Writing Exercise 012

Let's start the new week with a writing exercise, shall we? :D
The prompt was to write a story including dialogue without writing it as dialogue. To me this was quite interesting. Also I challenged myself to make it a four times drabble (exactly 400 words).
Here it is:

2016/02/29 - Write a story that includes dialogue without writing it as dialogue (4 x drabble)

My world is a noisy one.

People are chattering at a nearby café. Music is blaring from an open window. Cars are revving at a traffic light, their horns honking. At a construction site jackhammers are rattling in a fast staccato. The sky is littered with jets, and ship motors are resonating throughout the sea.

Yet while the world is louder than life there is but silence between us. Amidst all this mind-numbing noise you will never hear my voice.

So here you stand before me, staring at me staring at you. Your hands are always so busy; I keep watching them. Your right flaps forward three times, fingers spread; it touches your chin and comes forward with closed fingers, then both your hands come together pointers up and parallel, and you point at me.

I smile for the first time this day, my mouth moves without a sound to be heard. Yet you understand me perfectly. Hello; good to see you, too.

You give me left a thumb-up while your right thumb-up moves as if you want to turn a screw; you point at me again.

I touch my chin and move my hand forward with closed fingers. I'm fine, thank you.

Your fist comes up, thumb grazing your temple then tapping your thumbs-up twice, then you stretch your left arm in front of your chest while your right swings down on it, pointer directing left.

I slap my pointer and middle finger onto the back of my hand. Of course, I remember that day.

We smile, we laugh, we share serious thoughts. My eyes are glued to your soundless words. And you have a lot to say.

You may be deaf, but you sure aren't mute; the silence made you chatty and active instead of bitter and glum. And I enjoy this conversation with you like I always do. Your ever moving hands tell so much of the things you experienced; they are a living book full of new stories. And I gradually learn to read it.

Around us there are people and cars and music and jackhammers, but we don't need to hear to understand each other.

My world may be so loud it hurts sometimes, but with you the white noise is drowning out; because you invite me to your world, which is a peaceful and quiet one. And it's never devoid of love and friendship.

Nice to meet you

If you want to write a story what is most essential, do you think?

Yes, of course you need a coherent plotline, maybe even more of them if you can handle; so the story becomes thicker and more interesting.
And yes, your writing style is also important; if people can't understand your wording they won't read it.

But the name of the game are your characters.
I can't stress how crucial it is to have well developed characters. Because if you do they will almost write the story themselves.

You don't believe that?

It happens to me all the time. Most of the characters I introduce in 'The Untold Stories of Neverbeen Universe' have been with me since 1999 or 2004 respectively. I know them like the back of my hand; I know how they talk, how they behave in any situation, what their dreams and ambitions are, how they came to be, what quirks they have, what their voices sound like, even their smells... Mostly I don't even have to think to know their reaction.
So I just let them deal with the situations in which I throw them or interact with other characters. They will sort it out themselves and everything clicks into place.

But how to get to that point? :o

You probably won't wait as long as I have before you want to introduce your characters to the world; when you want to write a story you write it. Period. So you invent a bunch of characters. At first you might have but a signalment; but that's only the first step.

Next you might want to draw them or have them drawn or find pictures on the internet of how you imagine them to be. It's always good to visualize them. Same goes for voices. Maybe you find a song and think: that's the voice I picture for this particular character. So they seem more alive.

But that's still not enough; you don't know how they might react yet, unless they do. So you might want to prewrite something about them. Be it their backstories (which is always good to have), be it a writing exercise just to get to know them better and develop a feeling for them, be it a different WIP, be it fanfiction with original character insert.
In my case I have a few friends who write pen & paper RPGs with me where I can have my characters interact freely with theirs. Most of these RPGs have been going on for years and they still continue (the earliest date back in 1999 and only two of them are completed). I'm very grateful to my friends; because they helped me get to know my characters in every which way possible.

So maybe you want to try writing pen & paper RPGs, too, but you don't know where to find interested partners? Try me. ;) I'm curious about the people you imagine, and I'm always glad if I can invent new characters that dwell in and enrichen Neverbeen Universe. Besides, RPGs are fun and help improve your writing style, too. :D

And then, suddenly, you will experience it, too: your characters develop a life of their own and do whatever to the plot you outlined and run away with it. Trust your characters; they'll handle it. Then writing becomes so much easier and you don't have to be afraid of the whiteness of a blank page anymore.

Writing Exercise 011

Today is my birthday; and what better way to start the day than with my weekly writing exercise! :D
This time I had to write the same scene from two different perspectives, which is quite an interesting assignement to me. The characters appearing in this story are from Neverbeen Universe, so you also have the chance to get to know them better. But without further ado, here is what I've done with it:

2016/02/24 – write the same scene from two perspectives

After a couple of months he came to the same bar, the bar he used to frequent with his late wife. He would sit in the same booth, order a drink or two, and sip them slowly until the glasses were as empty as the seat beside him and his eyes were full of her.

Another round and he would try to pick up the pieces of his broken heart. His mind was crowded with the memories of a lost past, a lost happiness. He didn't drink to make worse things better, because they wouldn't be and he knew that. But he drank to honour her; in his mind he toasted to her and relived the old days that were as fresh on his mind as the deep wound she had left behind.

He was a weary and wry man now; couldn't even recognize his own face in the reflection of his drink. He just wasn't himself without her; the world passed him by in a blur whereas he had stopped frozen in time. He hadn't been a good father lately, and he was letting his work slide.

A drag from his cigarette; the cold ashes slid down his throat, scratched at the lump that started building up again as his heart constricted.

But then a voice tore through the haze of mourning. “Jack,” the man addressed him and set two drinks in front of him, his favourite cocktail and a cognac. “Good to see you again. I wouldn't have thought you might come in this kind of weather,” he smiled. “Here, this will warm you up.” Outside it was raining cats and dogs, and he would have all but forgotten about the weather if it wasn't for the rain in his heart. Bleary-eyed he looked at the barkeeper, a familiar face, a friendly face. His mind didn't supply a name yet, it was too full with her. So he just nodded and said his thanks.

“You look better today,” the barkeeper observed, “For the past few months you've been so glum.” Glum was an understatement. He felt swamped with the darkness of a broken heart, the roaring emptiness where his wife used to illuminate his world. “I hope I haven't dragged you down with my mood,” he murmured and cast his eyes down at the drinks. He downed the cognac and felt its burn; it dried up the tears that threatened to overwhelm him.

“I simply noticed,” the barkeeper shook his head. His hair was as clover green as his eyes. Clover - Trébol. He remembered. “I see.” Finally he tried the cocktail. It tasted sweet and strong, reminded him of a happiness he once held so dear.

While Trébol excused himself and hurried to the owner of the bar he sipped another slug and let himself be immersed in the warmth the drink elicited. He took a deep breath and felt the hurt subside a little bit. He wasn't tipsy yet, but he felt a bit lightheaded; the kind of lightheaded after having cried too much. Forlornly his gaze hung at Trébol's distant form; yet he stared into the void, saw and didn't see the thunderstorm arising.

Finally he took another breath and stood. With the almost empty glass in hand he moved over to the otherwise crowdless counter and sat on a stool. “Another, please,” he ordered when Trébol was back behind the counter. When the barkeeper smiled at him he somehow managed a lopsided, albeit shaky grin. “How come you swap seats? Not that I mind,” Trébol asked while he fixed him a drink. “Thought I'd keep you company,” he murmured and tentatively added, “You seemed troubled?” He remembered venting his sadness to this very barkeeper all these months, and it seemed Trébol really cared. He was grateful for that. Maybe he could lend an ear in return.

He sighed and hesitated. Right from the moment he entered his eyes lay on the man, who seemed so kindhearted and gentle months ago and now was so broken. There he sat in his usual booth, so forlornly, so lonesome. He knew that a broken heart wouldn't heal so easily, especially if the other half was torn out by death. He felt for Jack, he really did. He would fall again, give up all of his magic, rip out his own heart, if only that brought Jack's happiness back. But there was nothing he could do to bring his wife back from the dead.

Instead he was there, would always be there if only this very regular customer let him. But Jack was caught in the vicious circle of his own crumpled world. Again he sighed; his heart hurt for him. So he took heart and left the counter to serve his regular his favourite drink. Secretly he spiked the cocktail with his own magic; just a little spell to make him feel better. For he would never harm his secret crush.

“Jack,” he tried to catch his attention when he approached his table. “Good to see you again. I wouldn't have thought you might come in this kind of weather,” he smiled gently, “Here, this will warm you up.” With utterly sad eyes the deranged man looked at him; it was heart-rendering and agonizing to see him in this state. How he wished he could make all the sadness go away. “Thank you,” Jack almost whispered.

He sighed and smiled comfortingly. “You look better today,” he noticed and gently added, “For the past few months you've been so glum.” Jack had told him quite a bit what was weighing on the author's mind: about the loss he suffered, about the love he missed and the emptiness that settled instead. “I hope I haven't dragged you down with my mood,” Jack murmured and averted his eyes. It instantly warmed his heart. There was a glimmer of the Jack he had always loved from afar, a sparkle of selflessness and kindness. The Jack he knew would always think of others first. Emotion overwhelmed him, but he wouldn't show more than an honest smile. “I simply noticed,” he thwarted.

“I see,” Jack took the bait; of course he wouldn't catch what wasn't important to him. He was contented to be on the periphery of the author's vision as long as he could watch over him like the guardian angel he would have been had he not fallen. Talking to him was more than a bonus.

“Trébol, come here this instant!” the owner of 'Rakuen' barked however. His boss. Inwardly he sighed. “Excuse me please,” he apologetically smiled at Jack and hurried over there. Talks with his boss were never pleasant and often got out of hand. The darkelf didn't like if he chatted too long with customers, then he didn't like when he paid less attention to persistent customers, and he also didn't like if he thwarted those who were encroaching towards the dancers and singers, not to mention those who tried to hit on him, too. During business hours boss owned his staff as much as he owned the bar.

Still he would do what he felt was right instead of always abiding by his boss's rules. “Don't dilly-dally with that guy; there are other customers who need serving. So go do your damn job, Trébol! You got me?” the darkelf growled. He nodded. “Understood,” he murmured and averted his gaze. He didn't want to get bum rap if he could avoid it. Luckily boss let him off the hook for now and left.

So he returned to the counter. “Another, please,” he was surprised by Jack's presence, and it was a pleasant surprise. Instantly his smile returned and his heart made a little leap when Jack half-grinned back. Of course he fixed him that drink, shook the shaker rhythmically to the music and poured him the cocktail. “How come you swap seats? Not that I mind,” he was curious.

For years Jack had frequented the same booth, mostly with his wife when she still had been alive. Sitting at the counter definitely was new. Maybe the little magic worked better than he would have guessed.

“Thought I'd keep you company,” Jack murmured. His heart took another leap; his smile was genuine. The author finally noticed him; this was also new, and the best surprise to an otherwise shitty day. Jack seemed to have caught onto that also. “You seemed troubled?” he cautiously asked. He blinked and looked at Jack.

“Oh, just the usual,” he thwarted and slightly smiled, “To think you have noticed...” This was too good to be true. He shrugged. “Well, you can't teach an old dog new tricks, right? And this leopard can't change its spots,” he smiled more gently. But Jack surprised him once again: “Why would you want to? I think like this you are the most taking.”

He didn't know if his heart could take any more of these tiny gestures that incited so much hope. But he embraced all of them, all of what Jack had to offer; even if it was unintentional. “Thank you, Jack. I'm really glad,” he told him honestly. The more they talked the more his heart blazed up. Because there was life returning to Jack's eyes, and for a while he seemed to forget about his sadness. And by the end of the day the two of them even became friends.

Who knew what good a well meant little magic could do.

Ready, Set-... Go?

Imagine you have written something, and you think it's pretty neat. :D
What is the next step you take?


Right, you think again.
Because now is where the real work on your draft starts. You will want your writing at your best, won't you? And only the sky is the limit. Therefore there are a few steps you have to take now before you can publish your work; for this is where you polish and polish and polish the raw gem you created until it's so shiny it annoys you.


First you edit yourself; so read your story again. Probably you'll be able to catch some typos and other errors you've missed when writing. This process takes a good eye and patience because spellcheck doesn't get all the mistakes you might have made.


Then you reach out for well meaning beta readers; your friends, your family, your colleagues - whoever is willing to read what your brain spewed out. While they are reading your work for coherency, comprehension and whatever mistakes you have missed during your first round of editing (because there will be some left) you have the time to start over with step one again.
This might sound tedious, which it is, but you will see you will find other things you have overlooked the first time.


Once these beta readers return their results, take a closer look at their comments. What did they find good, what did they find confusing? What are their impressions and associations? Are there plotholes? Don't feel beaten down or ignore them so easily. Because they want to help you; they are your friends and family.


Based on their find you can now improve your work. Make amends where necessary or decide on a rewrite alltogether depending on the gravity of what needs to be done. This decision might be hard, but it'll be worth it. Make our story shine!


Now the process starts over again, this time with beta readers and editors you're not personally close - ideally they are people who also write; they won't spare your feelings or gloze over then. Which is a good thing. You'll get honest responses, and good input. On which you can again base your amends when they are done.


In the meantime you let your story sit for a while; do something completely different, tend to other WIPs or take a break from writing or whatever. The goal is to forget about what you have written there, so you can start fresh when you resume editing one or two months later. Because then you will see your story with different eyes.


But the opera isn't over until the fat lady sings.
Editing is repetitive and takes a lot of time. By the end of it you will have read and edited your story so often you might get fed up with it. It might be frustrating and nerve wrecking, but don't loose heart. Finally you will have your manuscript ready for publishing - regardless of which way you want to go about it, traditionally or DIY.


And don't forget about those who helped and supported you in the process; because they also made your book possible. Maybe a small note in your acknowledgements will be enough? ;)

Secret Lake

So my speed-painting series continues. This one is called 'Secret Lake'. Again I had one hour to paint this 40 x 40 cm² canvas with acrylic. It was a birthday gift for my father, so I don't have it anymore. But it follows the topic of the other paintings and also belongs with this series.

Writing Exercise 010

Of course there is a writing exercise even though I was gone.
This exercise is song related; I had to pick a song and write whatever came to mind. But when the song stopped writing time was over.
I chose  "The Bard's Song"  randomly from my current playlist, listened to it once, then hit repeat and started writing. I'm not a very fast writer, though, so the result is a bit less than a double-drabble. But here it is:

2016/02/17 - pick a song and write what comes to mind until the song is over (The Bard's Song by Blind Guardian, performed by Van Canto)

He stands on a table in a tavern; all eyes are on him. “One more song,” the small crowd cheers, “one more song.” His eyes travel through the taproom; most people are gathering around the table where he is, but a few guests remain seated. He knows he has caught everyone's attention, though; his magic has made sure of that. Even the one, who he more than everyone else wants to listen, can't escape his voice. This, however, will be his last song for tonight, so he wants to do something special. When he starts singing he steps off the table and wanders the room, seemingly aimlessly, but with a definite route known only to him. A route to that special someone's heart. “There's only one song,” he sings when he is near the one, whispers in their ear, “-left- in my mind...” From the corner of his eye he sees them hide a smirk; only the two of them know the hidden meaning as he continues back to the table. Later they will secretly meet up.

Long Time no See!

Have you missed me yet? :o


Obviously I've been neglecting my dear little blog for a few days. And if I said I was terribly sorry for that... that wouldn't be exactly true. XD
You see, I was visiting my dear friend and RPG partner over Valentine's and I hadn't seen her since last year. So we've practically been hanging out, watching movies, playing video games, you name it. We had a whole lot of fun.


But! Here is what's so awesome and why I'm not really sorry I missed you guys: she gave me an amazing belated Christmas gift. A handmade notebook filled with various writing prompts either in word or picture. :D
I'm totally over the moon, and I've already started writing a story using those prompts. So I have a new WIP and continued writing exercise filled with all the characters from Neverbeen Universe all at once. I'm so excited.


Sixteen pages have already been filled, and I have a small handwriting.
When the notebook is done and the story told, this will be my gift to her in turn.


I've made a few snapshots of those writing promts for you. And maybe you'll see why I'm so excited about it?

Writing Exercise 009

It's time for my weekly writing exercise again! :D
There was a quote given this time, and I decided to do a double-drabble (exactly 200 words). It turned out rather dark; but I hope you like it still.

2016/02/09 - "An unfed mind devours itself." --Gore Vidal (Double-drabble)

Eyes staring bleakly into the darkness; until the darkness is so bored it stares back. There is no telling time in the confinement of a mind. Yet the clock is tick-tocking, tick-tocking. Its unnerving sound resonates in through one ear, echoes inside the skull, and goes out the other. No reaction; and why should there be? 

Inside is so much turmoil the body has gone deaf to the world, paralyzed and shrouded in the blackness of night. Bottomless abysses yawn open their maws, suck in hurricanes of an agony only known to the mind. Maelstroms, waterfall currents sweep away any hope for tomorrow; sloshing tsunamis of darkness crush what is left of sanity. It breaks into thousands of shards, adamantinely sharp and potent of making the mind bleed. And bleed it wants; just to feel anything but this mind-numbing agony. Silent screams roar through the darkness. But silence itself is even louder. 

The neverending nightmares were gentler, but this mind can sleep no more; it is wide awake, caught in its even more nightmarish vicious circle of agony. It is all alone, and will ever be. 

Finally silence reigns in a lazy mind; no thought, no will, no thrive forever.

Contemporary Coincidents

Before I began doing weekly writing exercises there was a story that turned from an exercise into a WIP. Which means it might become a whole novel one day. Therefore, unlike the other exercises, this story isn't finished yet.
And it is quite special to me aside from being out of my comfort zone.


In this short vlog I introduce this very story and tell you why I'm so excited about it.

Cookies! :D

Last month I showed you one of my stories that I've turned into visual novels. And I hope you liked what you saw.
Well, I made another playthrough video. :D


This time you get to meet two other inhabitants of 'Neverbeen Universe'. The recording is a bit longer than last time, but hopefully in better quality.
Again you can read the story traditionally on AO3:
http://archiveofourown.org/works/5183978


Otherwise have fun watching. And tell me what you think of it. :D

In Waves

So this is number three of my speed-painting series. It's called 'In Waves'. Again I used acrylic on a 40 x 40 cm² canvas, and again I completed in one hour tops.
You can see the topic slightly changes with every picture, going from a snowy forest to snowy mountains and a lake to this raging sea. Yet the colour theme stays, and there are connections between those works.

Writing Exercise 008

Ah, February. My favourite month of the year. ;)
And what better way to begin the new month with a new writing exercise! This time the story is about first impressions. Let's see what your first impressions of my exercise are, shall we? :D

2016/02/01 – first impressions

It was a rainy Saturday evening in July. She borded the tube at the main station and sat at one of the windows. The carriage was empty safe for a few shady guys, so she kept her luggage close. Usually around this time she would be at home cramming for the upcoming exams, writing stories or playing browser games.

But it was her friend's birthday party. So she coped with two hours of train ride to a place she didn't know to meet lots of strangers. She felt awkward with all these uncertainties; for her pal she would endure though. Her friend had said to meet up at the last but one station, so they could go together to the student boarding house where the party would take place.

So far, so good.

But then she received a phone call. “I'm sorry,” her friend began. “I can't pick you up,” she continued, “but a friend, who lives at the same boarding house, is going to get you and some of the others at the main station.”

“But I'm already on my way to you; I'm almost there.” She could have facepalmed.

Her friend thought for a moment, then decided: “Alright. Get off at the station where we should have met and wait there. My friend, we call him Lisa, will pick you up there.”

She sighed. “Okay,” she bravely said and swiftly took a glance around, “how do I recognize him?” “Oh, you can't miss him; he's tall with long dark hair and a beard,” her friend told her. "Okay,” she repeated slowly. “See you then.”

'I'll be fine,' she thought in an attempt to calm herself. 'I'll be fine.'

However two guys suddenly sat opposite her and eyed her curiously, then tried to chat her up. “I'm going to meet my friend,” she told them to fend them off. “Yeah, we're meeting up, too,” they answered with a grin. She gripped her luggage for the weekend, hugged it closer, and waited for them to leave. But they wouldn't. Everyone else got out eventually, but they stayed. And when she exited on the last but one stop, they did too.

The track was deserted; no 'Lisa' in sight. So she went down to the street and looked for a guy who might be looking for her, just to get away from these two men. But there was none either.

After a few minutes she went back up to the track, where she could take shelter from the rain. However there still were those shady guys lurking.

'Just my luck.'

She felt quite uneasy, but she wouldn't show it. Yet the wildest scenarios ran through her head; and none of them had a happy ending.

The two of them slowly approached.

Another tube was arriving, and so was a tall and stern looking figure in the rain. He had a beard and long brunette hair, and he was wearing glasses; going by his appearance he was the spitting image of a nerd or a metal fan or both. And he was towering those guys by a head.

'Please let it be him,' she thought. So she braced up and asked: “Are you Lisa?”

He stopped and eyed her. Her heart beat like a drum, thought she might have offended a stanger and embarrassed herself. Suddenly he cracked a smile. “Haha, you could very well say that.” Of course it wasn't his real name, but that didn't matter right now. What mattered was that he was here to get her out of this rain and away from these guys.

'My saviour!' Relief spread through her entire body. So she held out her hand and he shook it. Though she would have liked to hug him for good measure.

From the corner of her eye she saw the two guys stop and stare, then they borded the tube back to the main station. Lisa and she waited for another guest, then the three of them drove to the party. It was already started and the room was crowded with about twenty people she didn't know. Her friend was busy, so she sat at the bar and chatted with the other guest who had arrived with her and Lisa, and they drank together.

Then everyone congregated and gave their gifts to her friend and another one who also had had birthday.

She didn't have anything for the second host; but then again she didn't know. Still she didn't have anything for her friend either. So when she was empty-handed at that party she felt a bit bad about it. Despite she had already given her present to her friend on her actual birthday. She still felt bad regardless.

After all the congratulations the party games began.

First she joined the group that played 'Werewolves'. After a couple of rounds, where her roles were either Amor or Werewolf, she saw 'Lisa' playing foosball against Pi, her friend's crush. So she grabbed her friend and steered her to the foosball table. “Let's play two against two,” she suggested even though she was bad at that game. They paired up, boys against girls at first. Luckily her friend was quite good, so they didn't loose as badly.

But after two rounds Pi and her friend left to talk, whereas she and Lisa remained.

“One more time?” she asked hopefully.

“Okay,” he said and threw the ball in. Again they played and they were almost evenly matched. “One more time?” she kept asking, and he kept agreeing. Although they both were not quite fond of foosball. It was much better than binging though. Besides she wanted to continue spending time with him; he was the second one she got to know of these strange people after all. And he was surprisingly delightful company, even though there was not much to talk yet.

The party continued well until the early hours of the next day. And while Lisa and the second host went to their respective one-room-appartments, most of the guests unfolded their sleeping bags and camping mats in the party room. She was fortunate enough to fit on the tiny couch. But she didn't sleep at all. The previous evening was on her mind all this time. 

Luckily the night was short, and when everybody rose from their beds for the night she joined them for a leftover breakfast. But there was neither coffee nor tea that would have helped her tide over her tiredness and the forming headache resulting thereof.

“I might have some,” Lisa offered. He wore the same green shirt and fawn trousers as the day before, but they all looked worse for the wear anyways. She smiled hopefully: “Really?”

She followed him away from the party room and into his appartment, where he rummaged for a tea bag and a cup. Then he turned the water boiler on. The room was pretty crammed and a bit chaotic, but that was to be expected when you lived in a student boarding house. “Here you go,” he poured her a cup. “Thanks. You just saved my day,” she beamed wholeheartedly and cradled her cup. Her heart was thrumming happily.

Together they returned to the others; apparently their absence hadn't been noticed.

After cake and muffins for breakfast the group parted ways. She hefted her luggage and Lisa drove her and two others to the main station, kind as he was. She smiled to herself. “Thank you for taking me-...us,” she said when it was time to part ways. “You're welcome,” Lisa politely said and waved.

On her way home she thought about the many impressions she had of that party; and those thoughts stayed with her until the early evening when she fell into bed like a freshly felled tree. 'He was so nice,' she remembered fondly.

On Monday they sat at the lecture theatre listening to their professor. She secretly nudged her friend. “Hey,” she whispered, “Lisa surely has a girlfriend, hasn't he?” Her friend stared, and she felt the heat rising to her cheeks. “Eh? Not that I know of,” she answered. She couldn't help smiling, but the blush felt like it was spreading. “Can I get his number then?”

“Whaaaat?” her friend grinned, “That's so sweet. I hope it works out for you.” She nodded and thought to herself: 'I just hope I left a good first impression at all. He sure did, that perfect hunk.'