A clumsy attempt at writing, including G.O.T. 2017 and Prep NaNoWriMo 2019
A blog on my personal writing process. Just random thoughts, notes, and other stuff. Don’t know yet what that will be like. Am exploring possibilities and pulse towards an unknown future. Let’s find out!|
"Game of Thrones" 2017
"October NaNoWriMo Prep Challenge" 2019
|This is my journal. I will write my story so I cannot forget what my goal was from the start. Things have changed considerably, but I am still positive everything will work out for the better.
Keep alert, keep alive, keep focused! I keep repeating this mantra to myself all day for several days now.
I was closing in on my goal, which was marrying a real Thai Princess.
I am but an ordinary Dutch guy, but my aim in life is to have a real good life where I don’t have to work that hard to accomplish things. So, marrying a real princess and becoming part of a royal Asian family comes pretty close.
But let me start at the beginning.
I went to Thailand as an exchange student and a model, like a lot of guys. To learn about other cultures, make money and have a real good time.
I wasn’t doing all that bad, really, when I read about this Thai sultanate with an eligible daughter. That’s when it hit me. If I could only meet this young woman and become friends with her, I might have a chance to win her over and be a prince in my own right.
Some would consider this scheming and foul play because they have this preconception of romantic love that is only working if you meet by chance, but I say no…a prearranged marriage is also something they did for centuries and it worked as good or as bad as the so called free marriages. Why not plan this one out and see what the result is?
So I waited for a chance to meet this girl who was a student herself.
Because of my good looks, I am a visitor at a lot of parties in high society Thailand and one night it was bingo. Somebody introduced me to Layla, the Thai princess who was living anonymously and quietly in the city of Bangkok.
I immediately recognized her and staged my introduction in such a way that it looked like I didn’t know who she was. From then on it was easy, because she was a lovely and interesting young woman. I didn’t have to fake anything, I really liked her from the start.
We began meeting every weekend and soon we kissed, fondled and became boyfriend and girlfriend. She was very open about her family and where she came from. It was understood from the start that if things worked out well for us, we would have to marry because living together was not done in her circles. I obliged of course, as a Dutch guy with a good Dutch upbringing, I only was happy that everything worked according to plan.
So we had this really exceptional royal wedding. There were a lot of guests from abroad, an international wedding. We were dressed in traditional clothing. We looked real good!
We were happy.
So far so good.
But then I made my first mistake. I became greedy.
I wanted more money and more wealth that belongs to the really rich. A sultanate has its own benefits which come with the title and the grounds, but it's more the name and the history than anything else.
We weren’t poor, but we were not filthy rich either. And I wanted filthy rich!
So, I had to adjust the plan. Not only did I marry my princess, I wanted to have my own money as well.
And the drug scene could do the trick, I thought.
So I began to import and export high-quality cocaine from Thailand to the Netherlands. Amsterdam is a haven for drug users and a good route to the rest of Europe.
I set up a business like an ordinary business with a plan, worksheets, and my own accountant, leaving nothing to chance.
So I gathered.
Till one day the police dragged me out of my bed and put me into a Thai jail cell. The charges were unusual high: they wanted to make an example out of me. Fifty years imprisonment is what I am facing.
So now I am sitting in my cell, murmuring my mantra over and over, again: Keep alert, keep alive, keep focused!
The only good thing is that my wife is visiting every day. I hope she will continue to do so, without her I am lost.
Phase three of my plan will be to escape this prison and flee to the Netherlands. I have friends there who will hide me for a couple of months in order to go to a country I cannot get expedited from.
I am still working on that one.
Because of my high status, I am reasonably comfortable here. I meditate a lot, do my usual push-ups to keep fit and have enough money to bribe the guards and to keep other inmates at a distance.
But the thing I miss most is my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. As a prince I could import it from Europe, as an inmate I lack it. It’s what makes my stay here uncomfortable.
But I don’t think you would understand that.
Am I losing it?
I feel more uncomfortable lately, the other inmates look at me funny. It’s been a while since my wife has visited me. I am feeling all alone and I don’t know how to execute my plan to escape. I am at a loss here.
The second mistake is I told an inmate that I am a Prince. He was very interested of course. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him. Perhaps I have endangered myself. There is a lot of poverty in here, they don’t like royalty much.
The lights are out, I cannot write anymore.
NEWS ALERT BANGKOK.
In a cell in the county jail of Bangkok, Thailand, they found the body of Prince M.K. from the Netherlands. The Prince who was jailed because of his involvement in manufacturing and selling hard drugs was sentenced to fifty years imprisonment.
He was stabbed to death. An inquiry is on the way. The Sultanate is not available for comment.
Prompt: Facebook message: Dutch guy marries Thai Princess.
|Not to boast or anything, but I am a very popular guy at my school and beyond. It’s not so much that I care or do a lot to accomplish popularity but I am. People find me a nice and friendly guy, which I think I am, and they like me for it.
As I am a poet and very busy on social media like Facebook and Twitter I have 500 followers, which is a lot in my book. I also have a lot of close friends at school, I am a lucky guy I guess.
This time I was in the library all afternoon and a girl caught my eye. She was tanned, with beautiful long black hair and a really nice face. I was watching her, wondering why I hadn’t noticed her before.
She looked kind of sad, which caught my attention.
So, when she left her books and stuff at the desk to leave for a short break to go to the toilet, I silently went over to her desk to figure out what’s she’d be doing, which books she was interested in, mainly to satisfy my curiosity.
There was an open journal on the table. It said: Today was my birthday. No one showed up.
I looked at it again, it shook me to the core.
I slowly found the first page of her journal that gave away her name and address: Joyce Birkensale, Road 1455, New Haven.
Because I saw her coming back and I didn’t want to intrude I quickly made myself scarce.
That evening I was still thinking about this mysterious girl in the library when suddenly I came up with a plan. Why not invite everybody I knew to give her a birthday party at her house? I had plenty of friends and followers on social media that could do the trick.
So I posted this message: Everybody, Joyce is having a birthday party at Road 1455, New Haven. Bring your own booze and birthday presents at 20.00 p.m.
I went early to see where she lived and I was glad to find out there was a good sized garden in front of the house if by any chance lots of people showed up there was plenty of room for them to hang out.
She was obviously a girl from a wealthy family, but with no friends at all, how sad.
At 7.55 the road became crowded. From everywhere people showed up, by foot or by car and parked near the house.
When they saw me standing in front of a tree near the mansion everybody waved and greeted me.
“Hey what’s up bro, who’s this girl..how old is she anyway?”
“Nice touch, we hope to have a lovely party…”
With two bottles of champagne and almost forty people behind me, I rang the doorbell, praying by God she was home.
When the door opened, I was yet again surprised by her looks, she was stunning.
She looked surprised.
“Hey there, Joyce,” I said with a blush on my face, “I am Ken and I brought some people over to celebrate your birthday. Hope you don’t mind?”
She looked at me with great surprise in her eyes, her face glowing.
Suddenly a woman's voice from the back of the house: “Who’s at the door, Joyce?”
She stuttered: “It’s ... It’s Ken, mother, he brought some friends over for my birthday.”
“That’s wonderful, dear, please let them in.”
I gestured to the people behind me and answered quickly to Joyce: “We are with too many, we will stay in your front garden. I brought some balloons, shall we put them on the bushes and hang them in the trees to brighten up the place?”
A big smile broke through and her face was even more lovely. “I would like to,” she said with a grin.
The next ten minutes we were busy decorating the place, while the guests sat onto the grass.
There was talking, chattering and laughter. Within minutes there was a lively party going on.
My friends Pete and Chris and Steve showed up with their instruments and soon there was music as well.
“How did you know?” Joyce asked me
“I saw your journal entry in the library,” I explained. “I couldn’t resist to throw you a party. Everybody should have one at their birthday. How old are you anyway?”
“Twenty-one,” she said with a soft smile.
“Well, Joyce, may this be the first of many to come,” I said in a jokingly manner, but I meant every word. She was lovely, and I wanted to know her better.
We set up a small table at the entrance of the garden, where people could put their presents. Soon there were stacks of books, dvds and bunches of flowers.
Joyce looked at it with tears in her eyes.
“I have only been here for three weeks,” she told me in a small voice. “We’ve moved here from Singapore. I had to leave all my friends behind because of my father’s work back in the States.”
"That must have been hard for you, you must have been lonely out here," I answered.
“It was, and yes, I am.” She responded. “But this is great. I love big parties. Tell me who your friends are, please?”
So, I introduced her to the rest of the gang.
Everybody had a good time and a few hours later I saw Joyce had made a lot of new friends.
“Come and sit with me for a while, I insisted. I want to know you better."
For the next hour, we talked to each other while the moon was hovering over us in the big black sky.
I was feeling wonderfully excited about this girl, and I made a promise to myself to keep an eye on her from now on.
It was the beginning of a new found love that lasted. That next year she and I were on holiday at her birthday. We visited some of her friends in Singapore.
After that, we stayed together and she never had a lonely birthday ever again.
House of B & W: #39. An open journal sits on the desk... Today was my birthday. No one showed up.
|I had some friends in my life, I had them all:
Carla with her golden hair, from high school
And Bianca, who lost her firstborn
And the one who’s name I forgot
Some friends in my life, I had them all
But I lost their friendship during the years
It made me sad, it was not meant to last
Friendship is precious, is keeping an eye out for each other in time of need
Is laughing, is talking, is healing
It made me sad, it was not meant to last
Carla with her golden hair, from high school
And Bianca, who lost her firstborn
And the one who’s name I forgot
I remember those times with the three of them
But in my dark days, I needed them in my life
To laugh, to talk, to heal
It made me sad, it was not meant to last
Carla, Bianca and the one who’s name I forgot
I sometimes sit and think back:
They deserted me, I left them
It was not meant to last
Friendship, those bitter-sweet memories
When I was young
It made me sad, it was not meant to last
Their love gave me strength
And when it died I was lost for a while
It made me sad, it was not meant to last
(And I remember her name: the tall Alice)
|I was doing research in the National Library on great-great-granddad who was a Javanese Prince living on the Isle of Sumatra, Indonesia. Since the Dutch had ruled over The Dutch Indies, now known as Indonesia, for 400 years, they spoke and wrote a mixture of Dutch and Indonesian, also formerly known as the Malaysian language.
In a corner of the library there it was: the personal diary of Prince Ismael, born 1760-died 1810 in Padang. In translation I found:
Dear Siona, Madras and Ignatia,
I sent you this letter by special courier so nobody but you three concubines will receive word from me. I am dying, suffering from a disease to the lungs. I don’t have much longer, dear threesome, but I wanted you to know that I loved all three of you like I loved my official wife with whom I have had three kids. They will be my official legacy to this world, but I will never forget that you also carried and raised children of mine. Between the three of you, there are nine, four boys and five girls. I always will see them as my own flesh and blood and I have made arrangements as to secure their lives when I am gone. Please, tell them about their father and that he was proud of each of them by the spirits of the holy universe. All kids are equal to me, let them think no less of themselves when they grow old.
You, dear ladies, have made my life a blessed one and I will take this knowledge with me.
Always, truly yours, Ismael.
3 ex. sent by courier, date: 1810, February 7th.
I was really excited because that meant that there were three more families to research on. I now had a family tree, multiplied by three. Lots of work to be done in the near future. Family, here I come. I hope you’re ready!
|Extra, extra: Dutch scandal. Poison fipronil found in lots of eggs. Result: Tens of thousands chickens killed, millions eggs thrown away.
[For: WOT single player #29. Pick a contest (other than the official contest), enter, post your entry in here as well.]
|I thought we were dreaming, but we were not. I opened my eyes one morning and there we were: my lover, my dog and myself stranded on a small deserted island. And a knife, let’s not forget!
The first day we were shocked, I remember I cried a little bit. But it just was the harsh truth: we were all alone on a tropical island.
The weather was excellent. The Sunshine, bright and warm. A sea breeze to comfort us.
First things first, so we navigated around, trying to make a map in our mind of what we saw, remembering the location of the beach, the trees, the cave where we could hide in case of bad weather. The overgrown pool with fresh non-salted water.
It was a green and lush island. Sandy beach with rocky shores, plants, and trees everywhere.
Then we had to fish for food. So we pulled off long leaves of a tree, put it around some twigs and searched for maggots we used as bait. Lo, and behold, the fish took it in, and within two hours we had caught a few fat fish. Luckily, we remembered how to start a fire from wood scrubs and leaves and some stones. Hurray for that survival video I remembered seeing a few weeks back!
We ate and even my dog liked what he tasted, his tail, down all day because of the strange environment, went up and soon he was his own happy self again. He crawled in a corner of the cave, rolled over and fell asleep that first night. Close together and exhausted, we did the same.
The moon shone bright, no cloud in the sky. No sounds of animals or birds.
The next morning we rose by daylight. We explored our surroundings. The island was small, no more than one square kilometer. With bark, tree parts and leaves we made the cave as comfortable as possible. With the fresh water and some plants we made tea in a copper kettle we found at the beach, washed ashore at some shipwreck. Ours? I couldn’t remember being on a boat, but we must have been, how else could we have arrived here?
It was no use trying to remember where we came from, we had to survive on our own, so we sat down and talked to each other about our new predicament.
“What will we do, love?”
“Let’s try to remember as much about living rough and surviving in the middle of nowhere as possible. What do we need first?”
“Fire, food, drinks and a place to sleep, we have all that. What else?”
“We can try to knit a big cushion of some sort with leaves and branches so we can sleep more comfortable?”
“Let’s do that for today. One day at the time. No need to rush now is there.”
So we came up with things to do, activities to occupy ourselves with, each day for a month. We tried to make a calendar with some small stones we put in a grid at the beach. One pebble per day.
We worked hard, we played with the dog, and we enjoyed the weather, the beach, the ocean and each other. Life was good and soon we were totally absorbed by our new life and daily rhythm.
Then one day things started to change.
At night we heard strange noises. Like footsteps and the sound of vehicles. But once awake we tried to locate where it came from, but we never saw anything. In the morning everything was quiet again. It lasted for a week. Then we noticed small changes on the island. Leaves were torn, trees were cut down, stones were moved we were sure it didn’t come from us.
So we did a surveillance during the night.
At first, nothing happened. But just when we decided to move back to our cave we heard a noise from afar, closing in. As we looked at the night sky we saw a big army helicopter landing a few feet from our cave.
Twelve men and women started to descend and within minutes they brought gear, chairs, and equipment onto the ground.
Two big industrial lamps were shining on a spot on the shore.
One man sat in a chair on the beach with a megaphone and shouted: “Desert island, take seven, part two…ACTION!”
We looked at each other, startled, but exhilarated. They came to make a movie. We were saved!
That’s when we ran toward the crowd, shouting, yelling, screaming. Our hands up in the air.
The director looked at us, not even surprised, and shouted:” CUT. Can you send the dog first, then you two move into the scene? It will look better that way! AND ACTION!”
With great difficulty we moved back, and came into the scene a second time, the dog running in front of us.
As we approached, we heard clapping of the movie crew, The director stood from his seat in the sand and congratulated us, patting us on the back.
“You are doing great. This will be a blockbuster in the movie theaters.“
We landed on the beach, sat down on our knees and laughed our heads off. One lady came to put on some blankets on our shoulders and brought us a cup of coffee. The first in a long, long while.
Oh, how I missed that smell, that taste.
We ate bread with peanut butter, and the dog got regular dog food instead of fish. He seemed as happy as us.
In the morning we brought them to our cave and the life we made for ourselves during our weeks in exile. They shot their photo’s, and their film footage as we showed them around.
That evening we were back in the civilized world. The headlines of next day’s newspaper: Couple and dog safely home after crash on dessert island.
The movie became a hit. We survived our ordeal, a happy ending!
|GOT members House of Florent 2017:
Snow Angel , David the Dark one! , Cheri Annemos , CJ Reddick , Naveed , Eyes without a face , Cubby spreading joy... , Joy , Grieving Lyn , Chris Breva - Is grateful! , Marci Missing Everyone , Princess Megan Rose , The bald writer , Elycia Lee ☮ , WakeUpAndLive~December .
My first Game of Thrones! I am looking forward to this writer's marathon of writing, reviewing and challenges in competing with other teams on daily deadlines this coming August. I am an absolute beginner so I am anxiously awaiting what is happening and what we have to do.
I will use this blog for my writing this August.
Go, go Sly Foxes!!
|In order to get some extra space in my port I have to clean my portfolio. 35 items can be deleted: 9 images and 26 statics. I use Writing.com for every little snippet of writing so I am bound to have a lot of crap in my port as well. At this rate, I reach the 250 maximum within the year. So I decided to do a little autumn cleaning. After that, I can start with my house since it is a bit of a mess right now.
I have been so busy these past five months and it’s time to take a good look at what I got and make adjustments. But then again, maybe I wait til December.
|Why do I write? On motivation.
Acme ~ 10 year WdC Anniversary asked me why do you write? So, here is my answer referring to my second blog entry almost 5 months ago "Prompt to write" . I write because I must!
It is a need inside me that’s been there for a very long time but had never fully blossomed until I got inspired at WdC almost five months ago. My Muse was hiding and the mere use of this foreign language English/American and the inspiration of WdC and its writer’s community brought it all back.
I write because that’s who I am. It gives me a new identity after losing my identity as a Theoretical Psychologist more than ten years ago. It gives me power, strength and the desire to better myself. It fills a deeply felt need to be part of the group of people I mostly admire: writers, poets, artists.
It gives me the will and stamina to want to come out of bed every morning and greet the day. What new worlds are there to create? I love it that there is first a blank page and me hovering nervously over it, afraid it won’t work today… and then as by a miracle, the words come out and merge into a blog, a poem, a short story.
To me, this is sheer heaven and I am still a little bit afraid it’s not going to last. But I build my confidence day by day. Interacting with fellow writers helps, entering and winning contests helps. Bragging about it in the Newsfeed helps. I am feeling so good on this site and I am so thankful I found Writing.com. Without it, my life would be so much less enjoyable.
For the first time in a long time, I am having fun, a word that almost had lost its meaning to me. So, although it scares me, I want to exit my comfort zone and learn to be a better writer. And I want and need to allow myself the fun that goes with it. So there you go. My reasons for writing.
|From Oct 21st, 2016 until June 2017 I will be participating in The Rising Star Program 2016-2017. For all stuff related See "Rising Stars Program 2016-2017" [E]. I also set up a blog "Where bamboos spire" [13+] to keep track of my whereabouts into a new journey into writing. I am very excited as to where this will lead to.
|How to start a scary story.
1. Choose an interesting "what if."
2. Think about all the scary things that could happen in that situation. Then think about all the ways a person could get out of that terrifying situation.
3. Who is the main character? Is it you or a fictional person?
4. Choose a scary setting. Decide where and when your story takes place.
5. How did the main character end up in the scary situation?
6. Choose a bad guy or villain. Describe this character and how he or she will provoke fear in the story.
7. Develop the plot: • What will happen? • What problems will the main character have to face?
• How will the problems be resolved? • What other characters might be involved? • What is the danger?
8. Make up a surprise ending . Good stories shock you!
The basis for writing Horror. (http://writeonsisters.com/)
The base rule of scary movies/stories: Keep it simple.
Smaller Character Goals.
One-Step Character Change.
The 4 Emotive Tools you need to employ while writing horror…
1. Unease: This sets the scene for any scary story. Nothing bad has happened to the hero yet, but the audience should get the feeling that something bad might happen. Essentially, this is atmosphere. You’re getting the reader in the mood!
2. Dread: This is a step up from unease because it is connected to an action. Dread is when something happens that in itself isn’t scary yet, but could be.
3. Terror: This is the bad thing happening! Terror is the scream! It’s the payoff of all that tense unease and rising dread.
4. Horror: This arises from contemplation. Whereas terror is in the now, horror looks back at what happened. It is what we remember when we leave the movie theatre or finish the book.
4 Basic Elements of Comedy and Horror
1. Relatability. In order for your audience to laugh or scream, they need to relate.
2. Anticipation. Now that you have a situation that your audience can relate to, which will make them laugh or scream, build up the anticipation.
3. Danger. In comedy, the danger usually isn’t life-threatening, but the character must still be terrified of whatever it is (poodle, mother-in-law, unemployment, etc). In horror, the danger is literally trying to kill the hero.
4. Surprise. This seems like an obvious one for horror; surprise is its game.
|Plot: Once you find your premise, your setting, and characters, create a rough outline of the story.
Exposition: Set the scene and introduce the characters.
Inciting incident: Have something happen in the story to start the action.
Rising action: Continue the story, building excitement and suspense.
Climax: Include a moment that holds the most tension in the story.
Falling action: These are events that occur after the climax.
Resolution: Here, the character solves the main problem.
Denouement: This is the ending in which the characters resolve any remaining questions.
|An example of how clumsy I am: I wrote 35 entries to my poetry blog and thought I deleted one entry. So I purged that one entry, I thought. I purged the whole blog by mistake instead! These are the moments you wished you weren't here but somewhere else. Breath in, breath out and start over. There is not much else to do. And keep away from that bin!
|I have problems with the concept of SHOW, DON'T TELL mechanics in writing. One task for the coming months: fleshing out my writings.
Show, don't tell is a technique often employed in various kinds of texts to enable the reader to experience the story through action, words, thoughts, senses, and feelings rather than through the author's exposition, summarization, and description. (Wikipedia)
On short stories: "Writing Short Stories" by Holly Abidi
On flash fiction: "Writing Effective Flash Fiction" by Northernwrites
On showing: "Writing Effective Flash Fiction--Showing" by Northernwrites
On Show, don’t tell: "Show Don't Tell" by Vivian , "Creating Motion in Fiction" by Joy
Example of Show, don’t tell: "Bitches and Toms " by Vickie-life in pieces
Just to keep everything together in one place:
On Writing and Reviewing:"On reviewing and writing"
On blogging:"The vulture and the blog"
On Grammar: "Writing and grammar"
|June and Jennifer Gibbons (born 11 April 1963; Jennifer died March 1993) were identical twins who grew up in Wales. They became known as "The Silent Twins" since they only communicated with each other. They began writing works of fiction but turned to crime in a bid for recognition. The crime they committed was apparently arson. Both women were committed to Broadmoor Hospital where they were held for 14 years.
Thoughts: Interesting couple. How do you write about secret communications? A special code they developed?
Three Secret Codes for Kids:
1. Reverse the Words.
2. Half-Reversed Alphabet. Write out the letters from A to M then write the letters from N to Z directly below them.
3. Read Every Second Letter.