Saturday, November 04, 2006

Great Production. New Story Machine?

Good month for me so far, three stories, two flashes, six poems, 8,179 words.

I'd like to rest, but I'm grabbig this while it's here!

I can worry about redrafting, edits, and reewriting when I'm old.


Take 1-2-3-all of these

The more of these you use the more you will find an amazing story in you

but read the whle thing a few times first and let the phrases sing to you, get into your consciousness.

Yesterday from the same set of prompts I read two 120+ stories that used ALL the prompts. One turned out to be a dark murder story, the othr was about a Falklands veteran walking on a beach1

But on my walk I find three : I employ more people than Henry Ford : The poor little children vomited and wept : Rabbits. Deer. Because of a principle. : She is behind : I would have heard them : Red than Dead. Because the Ruskies : Women marched. Held Hands : Via Aldermaston : Twelve thousand men : Trucks, concrete. Frighted away : Travel steerage by air : To slip back into France. Because of an Austrian : To rest. Because they walk : To my right : To less effect, obviously : Though I loved Cairo : They marched so close to my house : I've been to paralysed to write : It was really terrifying : Then returning I found that my house was not ready : The trip back was something : Who got away : The trickling sun, the sprinkle : The sun was like a spirit : The sun slits through leaves : When I turn away, my shadow : Were footsteps, horseshoes : The root was not quite right. : The path was old. Through the trees : The path is well-trod : The missiles went, the concrete : The chaps are drilling again : Talking on her mobile. : Strategic Air Command, the skies : Soldiers drilled. Left-Right : Snorting. : Reclaimed, relaid and fox and stoat : Polythene bags of shit : The little tea-house, and scones; : The key to all our futures, better : Plover rush. Because of Sarajevo. : Past the cruise-missile silos : November. Glorious : Morning run : Missiles came. Because they could. : Left, a crow sits quietly : Is in front of me. : In little bags : I know they pick up shit : I knew that : I imagined my own death : I hear dogs. : I came to take a photograph : He's pullovered, green : He doesn't look : Hanging from saplings : Had buried many. Thrown down wells : grilling on the chain-link fence : Got ten cartons of cigarettes in Karachi : Glorious again : Four hundred years deep : Faintly pleasant, it was : Eyes front. Missed the Golden : Essex ran for London. His men : Early morning light through trees. : Dear Brother : Cut Ties, Cut Fences. But still : Chopped in bits. Because times changed : Catch the sun, pause, it's pleasant : But she is halting : But I was disappointed : But graffiti too. Because he is bored. : Beneath my feet : As though he is alone : As I pass, my shadow : Approaching : And turn inside out : And talked to themselves and never, never stopped : And rabbit, cow, deer alive, mosses : And on my return : And making planes that glide : And laughed and ran up and down and sang : Americans, steam-rollers, giant : All horrible. Because of a King. : A treaty signed, not here, away

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