Something old, a scrawl transformed from a long paragraph to a pseudo IRC transcript. Probably too "specific" for most tastes, though.
Something new, but it's a little hidden. Can you find all that red?
Not what it seems...
(One more short story, written sometime before last year's end.)
Here's the third short story, done at the end of 2007, just to practice simple dialogs.
Maybe this kind of exercise about conversations should become a small series.
I remember dialogues used to be my main concern (regarding writing, of course) a long time ago, when I was still a teenager.
I wanted to make them as natural as possible, which for me meant trying to mimic the way people interrupt one another all the time and also to include noise, like grunts and cries. Nowadays I'm not against more synthetic (artistic), functional approaches.
I had written that the previous story was my favorite among the few I've finished. After rereading and translating this one, I don't think so anymore.
This was written quickly, from start to finish. Without any planning, as far as I recall. The story came vivid to me as I was writing it.
Years ago, when I decided to finally start writing (*), I realized I wasn't able to do it.
(*) Remembering that this happened years after I was sure I wanted to be a writer, all the me's inside of me, as their anime versions this afternoon, fall on their backs, legs in the air.
I was sitting in front of the PC, with an open Emacs, alone at home, with a life free from engagements, years of recorded ideas and good reading, hands over the keyboard. I don't recall more than that, so I can't say if I managed to write any lines, neither what they were about or the time I spent trying before determining, somewhat shocked, that I simply couldn't do it.
At that moment, all the me's inside of me — very surprised with the irony of the episode, remembering about the years I spent without full dedication to anything because what I really wanted was to be a writer — tried to catch me. Fools, ...