loss of Tony, before the pain of the recent.

The early, 2010, first run days were far more successful than my later attempts to revive the group. And nowadays, the Write on Wednesday group has superseded our small, intimate bunch of compatriots.

But, here, on a day where distractions call me away from the pain of the now, I give you Muse Wars:

2010:
Challenge 1: Walking Away
Challenge 2: Look Not In My Eyes For Fear
Challenge 3: Seasons of Love
Challenge 4: The Things We Do For Love
Challenge 5: Storm in a B Cup
Challenge 6: The Sunset
Challenge 7: Beam Me Up Scotty
2011:
Challenge 1: Eyes of a Gypsy, Soul of a Wife
 
Miscellaneous: Many Coloured Love (not completed)
 
So, if you are up for some light, short story reading and relaxation - go for it.
 
I miss Muse Wars, *sigh*. I miss a lot of things, especially the people who are gone.
 

WOW - The Saddest Thing

The Write On Wednesday Rules: Get creative with the writing exercises - there isn't a right or wrong. Please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays and leave a comment of support and constructive criticism.






Write On Wednesdays Exercise 25 - I heard a song on the radio during the week and I thought the lyrics would make an interesting prompt for WoW. So, write the words "The saddest thing I ever heard" on your page, set your timer for 5 minutes and write the first words that come into your head based on the given prompt.


"That is the saddest thing I ever heard!"

"Excuse me?"

"Seriously. It is the saddest, most pathetic thing I have EVER heard!"

"I BEG YOUR PARDON?"

"So you should! And you call yourself a health professional? You should be on your knees begging my pardon and forgiveness and hoping I damn well don't take this further! Who in the hell do you think you are other than a sad little worm of misery? Telling me it is a shame it isn't twenty years ago and we could dump him in a home and forget about him? He is a little boy. A child. Not some pet who is not up to standard, not that I would ever do that to an animal either. How dare you! How fucking DARE YOU? He is going to grow up and do incredible things, maybe not the things someone as shallow as you dream of, but his own unique, amazing, incredible things! How do you sleep at night? How do you bear to look at the thing you are in the mirror? Or have they all cracked in response to the vileness of your soul?
You know what? Screw this, I am taking this further. You should never be allowed to treat a child ever again and I intend to make sure you don't!"

Door slams and the walls shake. She scoops the smiling child from the bench outside into her strong, protective, loving arms.

"Come on sweetie, we are going home!"

 

 
 
Disclaimer: This is not what happened when I was told this by one of the first health professionals we saw with Boy 1. Yes, those were her words. This is the response I wish I had made, instead of the horrible, terrified, shocked silence I responded with. I had not yet learnt to be the warrior of his heart back then in the early days.

InkPaperPen... We Are Learning To Make Fire.

"We are learning to make fire, not kicking the dirt nor looking at our friend. Please concentrate children, this is very important."
"Miss! My mum says I ain't 'llowed to play with fire. She'll go barmey if she finds out."
"James, your mother signed your permission slip for camp. I think you will find she already knows we will be teaching you how to make fire."
"My mum never reads those things, Miss. She just signs 'em as she curses bloody bureaucrats and paperwork. She says I'm a danger to meself with matches and I'm banned from playing with fire."

"James, it is part of the course curriculum, I think you will find it is okay this time."

She straightens herself with a sigh and casts a stern eye around her cast of misfits.

"Now boys, please concentrate. We place the kindling and the dry leaves at the bottom of the fire trench, and then add the smaller timber on top. As the fire catches we will add the larger pieces until we have a small blaze with a constant heat."

"MISS!"

"James, just focus on following my instructions please."

"MISS!"

"James, PLEASE. Just wait a minute while I get this fire lit. Then we can discuss the question of your mother's issues with you and pyromania!"

"There, that looks to be catching nicely, boys put some of the larger logs on top... JAMES! What on earth have you done? Put that child out immediately!"

It is 3am and this is my Write on Wednesday. As good as it gets after yesterday. *Sigh*.

Please, feel free to criticise as constructively as you can.

Off to read now.

Write on Wednesday - The Great One Liner...

I'm back! Life took over for a while but am finally jumping back on board Write On Wednesdays.






The Write On Wednesday Rules: Get creative with the writing exercises - there isn't a right or wrong. Please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays and leave a comment. You can grab the button for Write On Wednesdays from IPP sidebar.
 Write On Wednesdays Exercise 13 - A Great One Liner...
This week you need to come up with one good line to describe a part of your day. It can be 'real life' or fiction. But it must tell us 'who did what'. It has to be an amazing line, like a tiny little paper plane that must travel a big distance (figuratively speaking) with only a few folds ... Every word in that line must earn its place, or be cut as excess baggage. Let's get thinking about each sentence as though every word counts, like working one group of muscles to show how much weight they can carry.

Mine:

Was she the only one present who was aware this elephant in the room lent an unsurpassed new meaning to the term mammoth?

Go for it, rip it to shreds and thrust some feedback at me!
 
Off to read the others so far.
 

Living 1001 Arabian Nights...

"Scheherezade: These people sit for hours - just listening. It's a miracle!

Storyteller: People need stories more than bread itself. They tell us how to live, and why."

~1001 Arabian Nights~

Have you wondered where I am? I am here, but in an unfamiliar guise. I am Scheherazade, weaving my tales, casting my spell of distraction. Each day I am writing a new story, each week I am bundling them together and sending them off in the post of Australia.

Why? I cannot do much, I am too far away and her needs are met by family and friends who live in her proximity. All I can do, as she spends this endless, horrific month being bombarded by chemo, is to offer a distraction. I send my love woven in my words, I send her something to take her away, be it only in mind. I send her parts of me, birthed in short bursts of insane inspiration.

It is all I can do, it is so little, but maybe, in my own unique way, I am helping. Just a tiny bit.

Fight my friend, fight.

On a Bad Day A Little Light Mirth - Write On Wednesday

Day 2:
"I can't stress how important it is that we behead this fiend."
"Christ Johno, it's just the foil of a condom wrapper. And you know on these shoots we always use clear skins, they film so much more like unadorned flesh."
Shelley shuddered on the sidelines, awaiting her turn before the camera. When John had asked her to be part of this project she thought it was finally a sign he wanted more committment, that random hooking up would be a thing of the past and finally they would come out into the public arena as a couple.
 
He soon burst that bubble. A porn film, of all things this project had to be a porn film. She shivered again, nerves surfacing and unable to shake the feeling that this could be the biggest mistake in all her nineteen years experience. Not that she didn't like sex, hell, it was the finest skill she possessed, and she'd thought she'd trap him into feeling with a frenzy of ultimate wet-dream sexual encounters. How could he resist her big blue eyes gazing adoringly upwards as she sucked him off? Hah, yeah, right. It was that very talent that had apparently convinced him she would be perfect for this role, a means to pay off his HECS fees, and as he had convinced her, hers.
 
Behead this fiend, she thought, I'd like to behead his throbbing fiend alright. I'll give him a free circumcision without the anaesthetic for getting me to agree to this. Knew these braces would be handy for something.

The Romance Series - Write On Wednesday (Day 1)

"I can't stress how important it is that we behead this fiend."

Take 1: The Darkness and The Light.
"Master Jonah, you cannot, I implore you. If you behead him my life shall be over!"
"Mistress Wannawanker, I have no choice. It is my duty as the slayer of the church, it is what I was born to do. Again, free me from my shackles so I can cast out this creature of darkness from our world. He no longer belongs in the light, he has become a demon of the deep creature!"
Angelica turned away from his imploring gaze, the sight of this proud man shackled helplessly to the walls of the dungeon tearing at her breaking heart. A heart that now beat with an unbeforeknown passion. A heart as captive as the man on the wall. A heart consumed with love for the beast who stood beside her, her master of forever, the captor of her being.
"Master Jonah, you do not see him as I do, beneath the skin of a beast lies the soul of a man, I swear it does on my life."
"Mistress, you are blinded, the fiend has no heart, he uses you merely to toy with and once done he shall cast you away as he has all whom have gone before you. The beast knows no loyalty, he knows only of his lust for the flesh of innocent maidens, once you are soiled you hold no temptation for him."

Take 2: Passion's Spotlight.
"CUT!"
"God, sorry Sam. I don't know why I keep stuffing this up."
Maybe because you stink of last night's excesses, and can barely remember your lines on good days, thought Tiffany. She wisely kept her own counsel on this one, yesterday's debacle when she slapped the smirk right off his arrogant face mid-scene still too fresh in everyone's mind. This was only her second film role and the first with real headline potential and box-office promise. Anyway, she pondered, everyone knew Jay Ramsay was on the way down the ladder whilst her star looked to be ascending quicker than a new moon.

"Let's try it again everyone. Ready, 1=2=3- ACTION!"

"What do you think we should try now Officer Brent? We seem to be quickly running out of options."

"I think we both know we only have one option Miss Stilgo. If we are to help anyone in this mess we need to take back some control. I can't stress how important it is that we defriend this bed."

"CUUUUT! What do you think this is Ramsay? The sequel to The Fucking Social Network?"

Ink Paper Pen - Romance? Seriously?

"I can't stress how important it is that we behead this fiend."

Oh Lordy, missed last week what with sick kids, extra kids, stocktake, school holidays and end of financial year. Come back hoping to find time to delve in and what do I find? A romance prompt. Yes, I do read it it (nothing better than a good bodice ripper) but sure as shit can't write it.

*Sniff* Not happy Jan.

But will give it a shot if I get time (damnit kids, where are you with some distractions excuses reasons for not completing this when I need you?).

Oh, and rules are:

• The Write On Wednesdays Rules: First of all, I am not a big fan of rules. Feel free to get creative with the writing exercises. But please try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays to leave a comment. You can grab the button for Write On Wednesdays from my sidebar.
• Write On Wednesdays Exercise 4: A Masterclass in Fibrotown: Let's keep the timed theme. Write Allison's prompt at the top of your page. Set your timer for 5 minutes and write the first words that come into your head after your writing prompt. Stop when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish.

Some of us are starting to see recurring themes/characters (Feisty Girl, for example) in their writing pieces so feel free to continue on from your previous posts. And consider exploring the world of flash fiction competitions...a great genre for aspiring writers like us!
Things to think about:

• If you would like the other members of W.O.W to give criticism on your writing pieces feel free to mention this at the end of your post. It would help if you can specifically pinpoint the areas for feedback.
• This is a learning process for me too. I started W.O.W because I wanted to get better at writing. I don't have all (any?!) of the answers so please contact me with your ideas and comments!

Will be back if I can fake it get to it.

I Remember - InkPaperPen Write on Wednesday.

The Write On Wednesdays Rules: First of all, I am not a big fan of rules. Feel free to get creative with the writing exercises - there is no right or wrong. But please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays. You can grab the button for Write On Wednesdays if you fancy doing so.


Write On Wednesdays Exercise 3 - I remember: Write "I remember" a the top of your page. Set a timer for 5 minutes. Use "I remember" as your prompt and write down the first words that come into your head for 5 minutes. Stop when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish. I will try to do it every morning this week. I'll let you know how I go...I am hoping that the thought of having to tell you all about my progress will be the motivation I need to keep at it!

Monday:
I remember. I remember stopping, breathing, letting life fly past without me. I remember shutting the doors, turning on the answering machine, running the bath, lighting the candles, pouring the wine, then pouring myself neck deep into bubbles.

I remember closing the blinds, locking the doors, lighting the gas heater, curling up with a book. I remember indulgence of the self. I remember when it was all about me. I remember freedom of choice: The chardonnay or the sav blanc?

I remember time. Without constant deadlines other than those left behind at work. I remember a different life, a life of before. I remember me.

And then I remember you and I would not change a moment of the now.


Tuesday:
I remember her laughter, her smile, her touch. I remember the dappled sunshine flickering through the hisbiscus leaves. I remember the flashes of flowering red amongst the green and the soft kisses of the summer breeze. I remember the roughness of the dry sand on my skin and the softness of her touch. I remember the joy of endless, timeless playing. I remember her long tannned legs draping over the side of the sandpit. I remember the slkiness of her white dress, and the shaking of her chest as we laughed. I remember the patience with which she stayed and played and concentrated on her child. Me. I remember love.
I remember my mother.

ETA: Please critique all you can. I know my writing at times does not flow, is choppy, and my grammer can leave a lot to desire. I want, no YEARN to learn and cannot unless you pull it apart and share your own knowledge/opinion.

Cheers.

Oh, Get Over It!

Hello Madmother,

At this time we are not accepting submissions. I admire your son (and you)

for taking on this project. It is commendable to say the least. I wish you

all the best!

Editor

You  guessed it, our first rejection letter. Or e-mail in this case. Well, not really a rejection as such as we merely asked this American publisher if they were open for submissions, but still.

I have realised I am really running blind in trying to assist my son. Thirteen years old, writing a children's book for kids on the spectrum. He wants to help others, and is frustrated at the lack of positive books for the younger age group. He wants others to see the strengths in having Asperger Syndrome, like he does. He feels, whilst it is so very hard during the early years, that to believe in the light at the end of the tunnel, and to work with the good not just the difficult, makes it so much better in the long run. I guess he has only his own feelings of self-worth, confidence and happiness in who he is, AS included, to judge by. And he wants others to see this is not a disability, it is a matter of differing abilities. He wants to help. It is his dream to mentor and advocate for these kids coming along the same path a few years behind him.

But what we are looking for now I guess, is a mentor within the industry.

For questions such as:
*How many pages are neccessary in an illustrated book? We are around the 22-24 mark, but don't want to lose the whole concept by padding it out.
*Who owns the rights - is it jointly between illustrationist and writer, though the concept, character and even the description of the drawings are the writers?
*What contracts are necessary between all parties?
*I know a lot of publishers prefer to pick the illustrationist, but if we go with the one we know personally (who herself has never had a publishing deal) are we losing the battle before we even enter the war?

Boy 1 thinks she is perfect for several reasons. Firstly, because she has submitted a preliminary sketch of the main character which he really liked (bar a few changes), secondly she is very, very talented, thirdly (and I think this plays a big part for him) it is giving her an opportunity to take that leap into publishing and he believes in her talent (have I mentioned I call him Deepak? My own little guru of positiveness), fourthly, and this one is so Aspie, she lives in our community and he won't have to travel for meetings. Yes, I am chuckling at that one.

I am now trying to wade my way through The Style Manual and The Design Manual, two tombs which are supposedly the Bibles of publishing. But I am finding there is not a lot on this type of children's book.

So, if any of you know of anyone willing to give us 30 minutes, maybe even less, to point us in the right direction... Well, you'd have the gratitude of A Madmother and her oldest son, and whilst mine is not worth much, his ranks pretty high in the karma stakes!

Dialogue Detective: Exercise 2 Write On Wednesdays

"Yeah, mate I need a sheet of melamine, what dimensions you keep?"
"Hang on, hey Pete, did you want those extra sheets you ordered? The boss put 'em aside out the back?"
"Keep 'em for me for now, if I don't use them for this one, I'll need 'em for the next!"
"No probs. Sorry mate, what was it you're after?"
"I need melamine, a sheet of blah, blah, blah..." (At this point I turn away from our builder to listen in to another more intriguing conversation happening to my left).
"I am after one of those heated toilet seats. The cold weather is making my toilet unusable."
"Ah, maam, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"The heated seats, I saw them on that show. You know, the one on the ABC?"
"I'm sorry. A toilet seat?"
"Yes, a heated one. Surely as the local hardware you must carry them."
"Um, I'll just go ask the boss. Maybe we could order one in..."
"But I need it now. The seat is too cold for me to sit on."
"Sorry, we don't have them in stock, and I haven't really heard of them before."
"Don't bother. No wonder everybody goes down to Bunnings young man, if this is the type of service you offer! How do you expect to sell these things if you don't stock them!"

At this point my builder comes up with the needed sheet and we head off. Not before much eye rolling and smothered giggles by the boys behind the counter at the old lady stomping off (and she may have been little and frail, but boy did she stomp).

Gotta love the local Mitre 10 on a Thursday morning!

Write On Wednesdays Stirs Up Memories

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 2 - *Detective Dialogue: For this exercise you need to be a little bit sneaky. And brave. You need to be around at least 2 other people (or a small child who will happily chat to himself and/or imaginary friends). Write down a conversation/ dialogue exchange as you hear it. Feel free to write down things that accompany the dialogue (E.G. gestures, interruptions, accents) but don't worry about this too much. It is more important to capture the way words are used in natural speech. Try not to let anyone know what you are doing. It might alter the natural flow of their words (it could also be a tad embarrassing for you!). If you can get out to a park, cafe or shop like Naughty Mumma, then this is a wonderful chance to get some new writing ideas and get some practise in dialogue writing. If you can't get out (and I know this is a reality for some of us) you can copy down the dialogue between your partner and your child. Or the conversation between two of your children or even one side of your partner's phone conversation. If you are really stuck, turn on the TV and copy down the dialogue between a couple of TV characters.



This is our task, and no, this is not my entry. I completed the same exercise nearly four years back, when attending my creative writing course. Like any good student, I decided to trawl back and read my piece. I had forgotten the pain of the week of this task.
 
You may not realise I have another blog (several in fact, but I am only referring to one of them). It is my writing blog, where all my bits and pieces over the years have been added.
 
And so I decided to add my dialogue piece from those years ago there.
 

Madmother: Little Woven Words

 

Go have a read if you wish. I have been adding more and more of my writing there.

 



Muse Wars 2011 - Challenge 2

Originally started by Melissa @ The Things I'd Tell You, the Muse Wars continued through eight challenges and then faded into oblivion. I did attempt to kick start it again last year, but and again this year. The Challenge #1 is here. Now closed.

Rules:
Open to all and sundry, you need to link below in comments.
First to list sets next challenge and chooses new picture..
Anyone can join in, you just need to write a story as your interpretation of the photo in 500 - 1000 words.
Can be of any genre - let your mind fly free.
You can pass listing on to next on list but MUST be passed within 24 hours of previous challenge closing.
Next challenge must be set within seven days of completion of previous challenge.

You have 14 days to complete.

Oh, and I have not worked out a new linky tool. Post your entry in my comments and I'll edit this post to show each link. If there are any. Okay?

Muse Wars 2011

Challenge 2

Write your hearts out! Ready, set, GO!

Muse Wars 2011 Is Off and Running!

Go here to find entry links. Post your entry in a comment if you wish to join in, is open to all and all in good fun.

Muse Wars 2011

Originally started by Melissa @ The Things I'd Tell You, the Muse Wars continued through eight challenges and then faded into oblivion. I did attempt to kick start it again but failed dismally. But I'll try once more.

Rules:

• Open to all and sundry, you need to link below in comments. First to list sets next challenge. Anyone can join in, you just need to write a story as your interpretation of the photo in 500 - 1000 words. Can be of any genre - let your mind fly free.
• First to link sets new photo for next challenge. Or can pass it on to next on list but MUST be passed within 24 hours of previous challenge closing.
• Next challenge must be set within seven days of completion of previous challenge.
• Will allow 5 days to complete - so starts Sunday evening, ends Friday night.

Oh, and I have not worked out a new linky tool. Post your entry in my comments and I'll edit this post to show each link. If there are any. Okay?

Here we go:

MUSE WARS 2011

Challenge #1

Go for your lives!

Come back to add: extended to Sunday, and to add our first entry (and the Muse War Challenge 2 organiser):

Kakka - menopausal mumma

Madmother - Little Woven Words

Suzi - Under The Windmills

To The Writers Out There

How do you write if you have no emotional reserves? Even posting on this blog holds little interest for me, let alone undertaking the work I need to be doing for my writing course.

I am caught up with life commitments, but know this is a reality others still produce work in. So, how do you do it? What helps you forge on through?

How do I break from this silence?

Writer's Brick Wall.

I can use all the excuses in the world: no emotional reserves, I'm worn out, I've too many committments to find the words... But I have to get past this and push through the wall. Any ideas?

Of course it would help if I had a work space or writing place like this:

*sigh*

Instead of this:

attempting to write her way out of the box: