random word [adaptation]
(ref: here [no oneword entry for Thursday, 24 June 2010)
The story began its journey in the mind of a fellow with little in the way of inspiration. Taking elements of fairly mundane details and twisting their descripting so as to appear daring and new, or at least different, the story looked about and discovered it had no limbs.
Taking days, weeks, and a fair number of months to craft a plot, to develop characters, and to add and rewrite dialogue saw the story discover a voice, several sets of discarded legs and a rickety pair of sticks standing atop feet with three toes between them.
As the weeks went by, the story would wake to find it had changed its appearance ... and slowly it came to understand itself a bit better; this bit was a character involved in a sort of coming-of-age experience; this other bit was a character designed as a foil for a third character; this third bit was included as a plot device. None of the bits seemed to fit.
It was nine months before the story found itself on paper; several birthings had left the story nearly famished for perception, and the various trashing of its clones was painful to experience. On the whole, the final printing seemed to come at a terrible cost - but it was done!
One month later, the story found itself sitting next to the printer; indecision seemed to have struck the author and thus the story would find itself nearly placed into a shipping envelope several times before finally being placed on the other side of the room.
Two months later, the story awoke to find the shipping envelope becoming its new clothing; with the painful application of postage, the story felt itself fly slowly and sedately in the air and placed upon a counter. Something of a dialogue seemed to imply a trip; this was soon confirmed by the story being dropped in some kind of basket.
The shock of the landing quite put the story out.
The story woke to find itself being jostled; small voices nearby told it that other objects in other containers were moving in roughly the same direction. It tried striking up a conversation with what it thought to be a post-card; the post-card seemed predominantly focused on where it was going and could not quite fathom the shipping envelope was separate from the story.
Through distracting sounds and much jostling, the story found itself being able to breathe; the shipping envelope was quickly opened and some person with loud voice and fast hands tore open the first few pages. Almost as quickly as the envelope had been opened, it was again closed.
An abrupt motion in a downward direction caused the story to think it had been placed upon the desk of someone else. In a now vertical position, the story waited with baited breath, curious about who would open it next.
It still waits.
The story began its journey in the mind of a fellow with little in the way of inspiration. Taking elements of fairly mundane details and twisting their descripting so as to appear daring and new, or at least different, the story looked about and discovered it had no limbs.
Taking days, weeks, and a fair number of months to craft a plot, to develop characters, and to add and rewrite dialogue saw the story discover a voice, several sets of discarded legs and a rickety pair of sticks standing atop feet with three toes between them.
As the weeks went by, the story would wake to find it had changed its appearance ... and slowly it came to understand itself a bit better; this bit was a character involved in a sort of coming-of-age experience; this other bit was a character designed as a foil for a third character; this third bit was included as a plot device. None of the bits seemed to fit.
It was nine months before the story found itself on paper; several birthings had left the story nearly famished for perception, and the various trashing of its clones was painful to experience. On the whole, the final printing seemed to come at a terrible cost - but it was done!
One month later, the story found itself sitting next to the printer; indecision seemed to have struck the author and thus the story would find itself nearly placed into a shipping envelope several times before finally being placed on the other side of the room.
Two months later, the story awoke to find the shipping envelope becoming its new clothing; with the painful application of postage, the story felt itself fly slowly and sedately in the air and placed upon a counter. Something of a dialogue seemed to imply a trip; this was soon confirmed by the story being dropped in some kind of basket.
The shock of the landing quite put the story out.
The story woke to find itself being jostled; small voices nearby told it that other objects in other containers were moving in roughly the same direction. It tried striking up a conversation with what it thought to be a post-card; the post-card seemed predominantly focused on where it was going and could not quite fathom the shipping envelope was separate from the story.
Through distracting sounds and much jostling, the story found itself being able to breathe; the shipping envelope was quickly opened and some person with loud voice and fast hands tore open the first few pages. Almost as quickly as the envelope had been opened, it was again closed.
An abrupt motion in a downward direction caused the story to think it had been placed upon the desk of someone else. In a now vertical position, the story waited with baited breath, curious about who would open it next.
It still waits.
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