Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

You may be required to show proof of id.

Month: November, 2012

Salt

The sea attacked the shore with its whole self; kissing it again and again. The shore tried to shrug it away and then push it, it tried to say it only wanted to be friends (and it worried about the status of their friendship; people take this sort of thing rather seriously, especially with entities so contiguous as they). But the sea continued, lunatic and obsessed, until it wore it down, until the shore was nothing but hard, cold rock. The sea threw itself still, asking for another kiss though it could not reach the top of this new formation.

Paramedic

There is a creature made of ambulances roaming our city. It likes to watch people die. Its sirens sound too muffled; its shadow moves too much; the ambulances have no drivers. Cell phones stop working near them.

It makes sure to not be the first to arrive at an accident scene. It’s a living museum, made of the rusty, broken ambulances of old. If one climbs into one of them, one falls asleep to wake up somewhere else.

Individual ambulances can stand being apart from the group a few hours, but start to fall apart if separated for too long.

Life

Life pulsated for one glorious moment and was then stubbed out forever.

Four million turns later the first of the evidence reached as far as it would reach, and the evidence of stubbing out reached mere moments later.

Four million turns after that the sun that had brought life to the world exploded, destroying all the physical evidence still left on a lonesome planet where hopeful electricity still struck the ground in vain.

Ten million turns later the system collapsed in on itself, sucking in the last of the artificial satellites, which still carried frozen life just on the off-chance.

Arthur

There’s a word inside a stone and whoever pulls the word out of there becomes king. Men have spent half their lifetimes conversing with the stone, laying forth their theories and trying to convince the stone they would be just kings, fair kings, loved kings. The scholars argue whether the word is stuck in a stone or in all stones, and so stonetalking’s spread to all corners of the kingdom.

A young man sits down next to the big stone (the one stone) and ignores the three knights quoting poetry at it. “Hi, how are you?”

“Bored,” the stone says.

Rigor Mortis O.

It is always a compromise, always a death. (I thought maybe it should be construed as a coping mechanism for an inevitable death, a rebirth, but that excuses it.) Weave your death into your identity to feel less hollow, the same way you would keep a gangrenous limb for reasons of symmetry alone. You are always a collective, never a collectivist. Never individual though starkly individualist. It saddens me how kinderly you people forget; I am not impressed with where you work, not unless this just pays you, for being you. Instead your ink is theirs, and you become

invaded.

Of White and Blue

In ancient times, the sky was full of suns, cold and far away. Jealous of their beauty, mankind built their own cold lights on the ground and mirrored the darkening sky. At first, the faraway suns still outshone the earth, but the humans in their cities put more and more blue lanterns by their bedframes and in their windows and to light up their streets. Eventually the sky was not only matched, but its beauty was beaten and the pinpricks of light faded away.

When we developed space flight to visit other worlds, we found that there were none there.

NaNoWriMo Excerpt #1

I am losing interest in telling this story well but there should be salvageable things after the month is over and writing can return to a more reasonable pace.

~

The Information Market seemed to breathe, or have a pulse. But it was nothing but a layer-3 suborganism and its ebb and flow was no more than that of the ocean.

Its pulse quickened, though. Garish stepped out onto a podium while three or four ghosts of him moved around on the floor like it was some sort of dance. His suits were black and grey now, his hat shorter and flatter. One of his ghosts stopped dead in front of a short hunchback.

“Why hello there, gorgeous,” he said though she hid her face. “How do you feel about a transaction?”

Her hunch seemed to twitch and she turned away. Garish stretched out his cane to poke her on the back with it but she turned around and ripped it from his grip. “What do you want?” There was a veil over her face now.

“How about, I hand you this –” he held up a small information ball like the one he’d given to Rovy a few hours earlier – “which is an extensive guide to dieting and taking care of one’s body. All I want for exchange is a little personal information from you.”

“I’m not telling you anything and I don’t need that.” Her voice was like gravel and grit.  Read the rest of this entry »

Rules of Style

Presented with only this for a comment: these are things I need to remind myself when writing; it does not contain some of the more – to me – obvious writing rules such as ‘no rule is omniapplicable’. List updated as of 30-dec-2015. Subject to change; am still figuring things out.

1: start the story where it needs to be started for the rest to make sense, not earlier.

i. chronology is appreciated. Every scene shall be the obvious choice of scene given the preceding scene. This also goes for sentences.

2: use ‘thought/felt’ as little as possible. [The show-don’t-tell rule. Courtesy of Chuck Palahniuk.]

3: no thesis statements/topic sentences. Do not start your paragraphs with ‘Gullvig was in love’ just to follow up with examples of how in love Gullvig is. Just give the examples directly.

4: do use specific examples and not category nouns, if possible. ‘His car drove into a tree’ vs ‘his ’78 Buick hit an oak’.

i. however do not exaggerate; do not confuse or anger with this.

5: if possible, write what people DO rather than what they do NOT do. What they do not do becomes clear from what they do.

i. to accentuate something a person does not do, make hir do the thing in a previous scene; use repetition to highlight the lack of doing.

1. if it is important to show what someone does not do, there is often a good verb for it. E.g. ‘avoided’ or ‘fasted’.

6: read everything aloud. If possible, get someone else to read your shit aloud.

7: as few words as possible to say as much as possible; verbs over phrasal verbs.

i. verbs over nouns.

ii. and over but; metaphor over simile.

8: on flow and feel: sentences trump individual words; paragraphs trump sentences.

9: obsess over details. Rework until it feels right. Do not put anything up that does not feel right. Do not apologize for this.

i. see everything before you write it. [Another show-don’t-tell rule. Courtesy of Stephen King.]

10: murder-your-darlings. If someone has a problem with your writings, listen to them as if they were your conscience. [Courtesy of Kristina S. who knows me by my old name and was a wonderful teacher.]

i. but treasure some darlings. [Courtesy of Warren Enström.]

11. only use ambiguity when you mean both guities.

i. remove all the almosts and somehows, all the seems and appears tos, and words serving similar functions (anything that vagues stuff) from your manuscript. It is now a better manuscript.

12. be more interesting than esoteric. Hooks are important.

i. do not compromise between interesting and esoteric, though: rewrite until it is more interesting without removing the esoteric elements.

1. no one should have to read a sentence more than once to understand it.

13. the only time the reader does not get to partake in essential information is when that is the point of the story. Style is secondary.

i. write. What. You. Mean.

14. if many explanations are in order, mention once what needs explaining, and explain them calmly one by one.

i. only give things names when they need names.

1. double-check that the name is superfluous before excising it.

15. to establish viewpoint character in a 3rd-person paragraph, mention something simple first before divulging their biases. A section may only contain text from one character’s point-of-view.

16. run freely with the metaphors. Organize your kaleidoscope so that the words belong to the image.

17. any given sentence should, upon inspection, only contain one kind of comma, if it contains commas.

18. it is bad luck to talk about stories you are currently writing. Explaining it removes the urge to tell the story, and you are left with a half-finished husk and no motivation. Guard your secrets like a dragon does gold, until they’re polished enough.

19. delete all instances and synonyms of veryactuallyapparently, and  definitely that show up outside of dialogue, but remember that adverbs are your friends. No-one can argue with lugubriouslyabominably, or borderline. (This rule is not in conflict with rule 11.i; borderline does not vague anything, it places another word exactly on a spectrum.)

20. is this the most interesting time in your character’s life? If not, why aren’t you writing about that instead? [Courtesy of Rich Burlew.]

21. coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating. [Courtesy of Emma Coats. (That whole list is great. Go read it every now and again: io9.com/5916970/the-22-rules-of-storytelling-according-to-pixar.)]

Trace Fossil

The grey bug burrowed deep into its host’s chest. Crawled and scratched and ate its way down to her heart and the heart stopped. The bug, simple as it was, could simply not comprehend what had happened; what was once a very lively source of heat and joy now lay dead in its arms. So it kept digging. It was in love, plain and simple. It dug until its claws and teeth had worn down to nothingness and then it waited until they grew back and it dug again; through bone, out her back. She was just not there anymore.

Response Ability

for Existential Elevator of the Mercer Box; happy birthday

~

“No, you can’t open that door,” a man told her. He wedged himself between her and the door and slammed the thing shut with a smile. He was missing some teeth and his white hair seemed prehensile. The door was right there behind him. His pupils were of different size.

“You cannot be serious.” The smell of booze rose up from everywhere: the room was large and decorated in red and white. Large banners hung as though thrown in from high windows, where also birds could enter. The place was mostly stone. “When you said ‘welcome party’ I imagined at least one Alien would show up.” Her attempt at pushing him aside met with no success.

“You have to remind yourself: you are the Alien here.” The man grinned. “Enjoy the party. Natives will show up later, when you’re ready for them – in the meantime, you can party like one.” His hair curled up.

She compared their outfits. Herself, she wore the full ceremonial dress of welcome – long ribbons and a dark cope, a silhouette pattern of the mythical beast, small but functional shoes with iron soles. She could feel the weight of her iron earrings on each lobe, and her shoulderblades still itched. This man wore – exclusively – a toga.

She slumped back into a chair that wasn’t there a moment ago. The man relaxed his posture a bit. His pupils synchronized. “It is always pleasant to receive fresh meat,” he said. “What is your name?”

His hair unfolded from the curls and floated outward languidly to where a fly was buzzing. Macro-animals like that had only been theoretical to the woman up till that point, and she stared transfixed at the creature until the white hair snapped shut and trapped the insect.

“Er, Quan Merora,” she said.

“A pleasure to meet you, Erquanmera,” said the man and bowed. His hair parted in the middle to show a surgical scar running along the man’s black scalp. He straightened himself up again. “I am the left, and my name is Demnar Juthuth. I will make sure someone gets you a drink now.”

And he walked away. Read the rest of this entry »