Because I wrote things and want you to read them because I feel really drained and need somebody to read what I wrote and tell me it’s good.

WARNING: Continuing with the theme created by the title here, this post will feature run-on sentences. English teachers, you may wish to avert your eyes.

So here’s the thing, I go through periods of depression in my life, much like all the other people ever. Usually, there is some catalyst which makes me feel like my life is going nowhere and then I get into a funk where I don’t do anything thereby making this feeling completely accurate. After a week or two of moping around I get back to work for some reason, and I write things. I try to work hard on my novel, which sometimes works out. Today I wrote about 400 words, then I wrote an email to my wife with the title of this post as the subject line and sent her what I wrote. Sometimes that’s what happens. Some days I write thousands of words. Literally. More than double one thousand. Those are really good days. Today isn’t one of them. Not that I feel bad. 400 words is 400 times better than no words,(Technically speaking 0x400=0, but this is more of a principle thing.), so I feel pretty good about that.

Today though, after 400 words I feel completely exhausted, which is weird. It’s possible my strange work schedule and daylight savings have something to do with that as well, but I’m going to blame it on the writing. It’s hard to write without any guarantee of reward. It’s hard to put in the effort while other things in life aren’t going exactly as you want them. Hell, life’s just hard. Sometimes, you just need a pick-me-up. So today, I’m putting something online I wrote in a notebook the other night while I was trying to sleep but couldn’t. It started with the first two sentences, then I didn’t know what to do, so I drew a picture and that inspired me to write something, then that inspired me to read some Neil Gaiman, so I downloaded an e-book of Coraline from my local library and read half of it before falling asleep and having strange dreams that only scared me after I woke up. More on that later. For now, here’s a picture and a thing.

When I say, 'drew a picture', I don't mean to suggest I am in any way talented.

When I say, ‘drew a picture’, I don’t mean to suggest I am in any way talented.

Brockway stumbled in the early morning darkness. That stone shouldn’t have been there. He looked behind him again, but saw only black. That wasn’t right either. The Bakers’ house should have been lit up even at this hour. They always had parties stretching through the night since the old woman discovered that cache of Spirits. But it wasn’t there. Nothing was, not even darkness. It was just…empty.

Turning back, Brockway started to run. He didn’t build speed gradually, as during his evening workout. He went from shambling to sprinting in the blink of an eye. It was pointless, he told himself. He knew the Ancients would take him when they wanted, no matter where he was or how fast he ran, but the fear had hold of him. He couldn’t help his actions any more than they would save his life. So he ran.

He knew these streets as well as anyone alive or dead. He knew them better than he knew his own mother. Yet today they didn’t obey his knowledge. He turned familiar corners into uncharted territory. Stones and walls rose up from the ground to greet his erratic feet. Houses were gone, or bigger, or where they shouldn’t be.

Nothing stirred in the village. The sun refused to rise. The nothing behind him edged closer and closer. A faint laugh rose in the nothing, growing louder until it consumed his brain. As the nothing reached him, Brockway realized the laughter was his own.

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7 responses to “Because I wrote things and want you to read them because I feel really drained and need somebody to read what I wrote and tell me it’s good.

  1. Don’t get too caught up in the word count– and don’t feel bad about writing “only” 400 words. Your goal should just be to write every day– or as often as you can– even if that means pumping out barely a few sentences. We can’t always have our thousand-word days, eh? 😄

    Now, what you did write was absolutely great. I loved the details, the intense atmosphere. I fell in love with some of your sentences! To name just a few:

    “He knew them better than he knew his own mother.”

    Houses were gone, or bigger, or where they shouldn’t be.

    “As the nothing reached him, Brockway realized the laughter was his own.”

    Now, when you’re writing like this, you shouldn’t feel bad or guilty at all. You’re extremely talented, and all I have to say is this: keep writing!

  2. Oh, yes. Many complimentary compliments!! (one typo at the end, the “sun refused to -rose- should be -rise-” but otherwise that goes along with the flow in that pp. Several uses of the word “rose”. Likely not intentional but it works anyway.

    Did you poss imitate NG, after reading and dreaming? idk NG’s stories so I cannot tell. However, this one is very good. 😦 Pretty soon you’ll have hundreds of pp’s, no novel. Oh well. Keep writing anyway. It will come along.

    Hugs! (I can do that; I’m Mom.) ps – the drawing is really fun, but prob not “art”. 🙂

    • Arrg! I hate it when I make typos! I fixed that one, and found one more. Hopefully that’s them all. This little bit is actually a lot like a Neil Gaiman story, in my opinion at least. Funnily though, I wrote this the other night and it made me want to read Neil Gaiman. Coraline and dreams came after. So I’d probably say he had an influence on this just because I like his work, but this wasn’t inspired by anything specific he’s done.

      The novel’s coming along. This will be part of a different one, along with another short I wrote a while back. Someday it will be very nice if I can just work on these, but for now I keep plodding along. Thanks for the hugs!

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