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Monday, October 29, 2012

Life - NaNoWriMo

Life - NaNoWriMo

So once again this year I'm participating in NaNoWriMo.  Or National Novel Writing Month.  On top of a full student courseload.

Whee!

I'm crazy.  Anyway I intend to pursue Sixed as my novel of choice this year.  We'll see how it goes!  I'll be updating this blog hopefully more throughout November with chapters and meanderings from NaNo.

Monday, October 22, 2012

Musings - Morning Tea

Musings - Morning Tea

The slow march of sun against glass as I watch light creep along my teacup.  Monday morning and shadows fade away.  We all have somewhere to be of pressing need.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Free Writing - Sound

Free Writing - Sound

Sound noise audio.  Audio.  A girl plays a flute.  Play.  Plays.  The sound of chimes, wind, wind chimes.  A soft breeze and the flood between silence and noise.  Noise.  A tone for contact, allegro, allegro brisk, quick, allegro, a flute, a girl plays a flute and there is contact  Contact, brief, brisk contact.  Contact.  A note, lilt, up, down.  On and on, staccato.  Brief, precise, noise.  Noise.  Static.  Harsh, broken, flaring up and down.  Noise, static, the sound of televisions on and off, blips, beeps, clicks.  Click.  Repeated, firing, fast, machine gun, clicks.  Clicking, sputtering, empty, dry, dry noise.  Sound.  Tempo.


Friday, October 19, 2012

Writing - Diary of Black Death

Writing - Diary of Black Death

I think I'll stay in this quaint little English village to begin with.  The countryside is beautiful, and I am oft finding myself taken with moments of profound joy looking skyward.  The inhabitants however are rude and jostling.  Won't they be in for a surprise.  They ask too many penetrating questions of strangers and travelers.  Still I think I'll put my feet up here for a time.


Writing - Hide and Seek

Writing - Hide and Seek

"Brian, come here."

There was just a tinge of hesitation on Brian's part, but dutifully he stood and set aside the laptop.  Walking over to where Amy was standing at the window.

"What is it?"

Writing - Enchilada Microwave Dinner

Writing - Enchilada Microwave Dinner

Beep.

Beep.

Garret mumbled to himself.  Consciousness couldn't come fast enough.  Bleary eyed and blinking.

What was that?

Writing - Opera Jumps

Writing - Opera Jumps

Could she hear it?  Outside the buzz, the crowd, the sounds and the feeling.  It permeated the senses, overrode the stone and concrete around them.  Somewhere far away, she knew that the orchestra was warming up, they would tune and re-tune.  Somewhere else a singer was warming up her vocals, others were moving around, checking paperwork, lights came on and disappeared, sounds erupted out of speakers.

She jumped.  Hopping anxiously from one foot to another, then springing with both feet planted as high as possible.  Everyone had a role to play, everyone in a moment to do a something that fit all the facets.  They played, blew, sang.  She moved.  So different, so alike.

Not alone though, never alone.



That was a piece of 2 minute writing I did tonight at the prompting of http://www.twitter.com/ainsleyhillyard Her prompt: Opera jumps.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Thoughts - Casual Racism

Thoughts - Casual Racism

I grew up in Calgary, which we affectionately call the 'Texas of the North'.  Truth is that I grew up a Chinese Canadian, a son to immigrant parents and for a long time didn't speak (and still don't read) Mandarin.  I had to bridge two cultural worlds, Chinese which I always felt I disinherited until I had left home, and being a Canadian.

It wasn't until I was in grade school that I became aware of race.  It first began to prevade into my life in terms of limitations.  In that way that schoolchildren will bully and ridicule, being Chinese meant I couldn't do some things.  Being Canadian meant I couldn't do some Chinese things.  It was as though race and culture were at cross-purposes to the things I wanted in life.


Saturday, October 13, 2012

Musings - Home

Musings - Home

"Hey so are you all settled in yet?  Got the new place feeling like home?"

Sometimes, privately and in the wee hours of the night I worry that nowhere will ever really feel like home.  I'm all settled in, unpacked and have all my 'stuff', but this isn't home.  Actually where I sleep hasn't felt like home in years. They are just places, and space.  Space to be confined by, defined by, and secreted away from the world in.

With the advent of the internet, I take the friends who want to be a part of my life with me.  I rarely go a week without hearing Patrick's voice, my parents and sister call, my other friends leave messages on facebook, skype, twitter or my phone.  I generally know the best way of getting in contact with most of my friends, and the ones who know...well they know I can always be found on most communication systems.

And the friends who are too busy, or don't want to communicate won't.  That's the way life goes isn't it?