tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035800550623217252011-09-02T12:39:53.636+02:00A series of short pieces, written in roughly ninety minutes.Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.comBlogger171100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-3463508514797991552010-12-05T15:51:00.005+01:002010-12-05T16:41:24.201+01:00

I reached the 50,000 word goal set by the folks at NaNoWriMo. It was a long month, one where I felt like I was working overtime, with my day job (conclusion on that question: don't quit it) and with waking up early to write, as well as writing immediately after work. It was exhausting, but I hit the mark. I did this not by spending full days writing, not by pouring thousands of words on the

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-31930591551273235672010-11-06T13:28:00.000+01:002010-11-06T13:28:27.156+01:00

I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month this year, and am actually keeping myself relatively on target. You can follow my progress here, or with the little widget on the side bar. As for what I'm writing about? It's a science fiction novel about a moment of change in the unchanging history of a generation ship, with centuries of travel between the nearest star. It is about how the

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-35918107958192268902010-08-15T10:59:00.001+02:002010-08-15T11:00:16.631+02:00

Poor William spent his day sifting through the heap of disks piled at his feet. He crouched down and, holding each disk carefully, turning them around in his hands, separated the good from the bad. Some had eroded connectors, some had rust on the casing, other cracked - each a sure sign of moisture damage. These he tossed with a clatter into the corner. Those that passed inspection were

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-5990865769327990892010-07-22T22:28:00.000+02:002010-07-22T22:28:37.659+02:00

I missed last weeks deadline, which, if you've been paying attention, is roughly Sunday-writing, Tuesday-publish, at the latest. I had a bit of a rough weekend. Turns out Berlin beers are not that good for me. I had one. Honest. That's how bad they are for my system. I am working on a story at the moment - I did still get a good start on Sunday - that I hope to have finished up for this

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-88255204029153808262010-07-13T21:20:00.002+02:002010-07-22T22:30:11.874+02:00

May 21, 1901. Dear Mr. Phinneaus, I hope my letter finds you in good health and recalls me, Miss Clara Beaumont, to you. I must first and foremost confess, ever since your visit to out little town of St. Charles Ferry, I have not been able to clear you from my mind. Your heroic actions, not unlike a Hercules, have also made a tremendous impression on me and the town as a whole. Were you

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-76728833377071053242010-07-04T12:11:00.003+02:002010-07-04T12:21:47.960+02:00

In the beginning, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. I mean, think about it: no space, no time, no matter, just nothing. A whole lot of nothing. Or a whole little. Hard to think about, isn't it? But, that sort of nothing didn't last long[1]. The Universe happened. Like all births, there is pain, fury and mess - unbelievable mess - but it results in something beautiful. Not just

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-44765322406864665002010-06-29T20:26:00.003+02:002010-07-04T12:17:02.371+02:00

"What happened to you?" "What do you mean?" "You know what I mean. Where the hell were you last night?" "I was out." "Damn it, Artie, that's not an answer." "Look, Dad, you know I was out with Dak and his buddies. We were just hanging out." "Until seven this morning? No, that's not acceptable. Not in my house. You will get ready for school and get on your way, right now. And as of

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-66869978876290119892010-06-20T21:19:00.002+02:002010-07-04T12:17:29.871+02:00

Sunday morning. "Oh. God." The headache was split by the early morning light slicing through the cracks of the bedroom curtains, the payback for over indulgence the night before. Simon rolled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, and waited for the resulting wave of nausea to pass. After a few minutes his body calmed once more, His head drooped and started. He had fallen into a half

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-49202595989828700392010-06-13T13:04:00.001+02:002010-07-04T12:17:48.869+02:00

There are limits to the use of growth treatments, and Bill had certainly found it. His body bubbled with giant, tumors of muscle. His frame was huge to begin with - large bones, great height - but with these growths of pure strength, he was a titan. A titan with a door problem. You see, we hired Bill for his height and strength - ever ship needs a strong man - but we had no idea that he was in

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-61567684659296373112010-06-06T11:37:00.001+02:002010-07-04T12:18:05.859+02:00

December 15, 1903. Dear Mr. Phinneaus, I'm writing in regards to you recent conflagration with the Monster of Kankakee County. I know that you were called upon by the residents of the town of St. Anne, and I know that you faced - and received -  grave injury. Yet, I and my compatriots - the Society for the Preservation of Mystical, Rare, and Otherwise Misunderstood Creatures -- a Society of

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-82316090267375551312006-12-10T19:22:00.002+01:002010-07-04T12:18:49.961+02:00

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

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-86484265944658847592006-11-01T17:24:00.000+01:002010-06-13T15:41:51.250+02:00

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

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-52096021921313225762006-09-01T20:25:00.000+02:002010-06-13T15:41:51.251+02:00

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

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-55220991733991064052006-09-01T19:57:00.001+02:002010-07-04T12:19:14.569+02:00

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

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-15689548005728815782006-08-27T06:19:00.001+02:002010-07-04T12:21:00.082+02:00

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,

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-92086441886932914342006-08-23T02:40:00.001+02:002010-07-04T12:21:22.899+02:00

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

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2003580055062321725.post-91348502924507444152006-08-22T18:52:00.000+02:002010-06-13T15:41:51.251+02:00

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

Peter Schwarzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00388942456325359221noreply@blogger.com0