End of Vacation

What already? Where the frell did it go? Okay, so I spent much of it getting my room in order. And while there are still massive amounts of filing to do, that much is done. The floor is... well, as clear as it's gonna get. I know where all my jewellery materials are. I watched a lot of movies. I read a lot of books. Didn't get a lot of correspondence done, or get my head CT from the hospital, or a bunch of other things. But I'm a lot more relaxed than I was a week ago.

So I resolved to get writing done during vacation week. At the beginning of vacation week, my wordcount looked like this:

26,738 / 75,000 (35.7%)

at the end of vacation week, my wordcount looked like... um... this:

26,738 / 75,000 (35.7%)

So on Saturday morning, Alice and I headed down to Chris's house (Chris is away) for writing weekend in the city. There was good pizza, and chocolate, and Chris's homicidal blinds that favour flinging clips at your eyes at high velocity. And at then end of the weekend, my wordcount looked like this:

41,037 / 75,000 (54.7%)

See? I keep saying all I need is lots of time. :o)

Of course, it wasn't all writing. There was also some procrastination. Chris has magnetic Shakespeare fridge poetry. At the beginning of the weekend, her fridge was covered with random pieces. At the end? This. Bear in mind, each "paragraph" is a different poem, scattered in a different place on the fridge. We had some insightful commentary on the use of "beige space."

Drunk death doth curse yon melancholy bosom
maiden who shall tempt thy peasant friend
give yonder wicked goblet to the fairest
winter ghost

Perchance my seemly measure dost warrant a perilous dream
wherein questions come and speak farewell.

Night shall bestow light o'er thine full breast
or ne'er woo our lady.

I beesech you with saucy vehemence
vouchsafe nothing to bawdy mischance
strike oft & idle not.

This is the point at which we started running low on certain word categories.

Thou hast much discontent of manner
on which we did well deceive
aye myself hadst said
whatsoever he must ask about

Haste therefore &
quench by jesting this merry witted mortal
for no tale could ever sanctify that villain.

Why make someone above
lest never are like me

Wherefore sooner will you trifle
every slander herein pleaseth
almost always in dire yielding
what were fouler through vile fortune
after wonton'd more though torment
than would get naught thence from art

Nay belch thus when all
as be loathly
have hither used up

This one is my favourite. It's called "Not Quite a Haiku". The punctuation does not actually appear on the fridge.

Alas,
Your wench is spoty.
Damn.

This one is "Scraping the Barrel"

Lazy man does like woe ere then
has let him ado thee out of here

And this one is called "Ode to Leftovers"

How too if there
at vowly
as at Amy
So'st an adous

posted by Sarah E. at 10:48 PM

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