Writing Exercise

It was a simple yet magical night that started with a shy smile, and ended with a kiss....

A look across the room spotted a mystery, and a shy, sweet smile was given: a shadow throbbed under the lights, and the room swayed seductively in an air of licorice only lovers could taste.  The shy smile turned flirtatious: it was all that was needed to give the courage necessary to navigate the maze of endless bodies that moved to sound, responded to vibrations, jumped for joy; the need of wanting, the breath on hold in a moment of silence that nothing would go wrong, for belonging, was the promise of the night, the prized announced by the stars, though morning light would be judge and decide on its merit to last or die.

The eyes held onto that smile and the connection made the quest worthy of any danger, if such was to present itself.  The maze shifted and morphed with the rhythm of sights and sounds; a cacophony of declarations were made as lovers abound.  Some were sealed in more than whispers, pitches baritone and contralto; arias that would give pause to the tainted of heart.  Some would strive for things that would never be true; some would have the unfortunate outcome of being stillborn, but not the quest for the smile; not the foreseen eyes that spoke of the future, if only they were to be shown a bit of tenderness in a moment of doubt, which could and would make the conqueror the only one... if only.

Shadows throbbed in the lights, inebriated and feeling bold, scared of being cast off; yearning for solidity and a sense of self that was denied to them by their makers.  Unable to control themselves, they tensed and darkened the path of the conqueror, making the night cry, keeping the stars from handing over the prize.  The smile faded away, and what was left of it, a witch turned into a pulpy drop of blood meant to stain the morning light, and let the new day know, all... it was lost.  The endless bodies parted ways and said their goodbyes, the maze grew pale and a ghost frightened it into a coma never to wake up from.  The shadows imbibe some more in the neons they thought were gold, and were never aware of the shimmer they took from the sky, leaving the world to wander without guidance.  The throbbing lights, blind and unaware of the weight of tragedy, washed down the still body of the would-be conqueror as a kiss bid his eyes goodbye.

Book Number 2-update

Finishing the editing was probably the easy part.  I have a clear idea of the cover design I want to utilize for my upcoming novel, the only issue is getting that idea to work.  When I was looking for the cover image of VIOLET HILL, I wanted (of course) an image that would represent the story or more importantly convey the feeling of the book, and the image I choose, which I believe I was lucky to come across is perfect: the upside down view to a basement dead end.

For anyone that's read VIOLET HILL, you know that I couldn't have picked a better image to represent the novel. A sense of dread, being trapped with no escape, desperation, claustrophobic fear, and your world and everythig you know completely shuffled into something unknown.  That's all right there in the cover when you read the novel.

I want the cover of book 2 to be just as perfect as that of VIOLET HILL, and so far I haven't being able to nailed it, but I'm positive that I'm going to.

Fingers crossed.

On "Sharp Objects" by Gilliam Flynn

Has anyone read Gillian Flynn's SHARP OBJECTS from 2006?
It was her debut novel, and as far as contemporary horror stories goes, SHARP OBJECTS remains one darkly unsettling, disturbing novel that crawls under your skin and stays there for months.  5 years later, I still recall my reaction to its best and most chilling passages.  What sets SHARP OBJECTS apart from most novels, and really what keeps you from putting the book down, is Ms Flynn's sharp (for lack of a better word) stylize writing, and her talent to make vivid for us, a family, a small town, a handful of mean teenage girls that, though not supernatural monsters, are the stuff of nightmares.  And the pay off? Sick is a word that comes to mind often.

I decided to touch on SHARP OBJECTS because, shortly after finishing the book, I was so taken by it and the damage caused to its main character, that I was inspire to write a song; a sort of theme from the book (I get inspire to write songs to things quite often).  Going through some old files I came across the lyrics sheet, and re-reading it, it immediately took me back to the world within the book and it's horrors, and I decided to post it here so you can have a look.  No matter how many times it happens, it always amazes me when something gets such a strong hold of you that it inspire you in turn, to create other things.

If you've read the book, let me know what you think.

Sharp Objects

I still have that spot baby, awaiting your name/

Come to me and give me peace of mind/don’t you want your angel to be all right?/

Come to me and give me what I need/

I remember the first time/I remember the pain/I remember the release/

Oh yes/the release/

My body starts to hum, as the memories burn brightly in my mind/

And my skin/oh yes/my skin/it screams obscenities back at me/

And I ache/I ache hard/once/

Like a period typed at the end of a sentence/

“Babydoll” you call out in the wind/but little “whore” is all I hear/

I was “wicked” “nasty” “queasy” “harmful” and the words kept coming/

Your mouth was a trap full of pearly white teeth gnawing away hungrily/

Over miles and miles of skin/

Words ripple up and words ripple down/

Yet my body won’t hush, ’cause the cutting tool was never found/

I remember it well/I remember you denied me/I remember you told me I hurt your love/

Oh yes/your love/

You said that I hurt you when I ran away from your side/

What about me and the bleeding I got going inside?/

You were hurt/oh yes/you were hurt/

But I ached/hard/once/

Like a period typed at the end of a sentence/

“Babydoll” you call out in the wind/but little “whore” is all I hear/

I wanted to be “Inarticulate” “duplicious” “worrisome” “tragic” and the damage kept on going/

‘Cause your mouth was a trap full of pearly white teeth gnawing away hungrily/

Over miles and miles of my skin/

Words ripple up and words ripple down/

Yet my body won’t hush, ‘cause the cutting tool was never found/

I still have that clean spot baby, awaiting your name/

Come to me and give me peace/come to me and silence my skin/

Give me your mouth with its full set of pearly sharp objects~