lenora_rose: (Plot Bunnies?)
While It's obviously the most *practical* to try and work on the Serpent Prince, which is *this* close to done, I don't currently want to do revision and rewrites.

(This WILL change if I win either of the con-or-bust novel critiques, but since I'm up against Kate Elliott for one and Andrea K. Höst for the other - among other writers - that's.... unlikely. But if I do, I can have Serpent Prince's current rewrites done in less than a week, and since it would be months at best to have Labyrinth even to half-decent, that's the way to go).

All considerations aside, my impulse is also to keep going in the raw text vein and save the revision itch for the critique and the labyrinth rewrite.

But I don't know on what.

So. Let me know if any lines especially sound intriguing.

In no special order:

Long Stories (Novellas, novels)

Gods in Flight:
To explain why I ended up where I did, at the right hand of the Bastard, of all Gods, I think I'd better start with a sum-up where I'm coming from.

I was born in nowhere-town in the county of nowhere in the province of nowhere in the farthest back corner of the most nowhere country on the whole planet.

Fantasy world but rather more modern than most of the settings. Gods versus fey, and a young human sharpshooter in the middle. This would be a true pantser exercise. Probably needs some research and worldbuilding help.


Gods in Flight: Armageddon
Geordie Kerr had resigned himself to heading up the mountain trail alone when the last car he had expected to see this weekend pulled into the lot.
In spite of the temporary moniker, not a direct sequel to the above. (The GiF stories are set well after the time periods of the others and involve Tovay the Bastard, that's the common thread). Portal fantasy into a post-apocalypse.


The Poisoned Tongue
It began, for me, when two of my ladies-in-waiting found themselves pregnant.
Traditional fantasy, third of a trilogy.
Still feeling a bit burned out on the project.
I'm actually thinking if I don't get to this before November, it might be best finished via another NANO charge.

The Blood Rose
Alcestos feigned continued unconsciousness, building an idea of the weight of his limbs and their position without daring to move.
High fantasy built around a tragic curse. This is somewhere between rewrite and new text. I have finished drafts, but I think it needs more than just a rewrite.
Novella length; good to submit to Eggplant if I get it back into shape.

Blood of the Woods
Zhared watched the camp from his meagre shelter, and wished they had settled themselves nearer the brink of the woods. The grain was ripe with summer's end, but the oaks were a much more certain escape, and grain could not stop a gunshot.
high fantasy if slightly more modern than usual, about a forest god, a group of selkies, and a demon-lord. Some of the gender stuff is both more relevant and needs a more thoughtful hand than in previous drafts.

Sophonisba and Tourmalina (Not actual title):
The page cried, "All do honour to the flower of the court!"
High fantasy court drama; politics and poisonous words. I have short story-ish versions of both womens' stories, but later realised that not only do the short stories not entirely work but the two happen simultaneously, and might work together as a novel. While I have about 3 pages of genuinely ancient draft (thus a first line, however weak, at all), this is one of the few that essentially starts from complete scratch. And would be another pantser.

Meri:
Meri had been wed a bare three weeks before, in a tight-throated mixture of joy and pain.
High fantasy. Girl vs. Fey. Poor Fey. The one complete draft of this extant is, um, painfully old. (1995 old). I won't even reread it to start writing. This opening comes from a handful of pages I tried in 2006.

Twist:
There are two extant drafts, in third and first person respectively. So, two possible opening lines:
I think I was born weak.
and
Biadei sat just off the beach, because however much the sun had warmed his chosen rock, it had warmed the sand more, and he had no desire to hop graceless from burning foot to burning foot to reach the water.
High fantasy. But this is the story that goes really dark places, and not in a good way. AND is chock full of plot relevant BDSM erotica - which is only part of where the dark comes from and not the bit I fear. But it haunts me. It's also VERY laden with backstory. Difficult terrain in almost every way.

Dark Water:
Hahleph-Ailce was not, by her own admission, a forest fox at all.
High fantasy about my fox people. While I Really want to get to write about my fox-people on their own at some point, some aspects of this story seem to have been stolen by other stories that do them better. I'm debating whether that means strip it down for parts entirely, or build it up with new ones to replace what are obviously personal tics.

Allerleirauh:
(excluding stage directions that ramble, rather)
VULPE: You can go on in, ELLERA. There's nothing to fear.
As mentioned before, a screenplay attempt. The title is a giveaway if you know your Grimm.

Merlin's Dive:
Colleen Dukas arrived at the television studio after a weekend of significantly more drinking than she had assayed even in college.
I figured out a new opening scene for this one last night. So clearly it's on my mind, and clearly that won't be the opening line if I do it, though it might be of chapter 2. A slightly kinky modern-day story: Woman tries to keep a man alive after an attempt on his life by the fey. She's also trying to figure out how to explain to him that the reason she won't admit her feelings for him is because in about three weeks, at her 28th birthday, she's going to do what she does every seven years, and change gender.

The Secret Visits:
16th, Sheola Ascending, the Amnan year 247
It's past the setting of the first moon; possibly past the second; I have not been watching the skies too closely. I'm shaking

High fantasy, a major culture clash. This is an idea I want to play with eventually, but it doesn't feel like its time has come. There's another kernel needs to pop, or something.


Short stories

Rustle and the Beanstalk:
There were two things everyone knew about Rustle, once they met him. The first was that Rustle liked being small.
I have NO idea where this is going. But I suspect it will be fun. Rustle is a critter on the narrow balance between cute and silly and way too twee and he said he wanted his own story, please please please. And I thought the thing someone so little needs is giants.

Titanic story: Apparently I managed to only put the current first line in the last first lines meme. Which i cannot find this moment, oh dear. Yup, this snippet is still around. Needs research but not daunting research.

So Far From the Clyde: Clementi had felt the scales under her hand growing cold, and as the storm faded, felt them shrinking, compacting. Zegielnichka had of course made herself larger to carry them all, thinning her substance as dragons were wont, but when the magic began to falter, she began to return to the size of nature.

Wizard in the Wilderness: I'd been travelling the wilderness for a good many weeks when my walking stick grumbled at me, "If you're not going anywhere in particular, Huw, you might veer westward. That's where I'd like to go."

Bristol Harbour: Conalio thought much of their new steam ships, based on models twenty years old or more as far as we Fauconarans were concerned.
The song is only backstory. (Said song is about almost-cannibalism). A piece of weird with some erotic elements, but mostly about broken people finding each other even if they can't fix each other.
lenora_rose: (Default)
Go to page 7 or 77 of your latest work. Read down to the seventh line and then post online the next seven lines or sentences. Then head off and tag seven more writers.

I don't generally feel like tagging people, though if [personal profile] leonacarver/[livejournal.com profile] el_bastard, [personal profile] crowdog66, or [personal profile] mildred_of_midgard feel like it, awesome.

This is from page 77 of the Serpent Prince. Page 7 might have been more exciting, but it was also more confusing, since it was literally in the middle of someone's dialogue. In the process of copying it, I lost 3 adjectives. Sigh.

I left the box of garden snakes on a barrel, and let out a whistle, the low thrumming noise that called snakes and had once woken Teo from murderous rage. A dasher could not hear, but it would feel that whistle across its skin.

They slipped from the shadows, and I breathed in happily, while the girl on the steps let out a hiss of dismay, and the garden snakes held very still. Not one dasher, but two; there'd be eggs someplace. The beasts shone in the lantern light, like chains of red petals and tiny florets strung to poles in the Spring festival. I dropped to a crouch and held out my palm.

The larger, the female, slid up close, flicked her tongue across my skin.


This, because I couldn't resist, is Bird of Dusk, the thing I am currently shopping around to agents, since I started yet another revision on Serpent Prince. This section takes place in Faerie (it/Conrad is a fey of complicated gender. Finno is human, though he's also the eponymous Bird.):

"Look upon the palace." It nodded upwards, and Finno turned, pulling at the splinter embedded in his palm, which remained rooted.

There was a presence there, something huge and old and strong. It -- she, he thought, looking up -- was not Fey, for even the oldest Fey seemed more than half young. Finno got no shape out of what he saw, but only a huge blueness, winged. She was watching them.

"I have struck a near to deadly bargain," Conrad said.
lenora_rose: (Labyrinth)
Christmas and related stuff is good so far, even if our hours have been somewhat curtailed in many cases by JoJo (tonight for instance, I forgot to pack his dinner, so we returned home probably 2 hours or so sooner than we might have) and twice by Colin's allergy to dogs (At least one person had taken it into consideration in her planning, but of course that was the day he forgot to medicate first). We got to do video chats with both Colin's family (As per last post) and my dad and stepmother in Edmonton, so they saw Joseph.

Of course, Joseph refused to show any interest in tearing paper off his presents - he had some in playing around in the box full of tissue-paper, but since his first attempt to get out of it involved a slip-and-fall right onto his face, I've been a bit cautious. So far he's only mildly curious about the drawing stuff, as I expected.

My presents were nice to awesome; the last 3 Harry Potter movies (I still haven't watched either Deathly hallows), the first two seasons of Community, the Piano Guys' self-titled CD, and a lot of socks and leggings. The oddity was one of the really fancy ocllectors editions of the Sound of Music, which i ahven't seen since I was tiny, so i don't know whether it's a movie to my taste, but I am usually a fan of musicals. I'm still guilty of some Boxing Day shopping (I didn't get Libriomancer, so there's that, plus my usual legal MP3 source finally got Deserters, the Oysterband album I only had on cassette, so i snagged that and three different album deals for under $3.00 each.)

But this is why I'm posting - why I'm awake to post. Imaginary Colours is done. For now. I expect I'll discover 1500 or so things wrong with it, especially the ending. This is MUCH closer to first draft than I would send to a publisher if this weren't, in the end, Fanfic. I can already guess that if I did a revised draft it would lose as much as 1000 words, and I'm not entirely happy with the name (I'm considering 'the Scent of Lilac' as the alternate). But I killed the things that made me the most unhappy.

Imaginary Colours )
lenora_rose: (Plot Bunnies?)
(ETA: Something weird happened with the date and time of this entry, so I deleted and reposted the LJ version.)

Item the first:

This is what I did last week that I didn't mention. It's amazing how unphotogenic I am; this was the best of a bad lot.



And this tells you how much work I've been doping at work this week. because bit by bit, this popped up. These are familiar characters to me, but this particular story isn't goign any further right now, so I might just as well show it here.

(This is not, by the way, a precise match to the text I was writing at work. That was in longhand, and it got revised as I went, as things do when entered into the computer).

A Bit of Apocrypha )

Everything is crossposted to DW and LJ until further notice. Post comments here or there. (Comments at DW: comment count unavailable)
lenora_rose: (Plot Bunnies?)
(ETA: Something weird happened with the date and time of this entry, so I deleted and reposted the LJ version.)

Item the first:

This is what I did last week that I didn't mention. It's amazing how unphotogenic I am; this was the best of a bad lot.



And this tells you how much work I've been doping at work this week. because bit by bit, this popped up. These are familiar characters to me, but this particular story isn't goign any further right now, so I might just as well show it here.

(This is not, by the way, a precise match to the text I was writing at work. That was in longhand, and it got revised as I went, as things do when entered into the computer).

A Bit of Apocrypha )

Everything is crossposted to DW and LJ until further notice. Post comments here or there. (Comments at DW: comment count unavailable)
lenora_rose: (Plot Bunnies?)
Item the first:

This is what I did last week that I didn't mention. It's amazing how unphotogenic I am; this was the best of a bad lot.



And this tells you how much work I've been doping at work this week. because bit by bit, this popped up. These are familiar characters to me, but this particular story isn't goign any further right now, so I might just as well show it here.

(This is not, by the way, a precise match to the text I was writing at work. That was in longhand, and it got revised as I went, as things do when entered into the computer).

A Bit of Apocrypha )
lenora_rose: (Gryphon)
(ETA: I've gone back to add minor plot blurbs. These are sometimes just greater context for the quote, sometimes more like back cover copy)

The last several days, I seem to have ended up wandering from project to project a bit, doing a fragment of editing here, a piece of new scene there, notes on plot yet elsewhere. I need to make up my mind.

It's a given that I should finish the edit of the Serpent Prince, which I haven't touched since October 18. (And I pretty much hit the place where I suspect the editing will no longer be the easy line-by-line polish, but serious cutting, rearranging if needed, and scaffold-stripping. Coincidence? I think not.)

OTHER than that, I have to pick a project to spend the rest of my time on, and force myself to produce raw text. Samples below:

Read more... )
lenora_rose: (Gryphon)
1) When I was describing a dragon in one of my stories, I ended up writing this sentence: "More heat flowed off him with each motion, and a scent like candle-smoke, but also, strangely, rather like lilac at the end of its bloom." I wrote that scent, and I thought it seemed crazy. But apt.

Now I can't smell lilacs without thinking of dragons.

2) The flooring is in. The next steps are: cleaning and putting in baseboards. Retouching the paint on the walls. Moving furniture into position (different from the last arrangement; we seem to have decided to flip a lot around.)

My father in law did by far the most of the work. Colin did a lot, including most of the more esoteric and tricky board-cutting and the work on vents and ducts. Two friends, Chris Q and Nathaniel, came by and leant their hands. I made myself available most times I was home, tore up boards, sorted boards, and laid out flooring and cleaned - and did a number of other assorted side activities that were necessary to the job but far from central. And my mother in law occasionally helped and more often cleaned but most often fed the lot of us, full home cooked meals for nearly every single lunch and dinner, which is an impressive amount of work.

I really do feel like they could have done it without me; not because I didn't do anything, but because my jobs were always smaller fussier things. Still, i feel proud looking at the floor.

3) The rain we had last weekend had one effect on the house; the vent leading to the upstairs bathroom fan leaked. Not a little. A whole lot.

To trace the leak, Colin climbed up into the attic. And, knowing he'd have to go back, he left it wide open. Even though he said he'd seen evidence it was occupied.

Result? This is the e-mail I sent Colin today (with one correction, as I didn't take the time to dig up the accent aigu.):

We had the first squirrel in the house.

Élise didn't catch it. Not for lack of interest. She *was* first on
the scene and cornered it on the stairwell post.

I did. With the pink garbage pail so conveniently left in the hallway.
I'll grant Élise the assist, though; it went my way because she was on
the other side, and she did nearly bump her nose on the garbage pail
as it came down on the thing. But I really didn't want it getting past
me into the bedroom.

You mom took it outside (I was still in my nightshirt; this all
happened about five minutes after my alarm went off, while I was still
trying to convince myself to have a shower. Actually, I first thought
the thump in the hall was Adam's door. Until Both cats went on full
alert, and Élise took off.)

She released it some ways away, but I expect it or its fellows will be
back to the attic soon. Granted, between humans and cats, they may not
try to venture down again...

I washed much of the upstairs hallway; it definitely left a couple of
small black things behind it on the floor where it had been trapped,
as well as more insulation. And I teased Élise for not catching it
first. (Not that i think she understood. She did look like she wanted
her toy back.)

Irina never left the bedroom. I'm still not sure if it had got past me
if she'd have jumped at it or away.

Anyhow, in short, if you could try and find the places they get into
the attic and seal them up, tonight seems like a good time.And should
we lay down some of the dessicating poison up there, too?


Turns out I'm slightly wrong, and my mother-in-law handed it to my father-in-law, who, in her polite words, tested how well it could swim (not very), and then got rid of the remains. I can't say I disapprove. I just didn't want it killed in the house. Or toyed with anywhere that I'd regret having to clean.

Colin put a live trap up there instead of poison, as he couldn't find any of the desiccating (Now that I have a spell-check...) kind, and pointed out that he couldn't walk safely across the attic to look for holes without removing all the insulation, as he couldn't see the support beams.And to find the entry from the outside, he'd need a two-storey ladder, and ours was loaned out to *someone* and never returned (We'd have asked if he could remember who had it. But the last one we remember was Augustine United Church, and I distinctly remember carrying it home from there.)

4) I'm still working on the wrong projects. or the wrong parts of the right projects. Argh.

5) Someone asked me recently about putting writing samples on my LJ more often. So. What the heck. This is the opening to Bird of Dusk. (The * is where the guy in Writing Idol stopped reading; though I did change small things since then.)

April, 199-, Damina-Riel City, Manitoba. )
lenora_rose: (Gryphon)
1) When I was describing a dragon in one of my stories, I ended up writing this sentence: "More heat flowed off him with each motion, and a scent like candle-smoke, but also, strangely, rather like lilac at the end of its bloom." I wrote that scent, and I thought it seemed crazy. But apt.

Now I can't smell lilacs without thinking of dragons.

2) The flooring is in. The next steps are: cleaning and putting in baseboards. Retouching the paint on the walls. Moving furniture into position (different from the last arrangement; we seem to have decided to flip a lot around.)

My father in law did by far the most of the work. Colin did a lot, including most of the more esoteric and tricky board-cutting and the work on vents and ducts. Two friends, Chris Q and Nathaniel, came by and leant their hands. I made myself available most times I was home, tore up boards, sorted boards, and laid out flooring and cleaned - and did a number of other assorted side activities that were necessary to the job but far from central. And my mother in law occasionally helped and more often cleaned but most often fed the lot of us, full home cooked meals for nearly every single lunch and dinner, which is an impressive amount of work.

I really do feel like they could have done it without me; not because I didn't do anything, but because my jobs were always smaller fussier things. Still, i feel proud looking at the floor.

3) The rain we had last weekend had one effect on the house; the vent leading to the upstairs bathroom fan leaked. Not a little. A whole lot.

To trace the leak, Colin climbed up into the attic. And, knowing he'd have to go back, he left it wide open. Even though he said he'd seen evidence it was occupied.

Result? This is the e-mail I sent Colin today (with one correction, as I didn't take the time to dig up the accent aigu.):

We had the first squirrel in the house.

Élise didn't catch it. Not for lack of interest. She *was* first on
the scene and cornered it on the stairwell post.

I did. With the pink garbage pail so conveniently left in the hallway.
I'll grant Élise the assist, though; it went my way because she was on
the other side, and she did nearly bump her nose on the garbage pail
as it came down on the thing. But I really didn't want it getting past
me into the bedroom.

You mom took it outside (I was still in my nightshirt; this all
happened about five minutes after my alarm went off, while I was still
trying to convince myself to have a shower. Actually, I first thought
the thump in the hall was Adam's door. Until Both cats went on full
alert, and Élise took off.)

She released it some ways away, but I expect it or its fellows will be
back to the attic soon. Granted, between humans and cats, they may not
try to venture down again...

I washed much of the upstairs hallway; it definitely left a couple of
small black things behind it on the floor where it had been trapped,
as well as more insulation. And I teased Élise for not catching it
first. (Not that i think she understood. She did look like she wanted
her toy back.)

Irina never left the bedroom. I'm still not sure if it had got past me
if she'd have jumped at it or away.

Anyhow, in short, if you could try and find the places they get into
the attic and seal them up, tonight seems like a good time.And should
we lay down some of the dessicating poison up there, too?


Turns out I'm slightly wrong, and my mother-in-law handed it to my father-in-law, who, in her polite words, tested how well it could swim (not very), and then got rid of the remains. I can't say I disapprove. I just didn't want it killed in the house. Or toyed with anywhere that I'd regret having to clean.

Colin put a live trap up there instead of poison, as he couldn't find any of the desiccating (Now that I have a spell-check...) kind, and pointed out that he couldn't walk safely across the attic to look for holes without removing all the insulation, as he couldn't see the support beams.And to find the entry from the outside, he'd need a two-storey ladder, and ours was loaned out to *someone* and never returned (We'd have asked if he could remember who had it. But the last one we remember was Augustine United Church, and I distinctly remember carrying it home from there.)

4) I'm still working on the wrong projects. or the wrong parts of the right projects. Argh.

5) Someone asked me recently about putting writing samples on my LJ more often. So. What the heck. This is the opening to Bird of Dusk. (The * is where the guy in Writing Idol stopped reading; though I did change small things since then.)

April, 199-, Damina-Riel City, Manitoba. )
lenora_rose: (Labyrinth)
So. Bird of Dusk's current draft is finished. (See my last post for the whole call for critiques thing. Yes, I did that first. I figured that revisions to chapters 30-35 could be done while I'm sending out chapters 1-6. Turns out I caught an error in chapter 4 and tweaked a thing or two in 5 anyhow, oops. But no harm done yet)

130,000 words (Actually, I think it ended out at 131k). Two characters got squished into one, chunks of text near the end went away. I hunted down and destroyed all instances of certain words in the wrong contexts. I still feel like there must be something in the closing sections to reduce, but I figure it can wait for crits.

Also, the story I've been pecking at on the Dana is going to get thrown back into the dark pit of my psyche. (It's not the good kind of dark pit of the psyche, that involves facing your demons, making yourself uncomfortable and stretching as a writer. It's the other kind, the kind that seems exploitative and in it for the bad thrills. And which, if you feed it too much, turns off the parts of you that think about the consequences of exploitation.)

I know my *very* next projects (2), but both are short fiction and shouldn't take long.

So now I'm thinking about what to work on. It seems like I've been reading a lot lately that involves entourages (modern and older) and how they tend to surround celebrity and royalty, and I've been wanting to work some of that into the Serpent Prince, etc. (There are reasons neither Prince nor Duke have much entourage during some parts of the story, but there are places I glossed it over; partly because I'm in first person and Ketan wouldn't think to comment on it, but more often because I didn't think about it enough.)

However, of all projects, the Labyrinth/DWJ pastiche has been kind of sitting in my mind. And I'm thinking that one might be a good one to move onto the Dana. It certainly has the "This is a raw draft" effect. It also has the "this should be fun" effect.

I'm also finding that the current course; editing and writing one more advanced project at home and doing crazy first-drafty work on the Dana at lunch hour really works for me. Being in totally different geographic locales, It's easier to keep the editing monster and suck monkey away from the first draftiness, and it's easier to corral them to work when i need them at home.

But I'm considering a few other things, too; between projects, my mind tends to recall and cling to bits from all over in a desperate effort to shake off the last project. because it's *real* easy to end up thinking more about Bird of Dusk. That's what I had my brain trained to do for the last month, after all. So. As good a way to decide as any. Let me know if anything sounds good:

First lines )
lenora_rose: (Labyrinth)
So. Bird of Dusk's current draft is finished. (See my last post for the whole call for critiques thing. Yes, I did that first. I figured that revisions to chapters 30-35 could be done while I'm sending out chapters 1-6. Turns out I caught an error in chapter 4 and tweaked a thing or two in 5 anyhow, oops. But no harm done yet)

130,000 words (Actually, I think it ended out at 131k). Two characters got squished into one, chunks of text near the end went away. I hunted down and destroyed all instances of certain words in the wrong contexts. I still feel like there must be something in the closing sections to reduce, but I figure it can wait for crits.

Also, the story I've been pecking at on the Dana is going to get thrown back into the dark pit of my psyche. (It's not the good kind of dark pit of the psyche, that involves facing your demons, making yourself uncomfortable and stretching as a writer. It's the other kind, the kind that seems exploitative and in it for the bad thrills. And which, if you feed it too much, turns off the parts of you that think about the consequences of exploitation.)

I know my *very* next projects (2), but both are short fiction and shouldn't take long.

So now I'm thinking about what to work on. It seems like I've been reading a lot lately that involves entourages (modern and older) and how they tend to surround celebrity and royalty, and I've been wanting to work some of that into the Serpent Prince, etc. (There are reasons neither Prince nor Duke have much entourage during some parts of the story, but there are places I glossed it over; partly because I'm in first person and Ketan wouldn't think to comment on it, but more often because I didn't think about it enough.)

However, of all projects, the Labyrinth/DWJ pastiche has been kind of sitting in my mind. And I'm thinking that one might be a good one to move onto the Dana. It certainly has the "This is a raw draft" effect. It also has the "this should be fun" effect.

I'm also finding that the current course; editing and writing one more advanced project at home and doing crazy first-drafty work on the Dana at lunch hour really works for me. Being in totally different geographic locales, It's easier to keep the editing monster and suck monkey away from the first draftiness, and it's easier to corral them to work when i need them at home.

But I'm considering a few other things, too; between projects, my mind tends to recall and cling to bits from all over in a desperate effort to shake off the last project. because it's *real* easy to end up thinking more about Bird of Dusk. That's what I had my brain trained to do for the last month, after all. So. As good a way to decide as any. Let me know if anything sounds good:

First lines )
lenora_rose: (Gryphon)
Going through Bird of Dusk and cropping things means I'm collecting a 30-off page file of scraps I wanted to save. For no particular reason, here are some of the things I felt I couldn't keep; words for the sake of words, descriptions that went on too long, dialogue that entertained me but didn't move the story, etc.

To save those who are bored by words )
lenora_rose: (Gryphon)
Going through Bird of Dusk and cropping things means I'm collecting a 30-off page file of scraps I wanted to save. For no particular reason, here are some of the things I felt I couldn't keep; words for the sake of words, descriptions that went on too long, dialogue that entertained me but didn't move the story, etc.

To save those who are bored by words )
lenora_rose: (Default)
I'm a little afraid to post this because

A) I feel like I'm crap at poetry, and this (Like the sonnet, which i may one day edit for this reason) is not even an hour old.
B) While the choice to *keep* the word girl was as deliberate as was the choice to drop the word "Oriental" (Because girl has a specific and valid meaning) it might be seen as problematic in itself.
C) Shweta_Naryan, as usual, started the theme (She also caused the sonnet that I did a while back, unwitting), and did a much better job in much less space.
(Read her lovely poem Here. ETA: oops. I failed to notice, in spite of her saying so explicitly, that she's locked it temporarily to give Star*line the chance to respond publicly to a complaint related to the poem she's responding to. I'll make sure to mention it and re-link if she opens it to the public. Because it's so much better than mine.)
D) Not sure if all the formatting will survive lj. (ETA: Yup. All the spacing within the lines went away. Oh, well.)

An Asian girl dances:

In hip-hop clubs
Laughing
Pony-tailed, among friends
Raises her hands in the air.
Like the music tells them all to do.

In the India School of Dance
On St. Mary's Road.
Urged by her mother when she was four,
Still struggling with the perfect precise shapes
her fingers will someday make.

All alone,
Hiding in the basement,
because she loves to wheel and twirl
But her big brother said she looks dumb.
So she hides
For now.
Maybe when she's six
She'll risk the living room again.

At the Ballet
For the first time
A minor part,
Toes taped,
Costumed to look like all the others
Hair bunned
Body aching
Forgetting the audience
Until the applause and the curtseys.
(In a few years,
when she thinks she'll feel like a grown woman,
a real member of the Ballet
Good Enough
Maybe she'll get the lead?)

At a multicultural festival
In the Korean Youth Troupe
Displaying months of effort for strangers
A display indeed,
But no more so (and no less)
than the green-skirted
White-cheeked
Irish girls
Both are watched with bemusement
Amusement
By visitors from Sierra Leone
Viet Nam
Germany
Across the street

Waiting for a bus, earphones on, barely moving.
(But you can guess the beat
if not the style
of the current song
from how she bounces)

At a rave.

On Broadway.

At her boyfriend's party.

In front of cameras.

With her father.

With your daughters.

In daylight.

Out of sight.

In Kyoto

New York

New Delhi

Melbourne

Amsterdam

Morocco

London

Rio de Janeiro

Half a block away,

And for sheer joy.
lenora_rose: (Default)
I'm a little afraid to post this because

A) I feel like I'm crap at poetry, and this (Like the sonnet, which i may one day edit for this reason) is not even an hour old.
B) While the choice to *keep* the word girl was as deliberate as was the choice to drop the word "Oriental" (Because girl has a specific and valid meaning) it might be seen as problematic in itself.
C) Shweta_Naryan, as usual, started the theme (She also caused the sonnet that I did a while back, unwitting), and did a much better job in much less space.
(Read her lovely poem Here. ETA: oops. I failed to notice, in spite of her saying so explicitly, that she's locked it temporarily to give Star*line the chance to respond publicly to a complaint related to the poem she's responding to. I'll make sure to mention it and re-link if she opens it to the public. Because it's so much better than mine.)
D) Not sure if all the formatting will survive lj. (ETA: Yup. All the spacing within the lines went away. Oh, well.)

An Asian girl dances:

In hip-hop clubs
Laughing
Pony-tailed, among friends
Raises her hands in the air.
Like the music tells them all to do.

In the India School of Dance
On St. Mary's Road.
Urged by her mother when she was four,
Still struggling with the perfect precise shapes
her fingers will someday make.

All alone,
Hiding in the basement,
because she loves to wheel and twirl
But her big brother said she looks dumb.
So she hides
For now.
Maybe when she's six
She'll risk the living room again.

At the Ballet
For the first time
A minor part,
Toes taped,
Costumed to look like all the others
Hair bunned
Body aching
Forgetting the audience
Until the applause and the curtseys.
(In a few years,
when she thinks she'll feel like a grown woman,
a real member of the Ballet
Good Enough
Maybe she'll get the lead?)

At a multicultural festival
In the Korean Youth Troupe
Displaying months of effort for strangers
A display indeed,
But no more so (and no less)
than the green-skirted
White-cheeked
Irish girls
Both are watched with bemusement
Amusement
By visitors from Sierra Leone
Viet Nam
Germany
Across the street

Waiting for a bus, earphones on, barely moving.
(But you can guess the beat
if not the style
of the current song
from how she bounces)

At a rave.

On Broadway.

At her boyfriend's party.

In front of cameras.

With her father.

With your daughters.

In daylight.

Out of sight.

In Kyoto

New York

New Delhi

Melbourne

Amsterdam

Morocco

London

Rio de Janeiro

Half a block away,

And for sheer joy.
lenora_rose: (Labyrinth)
(... unless I'm attacked by a wild muse.)


The poems scribed are gifts not meant for me
Most likely I am well beyond the ken
Of artisans who shape with fear or glee
The image sly as fox or shy as wren

Though all seems lost, a pyrrhic war is won
In each creative work grown to a peak
As fairy-ships flee an exploded sun
As scribes in despair, doubt, and anger speak

But unobserved, still moved I come to be
However modest they have deemed their worth
And soon my gifts awake and speak to me
Demanding me to match their doubt and mirth

And pen the answer, broken though it's proved
I owe to those who fear their words unloved

Profile

lenora_rose: (Default)
lenora_rose

May 2017

S M T W T F S
 123456
78910111213
14151617181920
2122232425 2627
28293031   

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jun. 25th, 2017 08:37 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios