maloki

tankar & funderingar

Posts Tagged ‘creative writing’

NaNoWriMo + Flattr = <3

Posted by maloki på 4 november, 2010


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It’s November, and all of us NaNoWriMo fans know exactly what that means. It’s time to chase that word count again. The aim is to write 50000 words in 30 days.
Myself forgot, even though I very well knew it was the first of November, to start writing the first day. I didn’t get going untill late that night, and it had already become a new day. I’ve still got some catching up to do, on 3k today, with todays goal to reach 6667, to stay on track. Added note: 9th Nov I caught up with 4k new words thanks to Devul

When I was writing last night I started to think about Flattr and that I really should inform more of them WriMos out there about this wonderful thing.
Flattr is a Social Micro Donation System, with Flat-rate. You can pay as little as €2 a month, and as much as €100 if you want to. This is shared between the items you decide to click during the month. You click around on things you like and maybe encourage others to use it as well.
I wish you guys to have a look at Flattr, and see if it’s something that you’d want to fit into your blog, or connect to your creative writings, or other kinds of creations.

Why do we write? Your aim might not be to earn money. But what if other people wish to give you a little something for your effort?

I’ve written quite a lot about Flattr before, and I have a strong love for it. WikiLeaks are even using it!
There are also some other NaNoWriMo writers I know of who use this service already, and people who publish their books[swe] online too. In my efforts to draw attention to Flattr I e-mailed a few people, which decent results.

I hope you’ll have a look and love Flattr as much as I do!

Annonser

Posted in internet, kreativitet | Taggad: , , , | 4 Comments »

Flash Fiction Friday: #1

Posted by maloki på 27 augusti, 2010


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Flash Fiction Friday, so I will be conducting a bit of fictional writing here on my blog, hopefully every friday. Partly to cut off from all the ordinary stuff, and partly to open up my creative thinking a little more. Here goes:

He looked around, waking up with yet again one them hazy feelings.
”Where am I?” he thought slowly, soon to realize that this time he was actually home in his own bed. It had been another crazy night lastnight, he guessed, since he didn’t remember anything. He had started to wonder why he kept getting these horrible blackouts with no recollection at all of where he’d been for more than a few days. Life used to be good, and he used to know who he was, where he’d been, who he’d met. Heck, if he’d even met anyone or just stayed at home.
”Good thing I work from home, with only deadlines to keep” He hadn’t missed any of them, yet, and no important meetings with any of his clients, so far so good.
He was strong headed and way too proud to go to the doctor. Even though he didn’t have anyone else insisting he should go, he had a nagging feeling that something might be worse than he could imagine.

He got out of bed and into the bathroom. He, as he always does in the morning, picked up his brush and brushed his long hair, getting out every last knot of it. Long well kept hair.
He looked himself in the mirror in the bathroom, looked closely at himself. Watching himself he could see that he’d been ageing, realizing he had not experienced even half of his life lately.
– ”What the fuck is wrong with you!” he screamed as he smashed his left fist into the mirror. Stunned he looked at the mirror, then looked at his knuckles, now bleeding. The rage had gone away, as soon as his fist had broken the mirror. It had nothing to do with having broken the mirror, nothing to do with having broken his skin on his knuckles and nothing to do with the blood now slowly finding its way out if the cuts.
It was the shock, that did it, the shock of having gotten violent. Gotten so enraged that he broke something. He had always been such a calm boy, never hurting himself or anyone else.

Looking at his knuckles, he didn’t feel the need to clean the cuts. He kept watching the blood drip from his hand down into the sink. The red color against the white, slowly running down the drain.
– ”You will be my war wounds, I will carry you as a memory of what I’m not.” he said out loud, like he was proclaiming it to the world, so that they would know.

Posted in Flash Fiction Friday, kreativitet | Taggad: , , , | 3 Comments »