Friday, August 17, 2012

We are never ever ever getting back together

My wifi network at home and I have been having a passionate on and off again relationship. We finally broke up this week and I have started a new relationship with a new network.

I've also been listening to that Taylor Swift song a lot. It's good that I listen to it via youtube at work or I'd be terrified to look at the play count.



But is this not a brilliant lyric video? I like the part where the spoken bridge comes out and goes back in the phone. Also where the words do a little dance on the stage. Words should dance. Dancing words are the best. I'd like a stage with velvet curtains where my words could dance for me.

I even switched it up and because I couldn't sync my files on Mr iPad, I have some words on one draft and some words on another. But they never dance on a stage. LIKE. EVER.

Anyway. Metrics.

Tuesday
Requiem's Tale of Woe and Jokes Pt 2 
Words: 593
Total: 11,004
The doubt: I don't remember Tuesday, but I don't think I was feeling really well. Yeah, I basically sat there and poked at the keyboard until something happened and the number count was high enough that I could drag my butt to bed and sleep for not long enough.


Wednesday
A Forest That Eats Your Face
Words: 1,222
Total: 1,222
The doubt: I have the loveliest opening line for this, and then I had to write myself into the actual story. Actually, I think my doubt is more that people have to stop referring to this as a story about a forest that eats your face when that's sort of a feature and not the focus. By people, I mean me.
But I wrote this anyway: The only things of value Barrington had were the magpie, a scarf given him to by the woman who had loved him until magpies had come for her heart, and his wits. It looked that he was going to lose at least two of the three before the day was out.

Thursday
A Forest That Eats Your Face
Words: 506
Total: 1,728
The doubt: Tired again and suspecting that most of this scene will end up junked.
But I wrote this anyway: Dressed in a robe the color of a summer sky over the mountains, the sash the grey of a storm cloud, Barrington had to admit it was an improvement—the magpie looked strange, but at least it looked like a strange child and no longer a creature.

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