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Create. Create or die.
Jan. 9th, 2007 09:52 pmThis is wholly ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thewriteratwork's fault, but I love her for it. She recently spoke of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
novel_in_90 and how could I stay away? I couldn't. I approached it from the side, sidling up with no plans of partaking, but no one can leave such a work as this once they've arrived.
So, yes, I've signed up. A 270 page novel in 90 days. I'm working on a project that I've long had on the back burner, a collection of five (or four) novellas on a common theme: what does it mean to be the chosen lover of a god? Of course, I'm not so sure it's really about gods, per se, or elemental personages. We'll see.
To inaugurate this project (upon which I embark three days late, rather fitting, given it's me), I give you a GIP (taps the icon on the post) and the first two paragraphs of the first novella:
Hanayoru. My name skitters through my mind, errant leaves borne on a sere autumn wind. Those things have no place where I drift, exploded and twinkling across vast distances. My thoughts fasten on the word and I feel a bit heavier, denser, form and life following those little mortal sounds. Hanayoru: night and flower and part of this world, this human world. The moan rips through me, scarlet-tinged explosions in the black, light on veins on closed eyes, and I remember.
My name is Hanayoru. Not named such in homage to the night orchids that only the nightingale can describe in his liquid sweet voice; no, I am named for the bursts in the sky, those burning lights tumbled through black velvet by a god's hand. To bear my name is an honor and fit only for those who are chosen lovers of the gods, my parents said. But what did they know of that honor? What did they know of how heavy the gods lay?
thewriteratwork's fault, but I love her for it. She recently spoke of novel_in_90 and how could I stay away? I couldn't. I approached it from the side, sidling up with no plans of partaking, but no one can leave such a work as this once they've arrived. So, yes, I've signed up. A 270 page novel in 90 days. I'm working on a project that I've long had on the back burner, a collection of five (or four) novellas on a common theme: what does it mean to be the chosen lover of a god? Of course, I'm not so sure it's really about gods, per se, or elemental personages. We'll see.
To inaugurate this project (upon which I embark three days late, rather fitting, given it's me), I give you a GIP (taps the icon on the post) and the first two paragraphs of the first novella:
Hanayoru. My name skitters through my mind, errant leaves borne on a sere autumn wind. Those things have no place where I drift, exploded and twinkling across vast distances. My thoughts fasten on the word and I feel a bit heavier, denser, form and life following those little mortal sounds. Hanayoru: night and flower and part of this world, this human world. The moan rips through me, scarlet-tinged explosions in the black, light on veins on closed eyes, and I remember.
My name is Hanayoru. Not named such in homage to the night orchids that only the nightingale can describe in his liquid sweet voice; no, I am named for the bursts in the sky, those burning lights tumbled through black velvet by a god's hand. To bear my name is an honor and fit only for those who are chosen lovers of the gods, my parents said. But what did they know of that honor? What did they know of how heavy the gods lay?
