Gossamer Dream
Placed in morning light
Draped in gossamer wishes
I kneel to your pyre
Haiku
Author Archives: Linda G. Hill
Shadow Art Sculptures by Diet Wiegman
This is brilliant! I had to re-blog 🙂
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Diet Wiegman is a Dutch artist that uses a combination of sculpture and light to create fascinating shadow art projected onto walls. Born in 1944, he began experimenting with light sculptures in the 1980s, inspiring a generation of artists after him to also explore the art style (e.g., Tim Noble & Sue Webster, Kumi Yamashita).
For more artwork by Wiegman, be sure to check out his official site at dietwiegman.tumblr.com/ where you will find all of his light sculptures as well as drawings, paintings, photographs, ceramics and more.
[Alafoto via TruthSeerum]
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Private Thoughts, Private World – Part 2
Incomplete Thoughts
Is there such a thing as a complete thought? When, as writers, do we know our meaning has been entirely understood by our reader? Is it possible to have entire understanding between two people? After all, there are only so many human experiences, just as there are a limited number of stories, written over and over again from different perspectives. But still, I think not.
It occurred to me that writing a thought is like taking a step. No matter how many times you think you’ve taken your last step, come to the end of your journey, there will always be another step to take until you die. Then all there is left is for someone else to attempt to interpret your life, your steps, your thoughts.
My Opinion
In the spirit of the weekend, and in honour of a very special friend (you know who you are) here is an opera-singing bunny.
You’ll either love it or it will keep you away from my scotch.
Epilogue Rich Boy
Spotlights shine down like mother’s sun. Father’s love comes after in the form of drugs and liquor. Relive, rich man.
On stage, man raises his hand to the shrieking crowd, awed with humility at his fans’ adoration. Grasping the microphone, he thinks of father rolling in his grave.
He sips water from a bottle and shakes the rest over his head, a momentary reprieve from the lights’ insulating heat. Layers of clothing hide scars he openly speaks of yet never reveals. He laments mother’s death with his lyrics and thousands cry for his loss.
Father’s legacy follows him doggedly. Later, alone, man will consume that for which he distances himself from his own offspring. Let the child have his mother.
The boy within bows, singing of the love engraved in his heart.
To go to the beginning of this series click here
Disclaimer: This series is an unauthorized, semi-fictional story, based in part on the author’s imagination.
A Letter to my Main Character
Dear Stephen,
You were a magician before I ever met you. Nevertheless, I handed you your tricks; your wand, your cards and your bunnies to be pulled from hats. It was serendipity that you met the love of your life. I didn’t expect you to show up any more than she did. But oh, how I discovered you. We discovered you.
I’ve seen you through many troubles, frights and flights, I watched you dance and fall in love, I saw your joy and your pain. You surprised me and you caused me grief. Most of all I saw you grow as a man. You blossomed before my very fingertips.
Now you have outgrown me. You’re ready to move on. Though perhaps we’ll meet again in another tale, I have to let you go. I am happy to say it was a natural break. You have a life to live that doesn’t need me to tell it.
For now.
Giving away your smile
Your precious crooked grin
Fills me with pride and sorrow
In almost equal measures
Selfish is the heart who won’t let go
Allowing your wings to spread
You don’t need me
Though I created you from scratch
Grown and changed
You look upon me now with love
For what I have given
You have given me much more in return
… One Man
Stale air fills sunlit kitchen of childhood’s end. Choking on father’s love fills the coming void. Look back, poor boy. Closed eyes reveal crystalline crimson sparks, drowning in tears of years gone by. Look forward, young man.
Man sits across from father at the kitchen table. Turning and turning a crystal tumbler tinted with two fingers of scotch in a puddle of its own condensation he listens to father’s wheezing breath.
“Give me some,” demands father.
Man regards father. It is the first time man has been alone with him indeed since he was a young child. Man recalls that setting with its backdrop of violence and self-consciously man touches his chest.
“Give me some,” father repeats. He stretches across the table for the bottle but man moves it out of reach. Father begins to cough with exertion.
In the refracted sunlight from the crystal glass man envisions his future, reflected in father’s dull eyes.
Man swallows the remainder of the scotch in his tumbler and stands.
“Give me some,” father chokes.
“Fuck you,” man answers.
Man carries the bottle to the sink. He considers emptying it but instead places it on top of the high cupboard, inches from the ceiling. For the last time man studies father’s dying face.
“I love you father,” man says.
To go to the beginning of this series click here
Disclaimer: This story (and series) is semi-fictional, and is in no way connected to persons alive nor dead. Apart from certain facts, it is a product of the author’s imagination.
At last!
Sixteen and a half long months since the day I began, I finished writing the first draft of my novel this evening.
I’m celebrating by going to bed.
Advice from Kristen Lamb
Excellent advice about your antagonist!
One of the biggest mistakes most new writers make is they don’t understand the antagonist and how antagonists are used to drive plot momentum and ratchet up the stakes. Without true antagonists, there is no way to generate dramatic tension. One of the “outs” many writers try to use is “Well, my protagonist is his own worst enemy.”
Yeah, um no. That’s therapy, not fiction.
All stories need two types of antagonists:
The Big Boss Troublemaker
Since the term “antagonist” confuses a lot of new writers, I came up with the term, BBT. If the BBT is something existential (like alcoholism) then it needs to be represented by someone corporeal. In WWII, the Allies weren’t fighting fascism, they fought HITLER. Concepts need a FACE.
Scene Antagonists
Often allies and love interests will provide the scene conflict. Protagonist wants A, but then Ally wants B.
Today, we’ll use a “My protagonist…
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Milestones
Life’s milestones come in so many shapes and sizes. While many are like gigantic boulders others can seem like pebbles at first. But even a pebble can create a ripple.
Today my firstborn, my baby, who has somehow so quickly reached a height of almost six feet and eighteen years of age, moved out. A huge milestone for him and what I thought would be a smaller one for me.
But now I find myself thinking about how empty my house feels, even though my other two children are asleep in their beds. There’s no one to call down the laundry chute to say good-night to before I go to bed. I’ll turn off all the lights without worrying if he’ll trip over anything should he get up in the dark. The ripples have spread, just as my son has spread his wings and proverbially flown the coop. Just like that.
