Occasional Sputterings

So, the question is: which is better, to be a " pantser " or a "plotter". These are writing terms intending to capture the style of writing ultimately differentiated by degree of planning; they are each end of the spectrum. The plotter knows the route she will take. To some degree, she has mapped the walk. She knows perhaps only the beginning, or the ending, or both. She knows who here characters are ... or who they will become. She will likely will the story into place through conniving a reasonable manner in which the distinct elements she wishes the story to include to connect.  The benefit of the plotter is that she can provide any number of salient details regarding the story - for she has given sufficient thought to the over-arching content that she already knows much of the how and why; often the what is a logical consequence of these.  She can often, as a result, predict when the story will end, at what point it will be publishable, and can work with oth

previous                                               Doctor Archibald McGuffin III spoke to his patient. "I'm sorry, Harry," said Dr. Archie, as he took the placed the stethoscope into his jacket pocket. A small popping sound heralded the absence of the scope. "What do you mean, Doc?" asked Archie. "I only came in here to ask about my sensitivity to moonlight." Pregnant pauses filled the air as Dr. Archie popped the floating pauses; the air cooled audibly. "I believe you may not have realized it, but you have it exactly backwards," said Dr. Archie. Turning toward the doctor, Harry said, "Um ... what?" Smiling, Dr. Archie picked up several of the collapsed pauses and placed them back into the holes littered across the wall. "Yes," said Dr. Archie. "You actually have been desensitized to moonlight because you have an extreme reaction to sunlight." Confused, Harry looked at the holes and b

previous                                               next "Frank, it finally happened," said Charlie, as his antennae twitched furtively.  "Someone finally generated an imaginary field!" Concerned, the other butterfly landed in an adjacent pollen sack. Untethered flora biomass splayed around the flower. "Charlie, what are you talking about?" asked Frank.  "The council on imaginary affairs has strictly forbid that!" Leaning toward Frank, Charlie spoke quietly. "It wasn't one of us," said Charlie, as he nervously floated and sank.  "I'm telling you they broke the grain!" A quiet inverted humming aligned Frank's antennae toward the wall. "I wonder whether that's coming from," said Frank, as he rose into the air. "It's clearly on the other side of the wall." Turning toward the visual barrier, Charlie's antennae rippled in the afternoon breeze. "You wanted a

previous                                               next Alice sat on the bed and looked at the mecha-quill. 'I wonder if it's broken,' thought Alice, as she held it close for inspection. The simple Pied Piper logo lay cleanly printed near the back of the mecha-quill. Walking over to the room-service tray, Alice picked up the juice cup and sat down by the lamp. As Alice drank her orange juice, she held the mecha-quill up to the light bulb. Gossamer colors moved slowly beneath the skin of the pen. As Alice traced one of the blue lights from nib to tail, she heard a thud at the door. Placing the mecha-quill on the rim of the juice cup, Alice stood and walked to the entrance. Opening the door, Alice saw the hallway empty save for a folded newspaper. Picking up the newspaper, Alice heard the door close as she sat down by the lamp. Unfurling the newspaper, Alice started to read when she noticed the mecha-quill quietly and slowly turning in place alo

previous                                               next Some time ago, on your sixteenth birthday you received a postcard from a relative. You didn't recognize the country, or the relation; you certainly didn't recognize the language. You threw it away, along with a dozen other notices, advertisements, and expired coupons. You should have kept the card. Having read the strange letters, your amygdala grew slightly denser. And you became more conflicted than you felt reasonable; however, this was absorbed into the maelstrom of adolescence. You may recall that most days you still feel conflicted - that even the decisions you are firmly sure of have an element of incompleteness. This is a side effect of the change to your amygdala. Because, on your sixteenth birthday, you developed the capacity to make a choice. Not everyone has been blessed by the opportunity to make this choice; but, you are different. You may feel the need to throw this letter away

previous                                               next Timmy the Loch Ness Lobster leaned against his tank. "Joe, how many more breakfast plates you need," asked Timmy, as he clawed playfully at the water. The glass vibrated against his head as a large man in a baker's hat spoke briskly. "Um, I think fifty," said Joseph as he reached up and touched the back of his hat. A tablet of light appeared to Joseph in mid-air outlining two dozen rows of information. "I believe we have enough eggs for about eighty people," said Joseph, "and Barry prepared ten batches of pancake mix." Timmy turned his feelers toward Joseph. "Did Barry make any of those gluten-free?" asked Timmy, as he tightened his right claw. Joseph winced as he saw Timmy's claw tighten. "Yes, sir," said Joseph. "And he labeled them properly this time." Loosening his claw, Timmy's antennae nodded. "Excellent,&q

previous                                               next Alice sat at the window and sipped her orange juice thoughtfully. As she watched the tiny butterfly flit back and forth, Alice thought, 'It is ridiculously easy to interrupt me.' Tapping the mecha-quill, Alice continued looking out the window as her forefinger slid the small green dial to the flute-setting. 'Oh, this is my favorite,' thought Alice as she gestured with the movement of the butterfly's wings. Nudged by the wind, the butterfly flew out of view towards the roof. Gentle homogeneous notes followed the mecha-quill as Alice stepped away from the window. 'So maybe I'm not easily distracted,' thought Alice. 'Maybe my screenplay pitch is just too shallow.' At the right periphery of Alice's vision, a small dull red circle appeared. A light aluminum smell wafted into Alice's nostrils as she looked around. "Where is that coming from?" said Ali

previous                                               next "Hey Frank," said the august butterfly, as he landed onto the tiny leaf. "Got any gems for me?" "Charlie, I haven't had a new story for you since the new regime change," said Frank, as he dipped his feet in pollen. "Wow that sure feels good." "Frank, this is serious," said Charlie, as a light breeze came in from the North. "The next issue is out soon and I ain't got a lead." Excess pollen fell from Frank's feet as he rose slowly into the air. "I'll see what I can do, Charlie," said Frank. "Jimmy's been keeping his feelers open and maybe he's got something solid." Antennae twitching, Charlie looked out into the field. "If you need to, remember you can create new leads," said Charlie, as he watched the far edge of the flora sway. "It used to be our way." "Charlie," said Frank

previous                                               next "Hey Barry, wake up!" A tall, lanky fellow in apprentice garb looked up to the source of the shrill call.  A heavy-set man in a crisp white baker's helm and garb walked briskly about the kitchen, tossing flour and sugar into different projects across three tables. "Barry, I need you to grab two units of Wolf Ware, craft the standard room-service dishes, and fill the latest order," said Chef, as he lifted up two trays and slid toward the oven. "Right on it!" said Barry, as poured two units onto the crafting table. Placing his thumbs center mass, Barry thought the phrase 'lycanthros platos servios' and watched as the two balls of white flattened into a butter dish, an entre dish, a cover, and a juice cup.  The typical puppy logo shown on each in beautifully arranged carved lines. 'I'll never get used to these reformables,' thought Barry, as he placed each on th

start                                               next "The words come like little bon mots of witticisms and the only thing worth keeping are when you describe your foibles. So you hide them as best you can in artificially-lit towns of meta-candor, incomplete characterizations, and all the while your heart is bleeding on the page because you bore it true - and hope that someone was moved by your admission." 'Um, that was a little heavy handed,' thought Alice, as she dropped the mecha-quill. The freshly painted words fell from the air quietly and floated back into the small slot.  The small brown serif caps from the capital letters gently cascaded to the carpet. 'I know, I love the movie-guy voice,' thought Alice, as she picked up the quill. "In a world, where even your simplest whims make reality, one woman would craft a breath-taking armada of two-dimensional characters and little in the way of character development." As she sp

Gratitudinality continues! Minimum Rules: 1. Every day, post three things for which I am thankful.  Descriptions/details are appreciated but optional. 2. In each post, include these rules. 3. Expect the day to be different; look for the difference. I encourage you, dear reader, to participate ... at least in declaring your own gratitudes.  Not so much the posting but the intentionally mindful thankfulness. I am thankful for temperature-controlled spaces.  Much of my life has been spent in or near them and they are a source of comfort.* I am thankful for my facility for language and mathematics.  I would say most of the productive opportunities I have had seem to be tied to them and they add layers of depth and value to my days.  Full props to God because without Him I would not have them ... and literally would not exist. I am thankful for grace.  As defined by "unmerited favor", the idea that I ought to already have been judged, found wanting, and

Gratitudinality continues! Minimum Rules: 1. Every day, post three things for which I am thankful.  Descriptions/details are appreciated but optional. 2. In each post, include these rules. 3. Expect the day to be different; look for the difference. I encourage you, dear reader, to participate ... at least in declaring your own gratitudes.  Not so much the posting but the intentionally mindful thankfulness. I am thankful for a real, loving God who has designed my interface to be compatible with what he provides the world. He did such an amazing job that I perpetually take him for granted. So this is a shout-out to Christ fir being far more than I deserve or can even appreciate! I am thankful for my wife - a woman who does not always understand me but always loves me, may not always like me but always tries to be kind to me, and who I also take for granted. She deserves far more than I ... though God put us together for *some* reason. I am thankful for my senses.

So 2016 has flown by - and now we are in December. I did do NaNoWriMo this year ( link ). This month I am going to try being intentionally thankful - and recording it here. Minimum Rules: 1. Every day, post three things for which I am thankful.  Descriptions/details are appreciated but optional. 2. In each post, include these rules. 3. Expect the day to be different; look for the difference. I encourage you, dear reader, to participate ... at least in declaring your own gratitudes.  Not so much the posting but the intentionally mindful thankfulness. I am thankful for enough food to not only rarely be hungry but to have the luxury to be able to diet. I am thankful for running water inside of my house.  I spent some time without it and I really, really like being able to wash my hands, take a shower, wash clothes, and take for granted the availability of clean, potable water. I am thankful for my children.  Perhaps it will always be feast or famine about whether I like t