Story #53, In The Silence Of The Night 2/2

there are 8394 fanfic tropes i need to read after mulder comes back fuckkkkkkk

i wanna see a good reaction to the pregnancy

i wanna see mulder finally admitting he has ptsd and telling scully about it and about what he remembers

i wanna see scully kissing his scars

i wanna see mulder being more empathetic about what scully has been through bc he knows if the roles were reversed he would have fucking lost it

i need all of it!!!!

Story #76. Based on the prompt: 'Surprise!' They cried, leaping out from behind the door.

“Surprise!” They cried leaping out from behind the door, and the glass of water she was holding, slipped out of her grasp and shuttered.  She bolted down to clean the mess and peered sideways at her unsolicited guests shifting from one leg to another. One of them, Tom - she recalled vaguely - tiptoed around the shards and intercepted her hand, reaching for paper napkins in the bottom drawer of the desk. 

“I’ll do that, don’t worry.”

The words broke the spell, prompting others to hurtle towards the couple on the floor. Flowers were put into vases, cake was set on the desk, candles were lit, and presents were stored in the corner of the room. 

“Didn’t mean to scare the shit out of you.”  Someone offered and the woman huffed a laugh.

She took a moment to meander around the office, gauging mentally whether she’d be able to take all the wrapped-up boxes and bouquets to her car in one go and then backed up and plonked down on the chair. A high tower of a cake leveled her eyes. 

“Make a wish,” Tom encouraged.

I’d like this day to start over, she said in her head and blew the candles.

STORY #16 which was born from the exercise in the Creative Writing Club

The original prompt: finish the sentence using a simile "His promises were like..."

He always was a funny, kind of naturally gifted, guy whenever it came to storytelling, able to pull off a story in a way that drew the attention of every single person in a room. As natural as his verbal talent was, on the paper he turned out to be a godsend. The writing was what he was born for. At some point, books were pumping out like bags tossed on the belt conveyor, which was a funny twist of fate since that was exactly how they met. Mistakenly, she picked up his bag only to discover later that the bag itself was the only thing that was similar to her own luggage. She called it divine intervention. He called it kismet.

He seemed to be pretty content at home, only rarely mentioning how LA lights beckoned him. They always had. So it hadn’t come as a surprise when one day they headed to where the lights shone brighter as ever. He said it was to pursue his American dream. She said it was to chase the dollar and fame. Producers called him a real deal. Publishing houses labeled him a writer with a capital W. In a matter of months, he became everyone’s most wanted. Fiction turned into scripts, scripts turned into endless nights on screen sets, take after take, beds in nameless trailers, “shots” heard at any time of day and night. She had yet to realize that LA lights would never shine quite as bright as in the movies*.

He promised they could be happy there. All she ever wanted was to be happy. All she ever got was misery. He promised it’d be a step forward. He promised it’d be a chance to look into new perspectives and open themselves up to new opportunities.  He kissed her. And the kiss was a promise too. His promises always looked quite solid. Painfully so. Just until they weren’t. Like fall leaves with their reddish thin veins running across the yellow canvas, they laid on the carpet of grass, innocent and beautiful, only to turn later into the dust crunching under his merciless feet. He didn’t even bother as much as to look down.

Nothing panned out as he promised.

She kept waiting. Waiting to grow accustomed to that new bohemian lifestyle, waiting for him to deliver his promises. Just waiting. They were two worlds in collision but when the smoke cleared, he wasn’t there. What was there left for her…? Only his empty promises.

*“LA lights never shine quite as bright as in the movies” is a quote from the song “Catalyst” by Anna Nalick

Photo credit: Alex Motoc (Unsplash)

Story #49 is the X-Files fanfiction story

Read it on AO3

Story #64 "Living a Life of Interruptions"

I wish I could say that writing comes naturally to me, and with a click of my fingers, I shift my mind into the subspace where my silly ramblings magically turn into coherent ideas.

Much to my chagrin, I can barely find time to transmit a few sentences to my journal on a daily basis. It should be easy, isn’t it? After all, you do it with everything else in your life - exercising, hobbies like reading or knitting, your work for crying out loud!

But…come on, in all candor, when are you ever alone? Exactly.

Peace and quiet is a gossamer door into a parallel reality allowed to exist in your head only. I’m hardly alone even when I pee, much less so when it comes to all my aforementioned ventures.

I live a life of interruptions. I’m interrupted when I read, when I run on a treadmill or sweat over another set of crunches or when I take a shower.

Notifications. Messages. Ads. Kids. Random thoughts. Things you forgot. Things you must not forget. Reminders. Whether these are your children, pawing through your desk with their little hands and naked curiosity or something else, be brutally honest with yourself - you are constantly bombarded with interruptions.

Is there a way out? There must be some, right? Mine is to write in the wee wee hours when everyone is asleep. In the dark and gloomy confines of my kitchen, surrounded by the smell of freshly brewed coffee that slips into my pores and receptors of my nostrils, I have found my safe place for writing. I’m all by my lonesome, and I love every minute of it.

I disciplined myself into writing. And if the muse happens to hover over my shoulder, I grab that resentful bitch by the neck and keep doing my thing, because if I don’t, she will slam the door shut out of my creative space so loudly that it will leave the void so vast, it will echo.

Be kind to yourself. No disparaging remarks. Only courteous behavior and soft-spoken words are welcome in that sacred place where creativity is harvested. Enjoy the crackling freedom you regain, when once evanescent thoughts, finally transform into actual printed letters, demystifying every nook and cranny of your brain.

That, indeed, is real magic.

Some more factual information behind the CPE fiction article "The local hero". You can find a full article here https://www.nytimes.com/1995/10/05/nyregion/girl-s-death-is-attributed-to-rabid-bat.html

Story #54 is a one-shot written at the X-Files writer's workshop in 15 minutes.

The moon was shining so bright that she regretted she hadn’t taken her shades upon leaving the house.  What the hell she was even doing here - in the woods, literally in the middle of nowhere, at night. 

Was it supposed to be another nice trip to the forest? They were trying to hunt down a werewolf or some other folklore-based creature - she wasn’t even sure anymore. All she wanted was the sky to open up and rain with sleeping bags. Maybe even pillows. And some snacks. Please, add some snacks to the list. They needed some staples. She could already hear her stomach rumbling. Hunger was going to be a problem. It already started eclipsing any other thought in her head. Sanity for sure.

Stealing a quick glance at her partner, his shadow figure wading through the thick woodland just a few feet away, she felt a twinge of envy at the over-exuberant mood he was in.  

Story #9 “Stolen Socks”

To the chief of police

From George W. Harrison

Alexandria, Virginia 

Statement

That’s one hell of a byzantine plot I’m going to unfold here, but bear with me, please. I’ll have to go back to square one to explain myself. It all started with The Blue Lagoon. I never watched the movie, it’s a 100% girly thing, but when Mary invited herself into my apartment to watch Brook Shields and her caveman skinny-dipping and necking in crystal clear waters, I couldn’t say no.

Detailing the story point by point - I cleaned my abode and bought some staples. A six-pack of Shiner Bock, lots of popcorn, and even butter. She loves it with butter like a true American. I changed the sheets on the bed. I didn’t mind making out on my oldie creaky couch, but hey, it’s about Mary, and she deserves better. Also, I’m a guy pushing my forties, so you can’t really blame me for wanting to get comfortable! Back in the day, that little black thing saw lots of action. Not like I was going celibate these days, I’ve just been waiting for the only woman I’ve ever been interested in, and finally, slowly, we were making some progress. Earlier that day she said that dating me was like taking a leap of faith. I deem it necessary to bring to your attention, officer, that I wasn’t about to disappoint this woman. We were finally getting down to business of getting down to business.

Anyway, as I started getting dressed for my first in 7 years date, it dawned on me that it was my laundry weekend. No clean undergarments. I felt fine with going commando, a t-shirt and jeans would just do that, but not with my feet bare. Bare feet were a no-no. That’d be like an invitation to skip all the pleasantries and jump each other’s bones right off the bat. Don’t get me wrong, Mary has stuck to my side for what feels like forever, but I didn’t want her resolve to waver at the sight of such neediness. I couldn’t let her have any second thoughts. You see, she’s the woman anyone is lucky to get a date with. She’s way out of my league and I’m considered off the rocker. So, yes, I am one lucky son of a bitch.

A glance at my watch let me know that I still had some time to drive to Giant and buy new socks. This is how I found myself maneuvering through the aisles in search of a stall with socks. When I did though, I grabbed the item and strode towards the checkout, only to realize that I forgot my wallet!

Usually, I am an exceedingly calm man, but at that moment, my stomach got knotted and I felt panic rising within me. Sweat broke above my upper lip. Oh man, that wasn’t nice at all. Actually, nice was too flat a word, too squishy. It was anything but nice! OK, I seem to go off on a tangent here again. I knew it was now or never. I couldn’t get back without a pair of clean neat socks. I rejected out of hand the idea of rushing home, finding my wallet, and then driving back to the mall. Mary was going to show up at my door in 15 minutes! So, when I noticed that the item in my hand had no anti-theft magnet on, I sneaked into the dressing room, shimmied up the socks, and in a matter of seconds was on my way out. Unfortunately, my little escapade was caught by the security camera, with a hell of a powerful zoom lens. Well, there was also an eager operator (maybe even too eager) who miraculously noticed that I went in with socks and went out without ‘em. 

I know that I am liable to the proper punishment here and I’ll cover all the costs. It’ll never ever happen again, officer. Scout’s honor!

 The thing is, as it turned out, Mary doesn’t care either for clean socks or for me having a record! Otherwise, she wouldn’t come here to bail me out with that beautiful toothy grin all over her lovely face. We probably still can make it to my apartment and spend a nice evening together. Maybe even skip the movie part. God, how I love that woman.”

__________________

That’s when the officer raised his eyes from my statement and looked me in the eyes. Uncertain, I mumbled, “So, what d’ya say, officer?”

Story #19, that is about another amazing workshop I hosted for the Writing Incubator Project.

As we are about to embark on a fall season, I’d like to share a few words about the session I was honored to host in May 2022. 

The workshop I prepared was about “Stealing lexis from real articles to use in your CPE articles” (and any other articles as well). 

So how do you write a CPE article? Bet you’ve heard dozens (hundreds, thousands even?) of times that you should read real articles, explore the language, highlight some nice examples, and make lists of collocations or idioms you could use in your own piece. You do it mostly intuitively, just relying on your inner self to cue you, which is the right thing to do.

But where do you begin? How do you know what’s a good and what’s a bad choice? That’s what we had a look at in our Writing incubator project in May. And here I will succinctly summarize it for you in a god-knows-how-many-words blink. 

The technique we used is called investigative reading. However, before you even start opening your favorite sources, be it NY Times, The Guardian, or the Washington Post, for authentic articles in order to mine any good lexis you could borrow, create your template. And what do I mean by that? Find or invent the prompt of the article you intend to write and go through it.  Then start reading articles on the topic. Highlight the language. See what you can borrow. Explore it. Put it in your article. Toss some away. Experiment.

Is it something you can do with real articles for your blog? Sure thing, just keep the plagiarism rule in mind. Three consecutive words is borrowing, and more is stealing. 

The trick is, the more you write, the more you notice, how words and phrases naturally and effortlessly find their way into your pieces. You’ll start having your own unique style with a bunch of favorite chunks and structures. NO secret here. You just read some more, write some more, rewrite some more. 

On a related note, it occurred to me that I've never posted the article I wrote for that workshop following the aforementioned guidelines. So here it is, story #37 on my blog.

Story #72, which is a 'Truly like lightning' review.

“The X-files” were my Bible throughout the 90s to 2000s. I fell in love with the character of Fox Mulder long before I fell in love for the first time for real. I didn’t think Duchovny could get any better than that until he started writing and I started reading what he had written. 

“Truly Like Lightning” is not David Duchovny’s first book, but it’s his best so far - it will strike you to the very core and leave you aching, with questions whirling like a snowstorm in the head. 

Set in the desert of Joshua Tree, the story centers around the former Hollywood stuntman Bronson Powers, now a converted Mormon living unplugged in a polygamous marriage. They raise their ten kids away from the evils of society until one day a young ambitious employee of a corrupt real estate company targets their land. Cultures clash. Faith is tested. Choices are made.

The book will hook you and won’t let you put it down… if you manage to push through the first fifty pages. Seriously, it took me two weeks to read that part, where Duchovny mostly explained the background of his characters, and only two days to finish the 445-page manuscript, when the story finally turned into an action movie-like narrative.  

All things considered, it’s worth every minute of reading. What made a successful man abandon all the perks of Hollywood and choose to live the life of an isolated nomad? What happens to Powers’ family once they are forced off their land and into the temptations of the world they left behind? What’s with the children who have never had a say in any of that? 

Read the book. And be prepared to be struck.