Writing prompts

So I got this writing prompt thing and I’m going to try and stretch my writing limbs and use it and post the short stories in here for you all to read. So look forward to them soon.

More hours

Some days I wish there were more hours in the day. If there were more hours in the day I could get more time to do things, spend more time with my kids and sleep more. All the things I feel I need but never feel I have time to do. I mean I have plenty of time with my kids (because I guess having a want for more time with my kids makes me a terrible mother or something like that) but more time would always be nice. I mean who wouldn’t want to hear more stories from your kids or help them more on their counting or the letter B that they can never seem to remember?

I don’t know. I am taking five minutes of my time to type this up because I with I had more time to do this and work on other projects but I have to sacrifice each of them for something else that I need to do or someone else I need to see. I swear, if I can suggest something, never become an adult. being an adult sucks.

Kid 4 life!

Morrgroove Gone

So I feel that my Morrgroove or Morrmojo or Mojo-Jojo is gone and never coming back. I feel uninspired dull and downright blechy most days. I’ll sit at my computer and things that make me inspired and happy to do online feel like chores. It’s not supposed to be this way. My hobbies should feel fun and exciting to come home to. I should want to get all of my other stuff out of the way so I can sit down and enjoy the happy things and life. But I don’t and it depresses me.

So the normal responses that I’m sure I’ll here is “Get a new hobby” or “If it depresses you then find out why” well I don’t know why. I love being at my computer. I love writing. I love coding websites. I love making images. I LOVE Rping and yet all of these things don’t inspire me at all.  This could be the 12 hour days at work but really if that’s what is killing it for me then why did I enjoy them in the first place? Because it killed time? I used to itch to get home and turn on my laptop and see all the amazing things I missed that day and regret missing it. Now it’s just one more thing I need to do.

I need my Morrmuse back. It’s gone and I can’t find it. If you see her please send her straight back with my brain. It would be muchly appreciated.

NaNo Begins

So the month of NaNoWriMo begins and I am ill prepared and barely aware. >_< I have been sitting, considering what I would write about for three weeks, never making solid plans and now it’s here and I have little to no idea what I will be writing about during the tumultuous time of NaNo. I have nothing more then a basic world idea and the fact that I want to write about it.

Morrfail!

So what does this mean? I need to go crazy about thinking at work on my breaks and my time off of the phones to figure out what direction I will go after work and really hammer some stuff out. On average I will have 2 hours a day to actually get any writing done. I don’t think that I’ve ever powered out 1600 words of writing per day in 2 hours but I’m certainly going to try.

At the moment my ideas are to either continue Supermassive (the novel I started last year) or start one of two ideas. One is a Girls Run the world novel about how their is an STD that kills women or one about how an innocent company creates an overbearing Social media platform that creates a dystopia. I think the former is the one I’ve decided on I just don’t know the perspective I was writing from. I was pretty sure I was going to do it post war but maybe I’ll do it pre-war but at the same time I have to figure out who is writing the story and why. Work will have it in for me. I better start the headache meds now.

Well to the work chopping block and headache and to the NaNo not prepared grind! I can do this!

I Know the Pieces Fit

Elizabeth ran a hand through her reddened hair. She didn’t like it but it was a precautionary measure, just like the colored contacts, the henna tattoo’s and the mass amounts of makeup. She turned herself into a goth because he knew what she looked like. It required a look drastically different enough that he wouldn’t recognize her.

The traits of a good monster was the ability to adapt.
Elizabeth adapted well.
When Dexter saw her he looked again and by then she was gone. She hoped he thought he was seeing a ghost.

Elizabeth had been stalking him for three weeks… maybe four? She was beginning to lose track. Without her steady routine one day ran into the next and then the next and it all seemed like one big exhausting blur of Dexter’s grinning face. Despite her want to connect with him she knew killing him was for the best. Then why did her heart beat so hard when she brushed past him?

He kept her up at night. She wanted his death for fear of her life but she liked him. If there was any other way she’d find it.

The only problem was that she couldn’t live in a nightmare forever.
Dexter was her nightmare.
She was in a living nightmare.
That was why tonight was the night.
There was no more waiting.
No more worrying.
No more dreaming.
If she got rid of Dexter then Elizabeth got rid of the nagging prophesy. She’d be able to fall back into her normal routine again. She’d also be alone again with no hope for a companion.
Life would be better without Dexter.
Life would be worse without Dexter.
At least she believed her life would be better without Dexter.

Elizabeth sighed in frustration and tilted her head toward the floor with a final glance toward her adversary before she rounded the corner to prepare for the night.

She required strength.
She required willpower.
She required sleep.

—————————–

Six hours later Elizabeth was following Dexter through the crowds of one of the many street marketplaces in Miami. She stayed a safe enough distance behind him and looked at things, stopping constantly at booths that looked like she would be interested in. Blend and blend well. It was a tactic one learnt in High School with bullies and brats. She was one of the well blended brats with no money.

Next booth. Next meaningless item that looked vibrantly gaudy, like she did.

Soon Dexter reached the end of the market and he kept going which cause Elizabeth to pick up her pace. She just needed an alley. An alley and the wire in her hoodies pocket. She twisted her fist around the wire as she passed her first opportunity, Dexter too far ahead of her to take it.

Alley.
Building.
Alley.
Building.

Elizabeth’s heart started to race, the darkness inside of her taking complete form. The only thing in her head was her own dark, wide grin and blue eyes filled with a wild fire.

Alley.
Building.
Alley…

Elizabeth released a soft sigh as she jumped throwing the wire around Dexter’s neck using her height as leverage to pull him backward and into the alley. She wrapped the wire as tightly as she could around his throat as he fought her, his elbows viciously jabbing into her breasts and ribs slamming her repeatedly into the brick wall of the building closest to them in the alley.

Elizabeth couldn’t help, during the struggle, that it was uncommon for them not to beg in some way.
This didn’t seem right.
This wasn’t right.

Elizabeth loosened her grip just enough for Dexter to catch a lucky break slamming her into the wall again, a moan of pain escaping her lips as he twisted around holding her against the wall with his forearm on her neck slowly putting pressure. This was it, just a little more pressure and she’d pass out. A little more after that and her larynx would be crushed.

Elizabeth gasped for breath as her hands pushed against Dexter her knee moving for the groin but denied by his prepared thigh. Slowly she felt consciousness slip away from her before the pressure was gone and she was on the ground gasping for breath, Dexter above her rubbing his throat.

What are you doing?” he growled at her.

“What… I have… to, to..” Elizabeth coughed placing her palms on the ground to push herself up, “survive.”

And killing me is the way to survive?” Dexter asked her, helping her off of the ground pinning her against the wall with his imposing form. “I come back from the crime scene expecting to find you asleep on my bed and you were gone. I was going to tell you that you clean up everything very well.” He frowned, “Other then your body disposal but for now you were safe. So what do you mean survive? What are you hiding?”

“I need to kill someone Dexter. I am unraveling inside,” while this was only part of the reason she hoped it was enough.

Dexter’s eyes bore into hers as they tried to read one another. Elizabeth still trying to catch her breath, every nerve burning for rest, to stop fighting and yet to stay awake and fight. She felt so conflicted. She had never been so out of control near someone before. She needed to regain something here. She needed to regain that sense of control she lost in the bedroom with the unfamiliar shoe.

Elizabeth needed Dexter.

Without words Dexter seemed to get the signal, or perhaps he wanted something from her just as badly as she wanted it from him but he pressed his lips messily into hers again his hands finding their way to her hips, her waist pulling her closer to him.

While impulsiveness was the trait of a desperate serial killer she need something to keep hold of the thread that held all of her together. At the moment that something was him. For now, ignoring the nightmares were all she could do.

A small amount of trust could lead to a whole lot of success.
Or a whole lot of defeat.
For now they both won.

Debating my writing

So I actually got to writing the next chapter in my Dexter Fanfiction and I’ve come to an impasse. I ddon’t like the new direction that the previous chapter took me. Either I’m not liking how this chapter is coming out or I need something creative to point my character into a direction.

Now, lets be honest, it’s a fanfiction so I can have a bit of fun with it and I wanted a little bit of monster love in it so I could pivot my direction away from pure hate to pure lust and I don’t think I’d have a problem but my question is, do you think that would deter my normal reader. I honestly don’t know if it will or won’t. Every one of the people that have read it like it so far and I have already added the element in there.

So to romanticize or to not romanticize…. that is the question of a woman needing some romancing.

I think the answer is obvious but if you want to put forth your input read the story.

Current continuation chapter probably being sacked…. feel lucky I am sharing my unfinished work as I normally don’t.

Elizabeth ran a hand through her reddened hair. She didn’t like it but it was a precautionary measure, just like the colored contacts, the henna tattoo’s and the mass amounts of makeup. She turned herself into a goth because he knew what she looked like. It required a look drastically different enough that he wouldn’t recognize her.

The traits of a good monster was the ability to adapt.Elizabeth adapted well.When Dexter saw her he looked again and by then she was gone. She hoped he thought he was seeing a ghost.

Elizabeth had been stalking him for three weeks… maybe four? She was beginning to lose track. Without her steady routine one day ran into the next and then the next and it all seemed like one big exhausting blur of Dexter’s grinning face. It kept her up at night because when she slept she dreamt. The dreams growing more vivid, like he was attacking her through her dreams. They were no longer surreal dreams but more of lucid nightmares of being gutted one organ at a time.

She was in a living nightmare.
That was why tonight was the night.
There was no more waiting.
No more worrying.
No more dreaming.

If she got rid of Dexter then Elizabeth got rid of the nagging prophesy.She’d be able to fall back into her normal routine again.

Life would be better without Dexter.
At least her life would be better without Dexter.
Elizabeth tilted her head toward the floor with a final glance toward her adversary before she rounded the corner to prepare for the night.

She required strength.
She required willpower.
She required sleep.