Oct8 11:54pm I needed to write

I don't do crystal balls. She turned up her full lips in a serious perturbance. She crossed her slender arms over her ample chest. His eyes followed the action.
Enticing. A spit fire but enticing. He thought to himself.
Excuse me I didn't mean to offend. But given the circumstances .... His jet black hair curled over his eyebrow as he gestured to the table. Velvet table clothes, gold trim, ancient looking chairs what would you expect me to say? Bs chuckled. The deep timber if his voice resonated over the low beat of the African drums.
To be honest, I could a care less. What you think isn't rely that important to me. I know your kind. She huffed indignantly.
What kind would that be? He crossed his own muscular arms over his massive chest. The shoulders of his blAck suit jacket strained slightly with the tension. His right brow furrowed mischiviously as a slight grin threatened.
She didn't answer, just glowered at him.
Go on pray tell. Oh seer if the future, what type am I?
She didn't like the smirk in his eyes. She huffed, drummed her manicured nails against her upper arm.
Cat got your tongue? No mojo left in that pretty head? He couldn't resist. Anger danced in her dark cocoa eyes. Her nose flared. Her lips , a deep intake of breathe stopped his playful gloating momentarily. How I'd love to kiss those sultry lips. The thought took him by surprise. Of course she was attractive but be tended to stay closer to the debutante types, less to deal with. But this one ...
Mentally he shook himself. This one would be fun indeed fiery hellcats. Come on love? What type am I?
You want to know? Really! Your the type who cant take anything seriously unless if personally affects you. Hours wrapped up in debutantes and fast money. The cars and charities are simply your way of trying to make yourself feel important. You think ghat if you give away enough money that will save your sorry soul.
His eyes widened in shock then narrowed in anger.
Her voice morphed. Her eyes glazed over . Her words gained strength for some unknown force beyond her control. Without conscious knowledge her hands lifted gloated in the distance between their bodies. Slowing closing the gap her feet inched user to him as she spoke.
You think that the world owes you something yet you feel conflicted that you have more than you think you deserve. You pretend to be callous. On ther other hand you pretend to altruistic. Her fingers touched the sides of his chiseled face. She lay her head against his chest. The smooth luxurious fabric warmed her cheek.
You long for a return to glory yet don't know how to achieve this.
A cold chill crept up from her spine. Its icy fingers tapped their way to her shoulders then up the back if her neck. She squirmed uncomfortably. Wriggling her fAce into the width of his chest. A frown strained across her brow. The cold fingers tapped over her skull.
You have... You are... You are attracted to the dark side. It's in your blood . Hightened, shrill the pitch of her voice eeked higher. Her agitation grew. The fi gets stabbed frozen pain through the back of her eyes. A flash if blood, screams,dark skin tear. Faces bent under yellow head scarves, a blazing sun, the glysyeninf edge of an ax shAttered her. Pain! She screamed it ripped from her throat like a thousand you g ghosts.
Shaking. Hands trembling like palm leaves in a storm she jumped away from him. Blood! You're covered in blood! You'll drown in it before it's done! You'll drown in it! Screeching she raced from the room. Eyes a sea of them followed her out of the reception hall doors.
Her faded cries, you'll drown in it echoed under the spacious cathedral ceiling.
Visibly shaken ashen, Colhurst straightened his suit jacket and turned to his affluent guests! Bravo! Bravo! Excellent sport wouldn't you say! The murmuring crowd was all to ready to put the ackward out jest behind them.
Come on. You expected entertainment and I've provided it! Give a hand for Asanti Suri, palm reader and Mistress if the defining arts. He clapped agAin this time his cohorts joined in.
A slim lithe socialite with white blonde hair strolled to his side. She neatly tucked her arm through his.
You simply must tell me where you find these droll acts! She was a hoot! I'll have to book her for my next party. Belinda Lilly rambled on in her high pitched nadt voice. Colhurst hardly heard a word.
Drown in blood and cocoa eyes replayed in his ears and minds eye.

Gothno Oct. 7

I was doing a little more reading and came up with more plot points
Colhurst Thome is the plantation family name.
During apprenticeship in the islands one brothe was an ex slave master the other changed his name to become a magistrate but the works in cohoots with the brother to end round the system. Maybe a third brother or a mulatto son gets the more lienient perspective? Still working that out.


Progress!

Progress!

OK, so I was about to throw in the towel for my Loogaroos story. I wasn't feeling it and it seemed to heavy or something. I decided to add an element of romance. I worked out a few ideas

1) the main character (who still doesn't have a name) meets the last heir of the plantation family

2) he of course is trying to rebuild his family's wealth.

3) The power has been watered down because her grandmother had twins. This split the abilities and delayed revenge.
* 1 sister has the ability to see portions of the future. She embraces her gifts and opens a magic/ reading shop. The other sister (MC's mother regrets the powers, but feels duty bound and frustrated because she can't get the total revenge she knows must happen. Yet she feels exonerated in that she has a daughter (the MC) to carry on the fight, while her own sister is childless (or has a son).

3) the aunt gets sick and MC starts to feel more ill at ease, off her game. She inherits the magic shop. And with it more power (maybe through an amulet or ring). She meets the plantation heir through some joint venture where she is the entertainment.

4) MC is eventually required to go back to the island to tend to her sick mother. The isolation begins here and the slipping back into older times. Voodoo magic etc. take over. Here the heir returns to claim his ancestor's land and restart businesses on the backs of the peasant -like population.

5) The mother dies. MC receives full power and is haunted by the grandmother. Take revenge. But of course she and the heir are now in love.





I think now- I can get some more words pounded out on my next break. (I'm grading freshman essays UGGGGGG)

Torturous

Sometimes it is torturous getting out a few words on a page. Even with Dr. Wicked set to kamkazee and evil it was a struggle getting 1000 words out! It took me 34 minutes! I usually can do that in 15-20. Booo

2747/30,000

Fun with Iphone aps

My sister showed my this iphone ap this morning. I about peed my pants laughing, so I had to download it- OF COURSE!!!

Here is one I made for Gothic fiction LOL

Update- Gothno

Ok! I spent a little while writing and then editing the piece. Here is the excerpt from tonight's writing. It is 1030 words (1730/30,000)

Kill Something by JL Denman Gothno novel entry )ct. 4, 2010

Kill something
I want to kill something. I don't know what. The thing inside grows. It hungers for something sweet and bloody. It claws at my insides when I am not thinking about controlling it.
It. What is it? I've never felt this insatiable need or hunger to devour and destroy. It never leaves. I think it goes but it lurks under the surface waiting. It waits. It waits. It continues to wait until I have no defenses left. Then it strikes full frontal force. It assaults my eyes first. It blasts red spots against the wet canvas. It splatters red and iron smell of blood behind my eye lids- like paint soaked cats clawing their way across my mind and sockets. This thing grows hungry and paints with scrawling blood and sickening sweet terrifyingly sweet essence of blood. I taste it. I can taste it drip from my eyes to the back of my throat. It slips on the edges of my tongue as it fills my mouth.
Palatable. Tasty.
What devilry is this? I taste the blood the sweet delicious wonder. It frightens me. What is this? I've never had these desires before.
Before? Was there ever anything before this? Was there ever a time when the creature, didn't thirst for blood and gore?

She rubbed her stomach. The swelling shifted groaning against her caress.

Was there ever a time before this thing took over? It worries me. Maybe I'm imagining it all. Maybe I have nothing to worry about. Perhaps it is the stress, the manner, the people. They are strange here. they look at me with weird eyes. Suspicious. They know something. What? Do they know I hunger? - not I but IT? Do they know and understand? What grows? Do they see something I cannot? I wonder. I spend hours, days, weeks now, searching through he library, but nothing seems real here. It all seems like the wind and the willow blowing in a breeze and then off to some random place.
She crumbled forward over the parchment pages. Pain stomped in her belly. White hot lightening flashed from the pit to her brain. She cough gasping for air. Her fingers clutched the white night gown.
What now?
She felt the blood trickle from the tip of her tongue, her own teeth scraping and biting down on the soft pink flesh.
She swallowed breath, air and blood, shallowly. Her eyes tight fists in her head mirrored the grasping action in her belly.

What now? Why? Why won’t it leave me alone? Why does it stir so? What is it that grows.
Somehow they know. I see them looking at me from beneath heavy black lids and brims shielding them from the hot sun. They never look directly at me. They are sly. Sly devils all of them! No. No, not devils. But they know something. I can’t be here in the place and continue. I'll die here. I'll die here or...
I'll die here or kill something.
Yes! Yes. I want to kill something.
Her fingers gripped the pen. White knuckles stretched through brown flesh. Round half moons stabbed into her palm. The writing grew furious, rapid. Scratches and tears pulled the sheets in places. Tension built in her fine chiseled features. Her tawny brown cheeks sucked in and her full lips pursed in concentrated fury.
Kill something! I want to kill something now! Now! I need to destroy something. I can’t stand this! This... this... waiting. I wait and wait. I hide here in the place. Where when will I get out of here. I can't sleep because this thing grows and hungers. It’s like drowning in angry desires to feast on flesh and blood. I want to kill something.
She raised the pen high above the page. White billowy sleeves hung from her upraised arm and pooled at the elbow.
Now, Kill something now! Do it! Do it!
She heard it whisper to her insighting her fury.
Do it!! Kill something. The pen glittered and dropped black ink onto the white-ish pages.
Do it! Kill something! Feed me!
She slammed the pen down. It's tip bit hungrily into the back of her own hand. A scream wretched itself from her mouth. The sudden gust blew out the candle sitting in front of her on the writing desk.
She felt the pain and it relieved her. The hunger stopped. The delight swelled up inside. The thing curled up inside her stomach and rocked contentedly. It felt like it smiled and wriggled itself down into a comfortable ball, shrinking in upon itself with each heartbeat it settled. The blood pump from her wound nourished it. Satisfied it. What is it?
She didn’t care. For a time the thing was satisfied. She was free. She didn’t feel the need to kill something, not so much. Not so intense. She smiled. A pained slice in her gorgeous brown face, the smile would have frightened the planation peasants. They would have known what she was, who she was. There would have been no doubt. There would have been disrespect. There would have been live chickens and offerings laid at her door. The smile would have confirmed what she felt but could not name.
She pushed backed the chair. Its wooden legs scrapped against the cold concrete floor in the slave quarter kitchen. It echoed like the distant cry of a hundred tortured souls. Her ears perked up, the hairs on her arms stood up. As she walked heavily, calmed yet pained her blood dripped to the floor in thick round splotches. She fumbled in the dark towards the old sleeping quarters. As her feet crossed the rough grass burnt from midday sun, she stopped at the old well pump. Creaking hinges cranked as cool water sloshed over her self inflicted wound. Relief.
It sleeps.
She sighed. The water gurgled to the basin. She ripped a thin strip of her dressing gown and wound it around the injury.
Her ankle length dressing gown billowing with. each step. Quietly, exhaustedly she stumbled through the low entry way. She closed the wooden door behind her. It sighed shut. She slept. It slept.

Gothno Progress

I only have 704 words written on my gothic novel so far. I should be at 4000. I just haven't been much inspired. I was all excited about my African vampire story but it seems rather heavy and intricate yet easy to vanquish the evil. I need a little more. I think instead of gothic in the traditional sense I may go for a Brian Lumley type horror gore. Something kill something?


I also signed up for NANO this year again. Registered a few minutes ago.

Maybe I'll go over to Dr. Wicked and try a writing rampage see where it leads me.