11 December 2016:
A couple weeks ago, I wrote a lot of my thoughts and feelings down. It felt as if I was pushing myself to really think and consider things: how I felt, what I felt, my situation, who I was, what I believed.
I didn’t post any of it; I never post those kinds of reflections. I have a writing document, or a journaling word document. It’s where I can work through thoughts and confusion and realizations. Or at least it feels like I am. I don’t have to worry if the paragraphs fit together, or if it makes sense, or if it has a unified topic, or if it is writerly or witty or just good writing. I don’t have to worry about if my feelings sound good. I can just focus on what I mean or what I feel.
Almost two weeks ago, I posted a verbatim one about my purpose and why I write. I hadn’t written anything since then.
Today’s the seventh Anniversary of The Princess and the Frog. It’s the only Disney movie that directly influenced my writing. That winter soon after it premiered, me and my immediate family went to Walt Disney World and stayed at resort near Animal Kingdom. It was an awesome place. (It was connected to the safari/savanna so there was a waterhole area outside where you could view animals; we saw a giraffe drinking on the last day.*) But it was really out of the way.
More importantly there was a lot of PatF stuff being promoted. So, the African décor, animals, PatF, and the Christmas lights and spirit mashed up in my mind to deter and take over the second book of my Aladdin-lyric story.
That’s a really bad working name, but it’s the best I can think of to explain it. Essentially, I wanted to take the cut lyrics from Disney’s Aladdin and see if I could create a compelling story out of it. Or more precisely, if I could take a lazy character and a spoiled character and see if I could make them compelling. By the end, it had begun to deviant from that idea and sink into a strange fog focused on the early stages of my Dreams. Then PatF came out. And I got two new characters that changed the plot.
The book leaps open at her touch. Pages flow in a whirl of snapping, crinkling pages. Like the whisper of leaves in autumn, they make a gentle humming sound. Just as quickly, they stop. The book lies exposed.
Leaning forward, she sees a page written in beautiful gold ink, colorful flourishes in blue and red and green, fanciful flowers and beasts, on the borders. The words fade to brown ink as the tale proceeds. Leaning closer, she reads the forgotten story.
Written: 22 June 2016
Inspired: a song (Over the Garden Wall)
Sadness clung like dregs of seaweed and water. It dragged her down, clammy fingers drowning the forlorn body into the drowned reflection of the moon. The fiery shades of autumn faded, grey gloom and cold mist replacing them with a forest of lost souls. Winter clung to its heels, as snowflakes spun wildly through the barren branches.
Written: 30 May 2016
Inspired: Over the Garden Wall
Moonlight fell across tall stalks of wheat, bushels brushed in gossamer silver. Cool strands of mist crept out of the dense woods that surrounded the fields, wrapping their eternal wet fingers around the wheat. Moonbeams glinted off beads of mist, curious but silent. They were the only witnesses as the wheat was lifted off the ground and gently stolen away into the forest.
Written: 30 May 2016
Inspired: Over the Garden Wall opening song
A LUNAR MOTH landed on a half-eaten apple. The once taut red skin puckered around a gigantic bite mark, a wrinkled yellow smile to match the leaves overhead. Etched in silvery blue from the gibbous moon, the autumnal wings of the branches whispered their dying secrets down to the moth.
She stretched her own wings; she was not much interested in secrets tonight. She was hoping for a decent breakfast around this rotten apple. Old enough to have a tasty treat, but new enough that the larger scavengers — raccoons or rabbits — had not sniffed out its delicious decaying aroma.
The leaves rustled madly, as a mysterious weight darted through the branches, crinkling silver shadows over it’s compact, quick body.
The moth flexed her wings; she would worry about that after she ate.
Written: 10 March 2016
Inspired: Over the Garden Wall
THROATY CROAKS RISE over the river, mingled among reeds and under the moist mud beneath the fire-adorned birches lining the shore. The harmonious frog choir attracts a family of fat muskrats and a lost fawn. A shy shunk also listens from behind the largest birch. Its striped bark is a perfect camouflage. Shifting her weight, she digs her dainty claws through the mud; being farther from the water, it blows tiny black plumes onto her muzzle, darkening her face. As far as she’s concerned, it’s better camouflage this way. Still… A tiny part wonders if she should try and say hello…
Written: 27 Feb 2016
Inspired: music from Over the Garden Wall + ?
A/N: I’m not sure if birch actually grow near water but I wanted to keep the imagery. If they don’t, imagine they’re special water-birches.
LEAVES OF GOLD rustle, rising like yellow skeletons blown along an abandoned road. Scurrying critters – squirrel, hare, and muskrat – sniff or snap at the lost twirling remnants, before vanishing back into the forest. One dainty leaf escapes. Spiraling in the wind, it lands with a gentle plink on a bed of water. Ripples circle it’s brown crinkled edges, and the leaf sighs peacefully. No one will bother it here.
Written: 24 Feb 2016
Inspired: Over the Garden Wall + a little H. C. Andersen near the end
A/N: there’s a lot of “-ing” verbs. I remember I started using them a lot when I was taking Ancient Greek in college. (Participles, yeah!)