Stolen From Various Sources, Since All The Cool Kids Are Doing It - The Watchtower of Destruction: The Ferrett's Journal
Stolen From Various Sources, Since All The Cool Kids Are Doing It|
Tell me about a story I haven’t written, and I’ll give you the opening sentence from that story.
That one’s been going around, and I’m intrigued. (The original meme says “I’ll give you a sentence from that story,” but I write all my stories in strict chronological order anyway, so it’d be the first sentence regardless. Mise well be a challenge.)
Sufficiently silly responses won’t get a sentence; oh, I know many think it’s funny to ask me to write about the sentient whipped cream that ate Roger Ebert, but I AM SRS AUTHOR. (Also, and more relevant, purposely ludicrous ideas usually don’t get my motor running.) But if it’s an actual story idea, I’ll approach it with all seriousness. FOR I AM SRS AUTHOR.
(So srs that I technically “won” NaNoWriMo last night, at 51,000+ words, but I’ll consider it my personal victory if I can finish Act II before the month is over. More on that in a bit, though. This morning is therapist and then unfucking my dev environment for work.)
Cross-posted from Ferrett's Real Blog.
This entry has also been posted at http://theferrett.dreamwidth.org/266170.html. You can comment here, or comment there; makes no never-mind by me.
A story about a woman whose anxiety over the passage of time causes her to slow all events around her, until she lives in a nearly frozen reality.
At first she thought it was the caffeine, so she switched to decaf. Then, when the trembling in her hands and that feeling that her eyeballs were lined with grit never subsided, she decided the sugar, it must be the sugar. A therapist, who saw her gray and trembling on the couch, filled her full of Prozac and Paxil...
...but what really caused her anxiety, she realized, was the approach of the therapist's appointment. The upcoming hour, the solidity of the deadline, that 10:00 standing before her like an iron gate, was what caused Alysia to panic.
How about something from The Blood Horses?
Janna was young, but her gloves were old and worn, which is why she lost her finger.
(As we all know, of course, the blood horses are very dangerous to touch, with leechlike bodies that trap and destroy any living flesh that lands on them.)
|Date:||November 28th, 2012 02:16 pm (UTC)|| |
How about a sentence from that story of yours where drums are a divinatory tool?
Jules often wondered if John Bonham had known what he was doing.
It was hard for him to listen to Bonham's extended suicide note in "Moby Dick," but Julies applied himself to it with the scrutiny that any diviner uses when they pushed their finger through moist dregs of tea. To the rest of the world, "Moby Dick" was the part of the Led Zeppelin concert where you went and got another beer - four minutes of furious drum solo, a dense polyrhythmic stew of paraddidles and crashes, with Bonham arcing up and down the scale in frantic, galloping rolls.
To Jules, though, the beats spoke of darker things. If you listened with the right ears, you could hear Bonham charting his future in detail, his mania, his despair, the rise of Zeppelin and his addictions. And when that final, thunderous beat came, the culmination of everything, he could hear Bonham bringing down both the sticks and the end of his own life simultaneously.
Had he known? Had Bonham understood that he was casting a spell? Or had he just, inchoately, been attuned to something that was nothing but instinct to him?
|Date:||November 28th, 2012 02:19 pm (UTC)|| |
Someone invents an actually functional, non-intrusive lie detector - you can just place it in a position that can hear a person talking and observe their face, and it can accurately glow if they do not believe what they are saying. They are smart enough to have realised the implications of this and backed up their work thoroughly / arranged for it to be publically released if they disappear mysteriously...
"I know what you're thinking," Alice said, gesturing to the wall of machinery behind her that in fact displayed just what her backer was thinking.
|Date:||November 28th, 2012 02:23 pm (UTC)|| |
A wanna-be Hollywood star makes a deal with the devil, only to find out that the surrender of hir soul means s/he doesn't appear on film (or digitally recorded media) anymore.
Brenda was a star in high school, the belle of her college acting club, the most gorgeous girl of her hometown. But in Hollywood, where the stars of every high school had drifted in the hopes of fame, she found that she was now below average. At everything.
I'd actually have to put more thought into this than I've got right now, since the story would not be about the incident itself, but rather about the aspects of the hunter's life that mirror this incident and give meaning to it.
Magic is real, but it's addictive. It feels *so good* to make fire spring from your hands that you don't want to do anything else, and a lot of "gifted" folks wind up on the street because they can't hold down a job.
Been watching Joss Wheedon shows lately?
Apple invents the iMind, a chip that you can have implanted in your brain to listen to music, surf the Internet, download television shows, check your email, etc...
A large majority of wealthy and upper middle class people buy it.
/b/ hooks up with Occupy Wall Street and decides this is their one shot at the one percent and they hack the system so it sends a virus laden OS update.
The government needs to find someone who can upload a new virus protection program into the iMinds before the virus takes effect. But, the only anti virus programer smart enough to create the virus protection in time is on the run in South America after being framed for a murder he may or may not have committed while on a designer hallucinogen.
Timesha drank the beer, even though she did not want it.
(Of course you start with the girl who he falls in love with as she works as a beer girl at the local Tanzanian bar, drinking fifty beers a day and vomiting out the excess, to chronicle just how strange and bizarre this virus programmer is. Then she dies at the end of the first chapter. Then the virus strikes in chapter 2.)
A story about a woman who discovers a bookbag that has two unusual properties:
1) Its contents show up as a few changes of clothes on airport scanners, no matter what those contents actually are.
2) There seems to be no upper limit to how much the bookbag can hold.
She does some massive-scale smuggling for a while before she's brought in on an unrelated charge and the feds learn what her bookbag can do. She finds herself pressured into the US Army, and has to deal with the ramifications of being a human personnel carrier in an active warzone.
Evelyn had taken a flashlight in with her, a compass, enough food to last for weeks, bringing a bag inside the bag. The compass had been useless once inside The Sack, its needle jittering nervously in every direction, but she'd been smart enough to bring several cans of spraypaint to draw jagged arrows on the wrinkled proplyene surface.
The fabric cavern around her was lightless, sagging, occasionally sighing as mysterious winds rippled the cloth. Nothing lived in here. There was no water. Just a cave that went on until she ran out of paint, and a never-ending line of rough arrows pointing back to to the unzipped entrance.
This was no ordinary book bag.
|Date:||November 28th, 2012 04:30 pm (UTC)|| |
A story about a choice-plague that sweeps the globe. Thousands die of indecision.
|Date:||November 28th, 2012 04:41 pm (UTC)|| |
I don't know if this is serious enough, but it's been rolling through my head for a while, so...
The Schoolhouse Rock song "Lolly, Lolly, Lolly, get your adverbs here" is about a 3-generation family who run an "adverb store", selling adverbs and singing their praises. They gloat in the song that the adverbs are "absolutely free".
How do they pay their rent? (How do they eat?) What do the women in this family think, married to a bunch of zealots who don't ever bring home any money, but run a family business giving stuff away for free?
Hrm. I'd have to do some serious worldbuilding on that one.
That said, the obvious opening is "We are absolutely, positively, unquestionably, horrifically, and grievously starving," said Lolly, Lolly, and Lolly, speaking frankly.
An air traffic controller begins having terrible headaches at work, finally culminating in a vision that allows him to prevent the next major 9/11 style attack. But it's not just the Feds that are interested in him now, but also a psychic underground network that's been waiting for their prophecy to be filled...
I'd have to do more research on this one than I feel like doing now. Not that it's a bad idea, but I'd start by researching something quirky that only happens to air traffic controllers, a mundane weirdness of an odd profession that bootstraps into the real weridness.
A story where the world loses its seasons.
The sun rose into a cloudless blue sky, as it always had; the trees were leafy and green, as they always had; the weather was short-sleeve-and-jeans weather, just nippy enough that you didn't want to go bare-legged, as it always had. Every morning was a perfect reenactment of the day before, a rerun, if you will, and nothing would ever change again.
Somewhere, coats moldered in closets. Shorts acquired infestations of bugs. The world had frozen, and it was a sort of beauty, but the stasis ate at Gregor's soul.
A story about a woman who can plant fairy tales on scraps of paper and grow a garden of variations.
Though maybe that's more of a setting than a plot.
The mice in her garden continually tried to turn her pumpkins into carriages. She sprayed them with pesticides.
In a world where first-person subjective experiences can be harvested and delivered for virtual experiencing by punters, there obviously grows a significant black market in the less palatable aspects of human experience (the virtual experience version of snuff films).