I’ve just been on a trip to first London, to visit my friend, and then Cambridge, to visit my sister. It was really nice; we even had some summer weather to wander around London and paddle up the river Cam.
However, when I got home, I got really sick, which was not so nice; I spent two days just lying in bed.
Now I’m much better. I even finally got around to doing some spring cleaning.
So it’s back to writing.
I just have to find something to write about…
Posted by W. R. Woolf on August 26, 2015
(Credit: Joe Fuhrman)
He trapped me in a cage of his care, clipping my wings with his worries, feeding me only his hopes and dreams of a future where I would sing for him and only him. But I am more like a phalarope than a swan and I long to leave the nest. If only I knew how to break the bars.
Posted by W. R. Woolf on August 19, 2015
“A disembodied hand crawled across the street, as behind it zombies in skimpy nurse uniforms turned their unseeing eyes towards me. If only I had not showered that day, but the fresh fruity scent of my hair drew them right to me. Such cruel irony; you know I have always dreamed to die by being torn apart by sexy nurses or policewomen, but although the nurse uniforms were revealing, the zombies were not at all sexy on account of their rotting flesh. And I’m not into males, zombies or no. Oh the horror! The unspeakable horror!”
“You could have just said that you didn’t have time for a shower this morning,” I said.
“When the zombie apocalypse comes, you will wish that you too smelled of dead rat,” he pointed an accusing finger at me.
“Sure,” I put in my nose plugs, “let’s get this over with.”
And we drove up to the lake to dump our failed virus experiment.
Posted by W. R. Woolf on August 16, 2015
He put the book in his lap and gazed out at the sunshine. A blackbird whistled in the walnut tree and a squirrel ran away with his plunder. So much life, he thought. Maybe he should go for a walk in the forest, while it was still such fine weather? Then again, he might meet someone and he was not in the mood for talking. He leaned back into his armchair with a content sigh and let his eyes wander across the living room and up to the face of the grandfather clock. It had been two hours already. He smiled. It was not as if he had anything else he needed to do today. So he picked up his book again and let himself be drawn into the words and the world they created in his mind.
Posted by W. R. Woolf on August 12, 2015
(Credit: Tommy Ingberg)
He drummed his fingers on the table. Then he bit his nails. A distant car engine made him go to the window, but it continued past the sleepy village. Silence descended over the living room. He froze and the silence grew, ripping through his eardrums to tear up his insides. He paced the carpet, stamping his feet to chase the silence away, but there was still an emptiness in the room which he could not fill with noise, and the void sucked at him, threatening to drag him down into nothingness. He picked up his phone, still pacing. Who wouldn’t be at work? He sent out a text with “Hi, How’s it going?” to ten different numbers. When the phone vibrated, he sat down with a sigh. It was not much, but it could keep the void at bay for a while.
Posted by W. R. Woolf on August 10, 2015
Friday I finished the first draft of a science fiction novel. Many woops were called and many dances danced before I returned from my writing holiday yesterday.
Now I *just* have to edit it, which I plan to do in the last part of September and the first part of October. Until then, I’ll write as many small texts as possible to get the novel out of my head, before I have to look at it again and actually make it good.
I’ll begin with four small writing exercises, the first of which I’ll post just after this update. After that, I don’t know, but I hope it’ll be interesting.
Posted by W. R. Woolf on August 2, 2015
Hello people, robots and others,
I’m sorry I’ve been so bad at updating lately. Wednesday I couldn’t write anything and was worried that I might have the dreaded writer’s block. Now, I’m writing like crazy, just not anything that will be posted on the blog.
Why? You might ask. Because I’m writing on a novel. A science fiction novel, to be precise, and I’ve gone on a writing holiday where I hope, no, I’m counting on finishing the first draft.
Yesterday I wrote 8130 words on it and if I just write 6000 words every day the rest of the week, I’ll make it.
So there probably won’t be an update Wednesday either, but perhaps I’ll be ready to write a bit flash fiction Sunday.
I hope you are all still having a wonderful summer.
See you around!
Posted by W. R. Woolf on July 27, 2015
It’s so easy to not talk in bed.
It’s so easy to get up before you wake and leave the house while you’re in the shower.
It’s so easy to ignore your text messages and pretend that everything at work is important.
It’s so easy to drink whiskey at the bar.
It’s so easy to smoke, but through the grey coils from the cigarette, I see your eyes and
It’s so easy to hear your voice, as you tell me that you’re looking for a new flat, and
It’s so easy to wonder whether you ever really loved me, but I’ll never know because
It’s so easy to not talk in bed.
Posted by W. R. Woolf on July 19, 2015