Fetish

I'll tell you a little secret. I'm in love with Lefties. I'm not sure why, it's just a thing I have. Guys, latter in life, spend the first few moments in a bar scanning left hands for rings. I spend my time scanning the left hands for ink stains.

I was on a date with this guy the week. He was great: funny, gentlemanly, good looking. We had a couple of drinks at the happy hour around the bar around the corner (Little Sonny's - best two-for-one Manhattans in town). We spent a good three hours talking and having a good time with the interview date.

Only, he made the mistake of paying with credit card. The minute I saw him sign the receipt, I knew I wouldn't be calling him back. It was too bad, too. He had so many nice qualities.

If only guys would pay in cash on the first few dates, I might be hooked. It would be too late to have right-handedness be a deal-breaker.

National Novel Writing Month

Every November the First, I'm always surprised by the fact that it is NaNoWriMo. It's a crazy, inspiring idea in which participants write a novel in one month. They only mean 50,000 words, which is supposedly doable by people with busy working schedules. Still, it seams like a marathon idea.

I tell myself every year "I should run a marathon." I also tell myself "I should write a novel." In fact, I've told other people this as well. Since that's not been going very well (the getting started part, that is), perhaps I should take up this challenge.

That could mean that I don't spend time doing Ninety-Minute entries, but I haven't really been doing that, anyway.

I'll keep you posted.

Up and Running

Now that there are a few stories out there, you'll notice a couple of things. First, I'm all over the board. I mean, a story about snowboarding, a story about monkeys and a Lovecraftian tale of horror? Where's the cohesion in that?

There isn't any. That's the point. Ninety Minutes, writing about what every strikes my fancy. I've done this sort of thing before, just not with fiction.

The second think you may notice is that they very in length. Well, that's the ninety minutes is more of a guideline, than a rule. The first two took about an hour, the third took about two. Depending on how much time I've spent free-writing the damned thing, the editing might be something less than desired (again, the third one).

So far I'm happy with the results. That doesn't mean I think that there all great little works of fiction, only that I'm happy with the fact that I've written them, start to finish.

---

I also like to ask if anyone would like to submit stories send me an email, or a comment on this post, or I'll probably seek you out.

The rules are again as follows:

1. Do not talk about nine-minu...
   

Wait, let me try this again.

1. Must be (relatively) original - no fan fiction.
   
2. Must be written and edited in roughly 90 minutes.
   
3. Must be run by me, unless I've given you posting rights to this blog.
   

That's about it.

Bargain

The stench of the place was a wall. The room stank of death and decay, of sulfur and burnt flesh, of things base and unnatural. One went from the faint smoky smell of a hall into a foul, rank space in the moment the threshold was crossed. There wasn’t even a hint of its odor before entering the room.

Equally foul was the room itself. It was a mockery of a pleasant, late-eighteenth century apartment. Its grand windows covered by stained, decayed curtains, the splintered and dusty wood floors covered in tattered carpets of indeterminate age. Stains of blood, oil, feces or worse were splattered here and there, not in an afterthought, but left as reminders of past crimes.

This was the entrance, this foul foyer to the apartment, to a court, the Devil’s court, where favors were granted, bargains were struck. I was here out of a last resort.

Muse

The click-click of the typewriters filled the air. The sound permeated everything. Any conversation was almost drown out by it. It had almost become a background noise.

This was the sound of monkeys, banging away at the keys, stretching off into the distance.

They were here for a reason. The were the Universe's creative team. A series of random jumbles typed across random pages, occasionally forming an idea.

The shift-change horn screamed out, and the clacking ceased. Monkeys stood up and trudged out. It was an organized effort, for the second shift needed to be at their stations in five minutes.Fresh faces greeted their first shift counterparts with grin and a wave, or an occasional howdy-do.

Phil reached his typewriting station with a cup of joe and a fresh pack of cigarettes. He never said hello to it's previous occupant. George was a bit of a slob. He was also a bit of a bastard, but that was another issue.

Top to Bottom

Whistler spread before him, waiting with virgin snows. The thin air was sharp in his nostrils. The wind whistled a little, giving a sound to the place. It fluttered through the sprigs of hair peaking out here and there from beneath his stocking cap.

He stood at the edge of the run on his board. The anticipation of the decent made him shiver. The cold of the air only made the shiver stronger.

Fear began to creep into his thoughts. At first, it was the slight thought of pain, that minor little nagging idea of falling, badly, and breaking a limb. The fear began to grow into larger injuries and obstacles: trees, boulders, beginners. He tried to suppress the fear, but it needed to be let out.

His breath grew ragged as he tried to pull in more air. This only added to the fear. There was only one way to get more air, and he knew it.

What's My Motivation?

I was inspired the other day^[1] by another blogger, Eric Canete. He frequently posts sketches (he's a comic book artist) that he's done in ninety minutes or less. These are often based off the inspiration of the moment (i.e. what he's watching on the TV). They are all well composed, inked and, in my opinion, quite good.

I don't plan on drawing anytime soon^[2], but I thought to myself, I should write a short story in ninety minutes. Now, I know this means it will be short, and rough, and not entirely fleshed out. The blog could alternatively be called "First Drafts, or The Crap That Fell Out of My Head." The point is to force me to write, to force me to think about beginnings, middles and ends (something I'm really bad at), and generally to try and motivate me to further my writing goals^[3].

Aside from those three things, it will also be a great way to explore ideas. Every couple of days I have an idea for a story, an intro, character, or whatnot. Sometimes I write it down. More often then not I don't. The idea is just lost. The ninety minute short will give me a place to write it and (hopefully) force my hand to do so.

Ah...motivation.

I've already written one that's almost ready to go. I'm sixty minutes into it, and I need to do about thirty of edits and rewrites. Once that's done I'll throw it up here, and maybe, just maybe someone will read it.


[1] Yesterday. I'm spontaneous that way.

[2] That is between me and my office notepad.

[3]Cough. Maybe I should just be honest and call them daydreams.