Spring Writing Gala~Day 9

I was doing so well for a while. Now i am late again, and for the last day to boot. Mmmm, never mind, I did this on purpose, for I much prefer days that end with 5 or 0 so as to be divisable by 5. (I do not know why, but I have always loved 5's. In fact, 25, which is the square number of 5.) Therefore, I decided to end on a day which was divisable by 5, since that makes it feel better somehow. It gives this so much more closer then ending on the 11th. And while I also find prime numbers interesting, they irritate me as well, so I would have felt disatified ending there. (No offence to you Megan. You may very well find prime numbers relaxing...or you are not as crazy as I am and the number of the day you end on would have no effect onnyou whatsoever.)

Anyhoooooo.....

Back to the post! Day 9 is an easy one, simply write. (Mmmm, not sure if I can do that.....)

This is an excerpt from the novel I am working on right now, called Beyond Happily Ever After.


"Oh," Marian said, for some reason feeling a deep sense of disappointment, "I will try to remember."


Derek smiled at Marian. "There you go, better alre dy wi d "

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Wait, what's, what's happening? Ow, it was going so well, I wasn't even really trying. The story was just coming. Ow, why does my head hurt so muc?. Ugh, my fingers are suddenly stiff. Good thing I can go back and correct my mistakes, otherwise this paragraf would be full of misstaks. Still, it is so odd, I can't explain it.


Ow.


I should just stop. There really is no need for going on. I will just be submitting the fairytale anyway, no need to finish it. Besides, already I have fallen into a fairytale cliché. But…then again. It did just seem to flow out of me. Honestly, I'm really interested in it now. But I have such a huge metal block right now. Before it was like a saw it all so clearly, but now it is almost unnatural how hard it is to write anything. Wait, I'll be back in a moment.


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Okay, I'm back. I grabbed myself some chai tea and some and a grilled peanut and jelly sandwich made with Killer bread. (Really, the band name is Dave's Killer Bread. It is the best bread in the UNIVRSE. Seriously. Get on your computer, go to www.daveskillerbread.com find a store that sells it, [or if there are no stores which carry Dave's Killer Bread near you, you can order it.] This snack should help me fight against writer's block.)


l


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Aaaaaaaand…nothing. I have a vague impression of a lot of old people sitting in a room…..

"Old? We are not old!"

What was that? Oh, heeelllllllo what is this? Wow, it's not every day images I make up are so clear. Seriously. It feels like I can almost touch this scene inside my head, and it came from nowhere. It is an old battered room, there is just enough room for a table and for nine people to sit at it. It's a triangle , and there are three people at each edge. The walls have some sort of weird wall paper, or they're molding. No, wait, they are bookshelves. The whole walls from top to bottom are made of book shelves. There are no doors. Only book shelves and the ceiling. Oh! There is no ceiling. The books shelves just go up forever and ever.


The lady I think I thought actually talked, (but that's crazy) looks in her thirties from far away, but close up she is at least sixty. The makeup is literally layered on her face, filling up her wrinkles, cracking in spots and shifting around her eyes. Her hair is obviously died, considering natural hair does not come in that shade of…of lavender.


Now she seems to be giving me the stink eye. Ignoring her now. I need to look at the others sitting around the table. After all, the image is remarkably clear and it would be a shame to waste it. I can keep this scene in la-la land until I find a suitable story to find it in.

"You will do no such thing."

That was a man. Younger, than the lady, perhaps forties? No older than forty-eight, yet he is bald. Shiny head. And, oddly reminiscent of the sixties. Are those bell bottoms? And they're kaki.

"You shouldn't even be here."

I'm confused. It's almost like I don't have any control to what happens.

"This is because you don't," the sixties man says, sitting back down in his chair with a sigh. "And would you stop narrating everything I do. It's annoying."