Day Three of Eitt Hundrað

[3/100]

Not the greatest day for creativity, although I did get to play with the staple gun at work to make an "advent-Christmas-tree" type thing for a display in the junior library. It was a little bit creative. Not very. So I decided to finish the day with a hundred word short. (100 words including the title.)


And We Swim Right Into The Middle

We’re caught in this swamp, that isn’t actually a swamp. The water is still clear, but overhead there are hundreds of branches, like brambles but without any thorns or green, just wood, like there is some kind of basket being woven above our heads as we try to swim our way out of here. It’s the kind of place there would be crocodiles, and as soon as I think this, I start to panic. I want to be back where it’s just a river. I want to be out in the sun again.


And in case you didn't notice, my Icelandic words for today are One and Hundred.

End of Day Three.

Phew.

Day Two of One Hundred

[2/100]

Early edition...

Today I got the urge to draw. I used to draw a lot, but I get quite frustrated when things don't turn out the way I see them in my head. Maybe that's why I favour writing nowadays. Words are always words. So the words I see/hear in my head can always be perfectly replicated on the page. This started out as a cunning ploy to cover up yesterday's attempt at "calligraphy". If you look closely, you can see some writing beneath the hair.

I'm loving the Hundred Days website. It's ace finding new blogs that I'd never have stumbled on before.

This morning's find has been Untitled #23. Howard is going to write at least 300 words about a work of art every day. Day One actually made me cry. It's beautiful.

Late edition...

I got some writing done this afternoon/evening. 726 extra words of the novel, and a chunk of editing. Woop!

Góðan daginn/Góðan dag means 'good day' in Islensku. I know a bit of German, so some words are sort of familiar, which is nice. But obviously the pronunciation is different. It feels softer, less glottal. It's early days yet, though.

One Hundred Days To Make Me A Better Person

[1/100]

About a week ago, I discovered Josie Long’s new project "One Hundred Days To Make Me A Better Person". It is part of the London Word Festival, starts on December 1st 2009, and finishes on March 10th 2010. I knew I wanted to take part. I just didn’t know what I wanted to do for it. I also knew it would have to be realistic. Even though I was thinking "pledge to write a thousand words of your novel every day", I knew in reality I had no intention of spending Christmas day typing. Or Boxing day. Or New Year’s Eve.

This is from the website:

From 1 December 2009, Josie Long cordially invites you to pledge to do one thing every day for 100 days in a bid to generally make things better. The plan is simple:

1.Register here with your name, email and pledge

2.From 1 December, this pledge must be fulfilled every day for 100 days (or longer if the spirit of goodwill takes hold!)

3.Document your activity where possible - snap it, film it, write about it - and keep us updated on how you're getting along

I ummed and ahhed, and finally decided on my pledge(s) yesterday, at four minutes to midnight:

1.Learn a new word or phrase in Icelandic every day.

2.Do something creative each day.

3.Blog about it here.

I like the vagueness of the "do something creative" part. It can mean I write a thousand words of my novel, or it can mean I arrange some pasta into pretty shapes. Perfect.

So, today, Day One, the first of December, what did I do?

I played with fridge magnets and took photos of them (see picture above), until the batteries in my camera died. I had bigger plans. But, I have bettered myself tonight by recharging said batteries, so that next time I come to take a photo, I will be able to. Good stuff.

And I learned “Ég heiti Emma.” My name is. I always thought it would be good if I hung out with Eminem, because we would be referred to as "Em and Eminem". It would make me laugh every time.

Anyway, other hundred days projects that I’ve checked out so far:

100daysofnonfiction - Hannah is reading a chapter of a non-fiction book each day and then writing about what she’s learned. This one ties in with my favourite quote, “It’s impossible to open a book without learning something.” Go Hannah!

100tinymoments - Every day, Edward is illustrating a tiny moment from his past, present or future. This is one I wish I’d thought of. I especially like the idea of the future moments.

my bit of sky - I love the title of this. And the idea of photographing things people have left behind.

missyaggrevation - Toni has started a blog and is going to see the sunny side of life. Lovely and positive. Yay!

All this and it's only Day One!


*************************************update

I just read the poem "Love Yourself, Or Else" by Daniel Bailey, in the brand new > kill author, and these lines jumped out...

"the only thing i trust is the sound of a magnet
sticking to a fridge"

amazing!

end of update***********************************************

The Weirdness Of Your Own Voice

The E.P. launch for Grande Duke, whose song 'Lunacy By Sea Wind' I did a spoken word bit on, and blogged about here, is happening on Friday.

I already have my copy, and it was weird at first, hearing a voice that I knew was mine, right in the middle of ace instrumental music, but the more I listen to it, the less weird it is, and the more I can just listen without thinking too hard about it.

I looked up the science behind why your own voice sounds weird when you hear a recording of it. I'm glad I know.

I'm doing a reading in Nottingham, so I won't be able to make it till later on. Hopefully I won't miss too much. It's going to be ace.

Semaphore Stories

I've been keeping myself to myself a bit over the past few weeks. I've been doing lots of things with Post-it notes, working out the structure of my novel. It nearly drove me mad, but I think the worst of it is over. I haven't been writing many short stories lately, as all my focus has been on the novel, which is a good thing, but I have missed the immediacy of shorter things. So, I cheated and wrote this for the ever-brilliant pygmy giant. I seem to be obsessed with semaphore at the minute. Maybe it stems from my childhood survival-manual-reading, but I've always liked secret codes. I'm crap at decoding them, but I like the idea of them. A good one I've found recently is tap code. Used a lot by prisoners, apparently. I like the simplicity of tap code. I get it.

* **
***** ****
* *****

Pay It Forward

A while back, Annie Clarkson blogged about kindness and the gesture of Pay It Forward. She had been a recipient and was Paying It Forward to three people who would then Pay It Forward to another three people and so on...random kindness expanding out to (hopefully) infinity.

So, a few days ago, a parcel arrived in the post. It was addressed to me, but I was baffled by what it could be. When I opened it, still half-asleep, I pulled out all manner of amazing things. Beautiful Flax postcards, tasty chocolate lip balm, the Brace anthology(Woop!), a very pretty notecard and some gorgeous vintage buttons.

(my haul - thank you Annie!)

(the buttons and notecard 'artistically' arranged)

I'd forgotten all about Annie's offer, which made receiving the gifts even more wonderful. Presents are great at the best of times, but unexpected presents, totally out of the blue, well, you just can't beat 'em.

So now it's my turn to Pay It Forward. If, at some point in the future, when you least expect it, you'd like to receive a package from me, leave a "yes please" in the comments box. I'll send something to each of the first three people to say yes. Even if you live in Timbuktu. The only stipulation is, you must agree to then do the same for three other people at a later date and blog about it.

When Godzilla Met Medusa

Medusa was standing at the bottom of the stairs, swigging from a flagon of wine, when Godzilla stomped into the hallway, looking for a quiet place to stand. She noticed his suit first; black, smart, with a crisp white shirt, and a black tie. His feet were big and green and scaly, and as he walked, a thick tail swung heavily behind him. Medusa smiled as he approached, and he took this to mean it would be okay to stand next to her.

“Nice costume,” Godzilla said.

“Thanks.”

“I like how you’re not just going for the one scare,” he continued, “like you’re going for the fear-of-snakes people, the fear-of-statues people, as well as those that are scared of being turned to stone. Good call.”

She hadn’t thought about it like that. But it summed her up completely to be multitasking even in her subconscious. One of the snakes came loose so she flicked it back over her shoulder, the way she’d seen models in commercials do. When they talked about their hair having a mind of its own, only being tamed by a certain shampoo, she sighed. They didn’t know the half of it.

Godzilla tapped his foot in time to the music. His tail remained perfectly still. He started to feel warm, so he loosened his tie. One of Medusa’s snakes found its way onto his shoulder. He turned to look at it more closely; it seemed to be an adder, native to this country and generally well-behaved. Whenever one of the snakes broke free, Medusa felt a lightness that took a few moments to register. After realising what had happened, she swooped the snake back with her hand.

“Sorry about that.”

“No worries. I don’t mind snakes. We’re kind of...kin.” Godzilla laughed as he said this. Medusa took it to mean he was thoroughly immersing himself in his character. She thought she should do the same. She tried to think of something witty to say about turning people into stone, but nothing came to her, so she did what she’d read to do in these situations, which was: turn the conversation back to the other person by asking them questions.

“So, have you destroyed any good bridges lately?”

Godzilla blushed. “Er, no. Not intentionally, anyway.” He let out a nervous laugh. Medusa took this as her cue and giggled. She worried that it sounded a bit forced, but Godzilla didn’t seem to notice.

“And you’re okay out of water?”

“Yeah. I’ve been using that KY-jelly. It’s such a great lubricator.”

She choked on her wine laughing at his repose, and he felt bad for taking the credit when all he’d done was tell the truth. It felt good to be honest, though, for once. Hallowe’en was the one time of the year when he could actually be himself. No having to hide his tail down his trouser leg, no painfully restrictive shoes, no problem discussing his skin problems with people. A good song came on and he started tapping his foot again. He suddenly felt brave.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

“Okay. Yeah. I hardly ever get the chance to let my hair down.”

Godzilla guffawed, clapping his hands. “Let your hair down. Brilliant.”

It took her a few moments to understand he was complimenting her on her apparent role-playing. She gave him a smile and followed him into the other room, past the Jenga tournament, to where the party was loudest. Facing each other, they began to dance. Timidly at first, and then, on deciding to make the most of their one night of utter freedom, they got lively. They threw lizard shapes and snake shapes and wriggled and slinked and cavorted around the dance-floor. They danced all night, not stopping when Godzilla accidentally knocked the Jenga blocks flying with his tail, oblivious to the fact that everybody else had been turned to stone.


(photo borrowed from here.)