Writhing Eyebrows

As I have had some time off recently, I have taken upon myself to read as much as I possibly could. First to stave off cabin fever and because there have been several books waiting with patience to be read. So over the course of a few days I read the entirety of Laurel K Hamilton's Merry Gentry series. It is an 8 book series and reads similar to her Anita Blake series. I enjoy reading an entire series in a row, so that the story is a more cohesive whole rather than jumbled half remembered plot. In doing so I immersed myself into an authors writing, reading how they grow in talent and hearing a voice emerge from the vast depths. One of the things that stuck out in an almost irritating fashion was the use of particular words. Words have power, any writer will tell you this. They have the ability to engage emotions and truly evocative works can certain incite emotions. But the over use of a word can destroy or jar a readers flow. My sister-in-law recently wrote a book and had been told by a friend she had used the word "eyebrow" a significant number of times. What I noticed in Laurel Hamilton's work is the word "writhe". I like the word, it tumbled from the lips and tongue nicely. It paints a definitive picture, and when used with romantic situations can cause a bit of a blush. The issue however, is just how many times she used the word in different situations, though similar circumstances. It irritated me, grating me. It took me and the pleasure away from the story. I am not criticizing her work, as she has lots of books under her belt and best sellers to match. But I have to wonder if this is something any one else notices and what their reactions are to it. What constitutes as over use, may be just perfect for another reader. It did teach me something very important though and that is worth all the irritation. If you are planning for your character(s) to end up in a particular circumstance or situation, the thesaurus is your friend. Force yourself to make it fresh with shiny new words, reread what you have before and avoid using similar verbiage or phrasing. It also forces me to question how many times I have put that character through the same or similar situations. Do I really need to have that character repeat that (whatever that is) so many times I am hunting for news ways to describe it?

Train

A preface to this story, I wrote this about 2 years ago, it is an odd bizarre story and the concept actually came to me in a dream. I really need to stop watching weird movies before bed.

The train lost its caboose. The blue carriage vehicle lurched and tilted drunkenly as one of its wheels snapped and fell loose. The scream of metal tested to its limit rang through the small valley. The jungle left the tracks alone here, only tall grass near. The caboose broke free and tumbled onto its side with a crack that met the forest and reverberated back. The Train, slow to begin with, stopped gently. Waiting. A swarm of red creatures vaguely salamander shaped dropped from the rest of the four remaining carriages and descended on the broken caboose. Like a pack of hyenas on an injured water buffalo, the vehicle disappeared amongst cracking and hissing noises. Not even the broken wheels remained. Only the crushed grass gave testament of the incident and only for a short while at that. The largest of the lot stopped, flame colored eyes focused down the slope on the jungle below. It huffed, and snuffled, eyes narrowed. Testing. After a full minute of staring, stock still, it snorted, perhaps disgusted with itself climbed back under the train.
"See?!"
The youth exclaimed punching another on the arm; both brown as the bark around them, with a wild shock of uncombed hair and enough dirt covering them to plant a garden in.
"Yeah I saw, Jef ya flaming idiot, I saw ya damn near got us et."
Standing from his squat, Arin rubbed the arm where the other boy had punched him. He shook out his protesting thighs, no use is staying around any longer, it would be months before the Train would pass here again. Both young men had sleek builds, no extra fat with shoulders that had the promise of an impressive breadth.
"What are they? I mean ta last one... it was.. Huge!"
Jef flailed his arms open wide indicating his misjudgment on the creature’s size. "And they et that rolling hut, they et it gone! What does that?"
Gathering their limited belongings Arin ignored the continued pontification of his friend. Obsessed with the forbidden, Jef would get them banished. Or worse. Arin shoved Jef's spear wordlessly at his still talking friend, shouldering his small pack he started into the jungle. They had hunting to do.

Over the next couple of days Arin could not get Jef’s questions out of his head. It’s not as if he didn’t understand his friends’ fascination with the creatures, anything taboo was instantly curious for the young men. A little talked about, but implicit right of passage among the boys of the village involved sneaking up and touching the tracks. The bright red engine appeared every few months, slowly chugging its way around their land, never changing. This had been unusual and if it didn’t require admitting to breaking tradition, Arin would ask the elders what the meaning of the red creatures were. Jef claimed to have seen them any number of times, he never knew when to believe what came out of Jef’s mouth.

“Want ta see ‘em again?”
The harsh whisper woke Arin from a dead sleep. His dreams were disturbing and haunting and being woken up was no hard ship. Being squashed flat with his mouth covered with a grubby paw, he did mind.

“Mph. Geph oph!”

Arin flailed with his impressively knobby elbows and knees, until he hit something soft and the other boy grunted.

“Where did ya learn manners?” Jef complained rubbing the aforementioned soft spot.

“The place that teaches ya to avoid waking friends in ta middle of ta night.”

Arin scrubbed a hand across his face wiping around the dirt from his friends hand. There was no use for it, he would not be allowed sleep until he satisfied Jef’s curiosity.

The jungle had no use for the boys attempting to slip through quietly. Branches that would be avoided easily in the day slapped against bare skin, leaving impressive welts and a line of cursing in their wake. Landmarks that were familiar during the day time took on a new and sinister look during the night. Even the sky conspired with over cast skies. Arin had no idea how long they walked, only that even the night animals had started to settle and prepare for sleep.

They broke into a clearing, lighter only because of the lack of trees overhead; grasses started at knee height and soon reached belly and higher on them. Light spilled somewhere ahead, over a rise and battling through the grasses around them. Jef held out a hand to stop him as the finish cresting a small hill.

“Wha..?”

Jef shushed him with a sharp look and pinch. He pushed aside the flowing stalks and pointed towards the light. Bright unflickering light, whiter than firelight and steady burned ahead of them. Various pinpoints, like stars hiding out pointed to a particular area. As the pounding of his heart faded Arin could hear various hisses, clacks, and barks. When his eyes adjusted to the light he could make out large buildings humped around a true clearing, with the grass brown and pounded down. Amongst the buildings thousands of the red lizards moved. Or worked, each seemed to have a particular project it was working on, and went about it with deft efficiency. A more through glance showed the Train hidden behind, with the creatures covering it. Small flares of fire followed each one over the marked course.

“They have been here for days. Just…here.”

Arin, jerked at the sound of Jef’s voice. He sounded astounded, disturbed even.

“Come on lets get closer.”

“I don’t think that is such….”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his statement. Jef had already moved out of whispering range. It could be that Arin’s hearing was more acute or it could be Jef had lost all sense and was just blundering ahead without trying to keep quiet.

“Oi! What ya doing?!”

Sound stopped, had he just…

“I said, What. Ya. Doing?”

Jef had lost his mind. He stood at the edge of the clearing hands on his hips as he cat-called the creatures. Thousands of sharp nosed faces turned towards him, one hissed, long and strident. The largest, the one they had observed that day at the track lumbered out of the one of the buildings towards Jef. Arin crouched back amongst the grasses, letting them hide him from view. The lizard approached slowly, allowing his friend time to run in fear. The two faced each other over than less than a full walking span.

Minutes dragged, sweat rolled down Arin’s spine. Finally Jef nodded and offered his hand to the creature. Its tongue whipped out and wrapped around his wrist, a bright blue spark lit the area where skin and tongue met. Jefs head whipped back in agony, and it elongated. His skin flushed the same red of the creatures, and hands started to claw inward. Arin could watch it no longer, he turned and ran.

The train pulled into the station. If a station it could be called. Vines seemed to have replaced the support beams and the roof above happened to be leaves instead of tile, the floor below had turned into a mulch pit. The train doors swooshed open. No one entered, no one exited. You could almost hear the ghost of the intercom, advising passengers to mind the gap. Small animals shuffled in the leaves above and below, seemingly unaffected by the noise or wind the train generated. A brilliant red salamander, two and change feet long dropped from the train’s underbelly. A long tongue, quick and flickering snaked from its mouth. It lapped at the tracks. Each place its tongue landed a dull blue spark flared. Another appeared from behind running over the tracks to the station. The red lizards did what the train itself could not, and scared off the wildlife. They hissed and sparked at the passing creatures. Finding one of the few standing supports to the roof, one scurried up and passed through the leafy roof. It scurried across treetops and moldering wood, clacking at frightened birds and small rodents. It hustled, as if on a timetable, to a particular spot amongst the trees. The salamander jumped and started burrowing, shoving leaves and various forest litter aside. A brilliant flash of bright light brought a crow of triumph. Pure white and blinding, it sent birds exploding from hiding in the surrounding trees. The red creature shuffled and nosed about more, exposing fully the shiny black solar panel. It seemed to nod to itself, satisfied with a job well done before reversing its journey back to the train. It still had little patience for the other animals, clearing the way with its bad attitude. The train chuffed a warning, no puff of smoke but something like a recording, scratchy and over used. Several other salamanders scurried through the under growth, the clacking and hissing growing in volume as more appeared. They swarmed over and around the train, several gnawed on plants that grew too close to the tracks once or twice more before disappearing under the train. The last and the largest, this one a deep scarlet, paused. Head swinging, observing the ruins of the station it grumbled in satisfaction.

Who, what, when, where and how.

This blog is an excuse. Possibly even an out. I am starting this blog to display my creative process and prowess, or lack there of. This blog is designed to keep me in line and nag me when I am letting my creativity rot. Or when I start projects and don't finish them. Inspired by Johnathan Coultan, and his "Thing a Week" project, I have decided to follow his example, while not blatantly stealing the idea.
My rules for me.

1)Create something new each week, due by Saturdays end. This could mean writing, costuming, knitting, photography, baking or breathing fire.

2)I will post each week about the project with possible posts in between updating the progress.

3)I will learn something new each month. Or at least make the effort. This could mean ANYTHING, as my tastes run to odd and offbeat.

So that is it for me, simple rules, but the beauty of simplicity is,
it is sometimes harder than it looks.

I do have a few ground rules. This is the part where you, being the maybe plural one day, the reader.

1)Constructive criticism is welcomed and will be thought over carefully. Trolls however, will be fed in the very flames they attempt to incite. You are duly warned.

2)All my work is creative commons licensed, this means feel free to share it all you want, as long as you don't sell it and credit me. Ie, don't steal my shit.

See, not too painful.

As Sunday is fast approaching this week I am going to start with something I have already written, to give myself the fully allotted time to complete my selected creative task.