#startwiththis

[landofthelotophagi]

Assignment #1 of Start with This http://www.nightvalepresents.com/startwiththis

1 hour writing sketch, posted unedited after 1 hour is complete.

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"Look at you, sitting here drinking coffee like a psychopath." A body slid into the seat across from here, and Alice looked up into a familiar smiling face. Was it cliche to say she did a double take? It felt like she did a double take, and a small smile slid into place to match the warm feeling rising through her.

"It's hot chocolate, actually."

"Oh, hot chocolate! I take it back! Perfectly normal to be doing nothing but drinking hot chocolate in a coffee shop. You're not even wearing headphones, you crazy."

Was this flirting? Alice has been replaying the minute long interaction in the post office for the past week, trying to determine if it had been flirting back then. Now Post Office Girl was sitting in front of her, and she was beginning to think it was. She...she could flirt. Right? Alice was perfectly capable of flirting. It was normal and she could do the normal thing.

"I've found that cute girls from the post office don't normally stop and chat with people wearing headphones." See? Perfectly good flirting.

"Do you try to pick up girls from the post office often?" There was a laugh in P.O.G.'s words, and Alice ducked her head looking at the disintegrating whipped cream on her hot chocolate. At the chapstick marks on the lip of the mug.

"No," Alive said, speaking as if not to frighten the drink in her hand. "I don't. I don't normally do...things."

"Like drinking hot chocolate alone in a coffee shop?" If Alice had gotten shy in that moment, P.O.G. took it in stride, for which Alice was grateful. No, sitting alone in coffee shops was something she did frequently, though normally she had a book in front of her. Today her book sat closed at her side. Would it be weird if this girl knew Alice had been thinking about their interaction a week earlier? About a smile and the way that smile formed around the word "lovely?" Had anyone ever called her lovely before? Not...not like that. Not while in yoga pants and a hoodie, running errands. Had P.O.G been teasing? It didn't sound like teasing. It hadn't….felt like tessing.

God, how starved for attention was she that one stupid word, one short interaction could dominate her thoughts for days? And here she was now. Was she sure P.O.G. was real? Maybe she should pinch herself.

"I'm Evelyn, by the way," said Post Office Girl, as if breaking silences was the most natural thing for her in the world. "Evie."

"Alice," said Alice. And if it was a little too quick, well at least P.O.G. … Evie. Evie's smile was back at full wattage. "I'm Alice."

"Alice," repeated Evie, and Alice loved the way her name rolled off her tongue, like she was tasting it.

"Yeah." Such an inadequate response, and Alice found the silence returning.

"Well," Evie said, pushing up from the table. "Gotta run! It was lovely seeing you again, Alice." After a slight hesitation, she started toward the door. 

"Wait," Alice whispered. What had just happened? Shed just been talking to P.O.G… Evie, and now she was sitting alone. It never went this way in her head. In her head, she was charming and funny and P.O.G hung on her words and beamed at her, and maybe even kissed her. But this wasn't her head and now, put out by her silence, Evie was leaving. 

"Evie," Alice said, chair scraping against the floor, drawing annoyed glances from a study group not fair away. "Wait!"

Evie turned around, eyebrows raised as Alice caught up to her.

"I...um. I don't want to be one of those creepy people." The confusion on Evie's face made Alice continue in a rush. "I don't want to be that person who knows where the pretty girl she likes works and just shows up to buy stamps she doesnt need so that she'll smile at her and have to be nice to her because shes at work, but ultimately it's just creepy." Alice paused for breath, not sure if that cleared anything up. 

"I only needed one stamp." Alice added, breathless, becoming aware that she'd captured the attention of more than just Evie and the study group. She could almost forget all those eyes when Evie's mouth quirked up into a smirk.

"I think you should give me your number. Then, when I contact you, you'll know for certain there was no creeperness involved."

"O...ok." Alice turned and rummaged through her bag until fingers brushed against an old Sharpie. She'd recently purged the hoard receipts that normally lived there and after a moment of panic, she reached out and scrawled her number on the cardboard ring of Evie's coffee. Pausing, she then followed the number with a quick A. underneath the line of numbers. Just in case.

Pulling back, Alice met Evie's warm brown eyes and smiled. They grinned at each other until a hurried patron pushed past them, entering the shop.

"I do have to be going," Evie said, turning toward the door.

"Ok."

"Hope to see you soon," she said, raising her cup, where Alice's number stood out, bold against the paper. 

Alice gave a quick nod, and Evie left the shop with a chuckle. Did it sound knowing to Alice? Did it really matter if it did?

[cakerybakery]

One hour draft

I’ve started listening to ‘Start With This’ a podcast put out by Jeffrey Cranor and Joseph Fink (Welcome to Night Vale) and they give you assignments.

The first episode is ‘Idea to Execution’ and the first assignment was to pick an idea you’ve had, spend an hour working on it. That’s your first draft at that idea. And then you put it out into the world.

So one hour first draft of a story I’ve mainly just mulling around on.

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As the approached the gates her grandfather stopped the car, "We'll walk from here."

Beyond the ornate gates of black metal all Emily could see was a narrow dirt path.

The driver slowed to a stop and as he stared agape at the path, her grandfather opened his own door and got out. "Wait in the village. I'll send for you when Emily is settled in."

Emily dragged her suitcases from the backseat to the gate. Had she known they would be walking all that way she would have packed less.

"Are you sure?" The driver paled at the idea of letting an elderly man and young girl struggle to carry her bags alone for such a distance. "I can--"

Her grandfather held up a hand and the driver fell silent, "It will be okay. It's not nearly as far as it looks."

They awaited until the car curved around the bend in the woods before her grandfather gave Emily a wide smile and wink, "Now then. Give the gate your acceptance letter or it will be a long look."

"My letter?"

Emily thought perhaps it was one of her grandfather's little pranks. Like finding a toy frog in her teapot or when he pulls a something out silly from behind her ear. He had the same sort of twinkle in his eyes but she couldn't be sure.

She opened her messenger bag and pulled out the letter. The parchment had been sealed with wax and addressed to her special. The looping letters spelling out her name and grandparent's address.

Running her fingers over the words she sighed. If there was a prank there was nothing to do but wait to see what happened.

Leaving the suitcases she held out her acceptance letter.

Chimes drifted across the estate and the gates opened before them.

Emily stepped back, not believing what she was seeing. Instead of the empty manicured lawn and dirt path, the school loomed over them.

Ivy covered the red brick walls and in the windows she could just make out people.

"Set your bags down just inside the gate here, dear." Her grandfather tapped the cobblestone passed the boarder with his cane.

"Yes, grandfather!" She squeaked. Emily had forgotten all about her stuff, too distracted by a building appearing out of thin air.

She dragged each case one by one while wishing she'd brought fewer of her favourite things, to just beyond the boarder wall. Placing the last one down she sighed with relief and leaned on the pile.

"Pardon me, young miss. We'll get that for you."

Emily jumped back as the bags began to float up. Her hair and skirt swirled as her bags zipped away on the wind.

As she stared after her luggage her grandfather laughed. "I should have warned you, but I doubt you would have believed me. Most people don't believe in wind spirits these days. Don't worry, they'll take your things to your dorm."

She was a firm believer in science not fairy tales but it was hard to discount what she'd just seen. Or didn't just see, Emily considered to herself. After all she hadn't seen anything.

"What kind of place is this, Grandfather?"

----

[cloudydreamforecast]

Collaboration with Tanner

The fog hangs heavy and ominous above the rooftops, the streetlights dimly casting their yellow glow. The only other source of light is the match I strike, followed by the burning end of a freshly rolled cigarette pinched just so between my unshaven lips -and a big bright, almost-full-moon playfully peeking over the dense, black clouds like a mischievous celestial deity just waiting to see the next mortal mishap down below. Apart from the sound of my footfalls, the stone street is so quiet it makes my stomach turn and my mind wander. But just before I start to dissociate, I'm suddenly shocked back to reality by an absurdly putrid stench, like death, rot and bile, all at once; I must be very close to finding what I came here for. The road abruptly becomes a dead end, seemingly out of nowhere, and the facade of a grand mausoleum looms over me, the odor growing stronger and stronger.

I shuffle languidly across the threshold, then stop to greet a lone, entirely black kitten, whom conversely passes me by entirely. Without a sound, the cat slinks past me, showing it's prideful tail as if out of spite, and disappears into the pitch black corridor. I stay planted where I am for a moment, steeling myself for whatever cesspool of inhumanity I'm about to enter. 

"Saints above and sinners below, protect me and guide me, through the ethereal glow."

I recite the secret, sacred prayer passed down among those few lone practitioners of one of the most ancient human creeds, known only to a handful of living beings as, "The Shadow of Light".

I strike another match, the phosphorus filling my nostrils, to light the lantern hanging from my bag and descend down the cold marble steps.

[penelopeclearwat3r]

Start With This – Create Assignment, Solution #1

"Idea to Execution"

Assignment:

Pick an idea that you’ve had for a while. Take exactly 1 hour to work on it exclusively. This can be one continuous hour, or 30 minutes for two days, or 10 minutes for six days. Then put it out there (written or recorded) on our Membership Community, your website, or shout it to a bird from your porch. Consider this your first try of many at this idea.

Author's Note:

This piece comes from a character I've had in my head for LITERAL YEARS. I could never get the right story for him. I'm not going to say this is perfect or I've finally found my perfect opening scene for the character, but this does feel like a genuinely good representation of what's been cooking away in my brain for years. Or at least it hits all the right notes. I'm so glad I chose to START With This! Hopefully I can keep it consistent. Feel free to ask questions or drop comments! Liking and reblogging is encouraged. Please do not repost. Thanks in advance.

Solution:

Afraz Awakens

The room was blue.

It was blue, in both the senses of the word.

A ruffled young man sat on the edge of a bed whose covers were like the waves of the ocean – they were undone, white as the foam on a crest and, most of all, they were easy to be drowned in. Afraz sat, a figure reminiscent of one lost at sea and without much hope of ever finding land again.

His hair took on the majority of the ruffle, sitting atop his head, a crown of despair. He slowly blinked his blank dark eyes, staring at nothing. He had a long, not unhandsome face and a very light stubble. His thin white shirt was old and faded, and his sweatpants had not been changed for days.

Such was his folded figure, elbows on knees, listless, in a blue bedroom.

The rest of the space was full of dust mites catching the Saturday late afternoon light from the window. Books were littered on the desk to his right and some more lay on the floor, among some socks.

Afraz breathed in a deep, slow breath, straightening his back gently. He knew this: he was alive. And he knew that was supposed to be some kind of silver lining. He confessed to himself, he couldn't really see it.

Sleep. That was his solution. These days, whenever he felt the despair returning, he would come to his welcoming bedspread and bury himself in its embrace. This had worked for a decent while. But now he had run out of slumber. There comes a point when you have slept so much that sleep itself rejects you, and you are forced to turn, dazedly, to the face of the day, and actually earn your escape… by creating a life to escape from. Why did he have to do that? Why couldn't he be passive to his existence? Why couldn't he refuse?

There was a shadow in his blue walls, a fluttering shape that was gone the moment he noticed it. His eyes flickered towards it.

Knowing he would regret it, Afraz shifted his weight onto his feet. For a second his vision winked away. He knew he probably needed to eat. Still, ignoring it all, he stepped across to the open window, seeing a bright pink diamond floating by it.

'Hey, Afraz!' came a cheerful voice. She had a twinkle in her eye as she tugged on the string to manipulate the kite until it was close enough for Afraz to grab on to. Her giggles laced the air and made his head ache. He was about to leave Zinat to her little games and go back inside when she called out again.

'Wait! Afraz.' She snatched at the string as the kite nearly dropped on to the road, and relaxed her hand as it caught a steady breeze cutting between them. Then she stared right at him.

Zinat was a child, at least to him, and she was wearing dusty denim dungarees. Clearly she was out to play and had no reason to be in his neighbourhood, nor to look as worried as she suddenly did. Unless he looked particularly scary…

'Apa wrote to you. And it's none of my business, I'm only ten, I know,' she adopted a strident, annoyed voice for her next bit, 'Go sit in your tuitions and stop meddling with my life! – I know you usually say that. But… like…' The twinkle was now clouded over by doubt as she struggled to keep to the point. 'Did you read it?'

He broke eye contact and glanced at the sky, to which she immediately said, 'Oh, you're rolling your eyes. Hah. Of course you read it, silly me. Sorry for even asking. I'll stop bothering you.'

She let her bright pink kite fall gently to the white stone pavement and looked at Afraz for, he knew she felt, the final time. Then she said, 'She's really very sorry, you know. About everything that happened. And maybe you're handling it okay on your own but, well… She misses you.'

He still said nothing. He had nothing to say. So, dragging her once airborne paper kite along the ground, she walked away.

Afraz stared at that kite for a long while, then saw it in his mind's eye when it disappeared from view. At some deeper level he felt for that kite. He knew what it was like, being scratched in the dirt after flight.

He hadn't read it. In fact he didn't know what had been written to him or when. He did know he had a pile of unread mail sitting in an untidy heap downstairs…

He marvelled at the comment of her missing him. It seemed not to fit in with any of his life anymore. A few months ago he would have grown soft at the mere suggestion of such a sentiment. At the moment, he didn't have the capacity to do or feel anything. His energy was busy reigning in the more unpleasant detours of his wild train of thought.

He walked away from the window, from the kite, from the after-image of Zinat's worried face. None of it was her fault. He should have said something. But then, she had her parents with her, and of course, her Apa, her older sister. She could easily find support for her scars. Whereas he had no one.

He placed a hand on the doorknob, thinking longingly of instant noodles.

For the first time in days, Afraz smiled. It was a shockingly toothy smile and made him look slightly evil.

He must be really starving, he had reflected, to actually be pining for instant noodles!

Shaking his head at how his sense of humour had actually hit a new low, he unlocked the door and left the silent, blue room.

[kameraoke]

Acta non Verba

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/08/15/opinion/addiction-harm-reduction.html?referringSource=articleShare&utm_source=pocket_mylist

[panderghast]

This is my submission for Ep. 1

It requires me to write a short piece (about 2 minutes), record it and ask for feedback.

So I would appreciate your feedback on my first submission for this exercise.

[lillianfromaccounting]

I listened to this podcast the other day and it was very inspiration and supportive for creating.

[imtryingvhard]

Song 2, works better than "days" I guess. Still trying to play while singing as best I can... work in progress.

#fiveforfighting #superman #sing #piano #learning #startwiththis

[penelopeclearwat3r]

So I've decided I'm going to follow the Start With This podcast.

And I will be posting everything I write for the Create assignment on this blog.

I've made far too many excuses for far too long.

No more hiding. I'm gonna do this. I'm going to write.

Every other day I will be posting what I wrote for the assignments, starting at episode 1. Until I catch up with them. That's right. Every. Other. Day.

I'm going to write about an idea I've had forEEEVER but never got around to writing consistently.

Stay tuned for Start With This episode 1 assignment soon.

Tags will be #startwiththis #pennywrites #swt #swt1

I am going to write.

[pixelatedgeek]

Happy 4th of July! While you’re waiting for the fireworks, listen in as the twins recap the first episode of #StartWithThis and discuss the art of writing a story no one will ever hear BECAUSE YOU DESTROYED IT. ON PURPOSE.

[mingoboys]

Tweeted

The latest Mingo Boys Nerdstuff News! https://t.co/XhhX2lj0PM Thanks to @StartWithThis @FNGRGNS @AntDaGamer #gaming #videogames

— Mingo (@MBNerdStuff) March 26, 2019