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An Open Letter of Love
© Oct 12th 2010 at 04:02:39 AM by Cupideros
Faraway memory, green grass, blue sky, sliver clouds, green grass, bird of paradise, blooming buds, eternal love, majestic mountain, heavenly life, valley of flowers, pine forest, hazel eyes, wedding ring
When you live on Mt.Fuji, the grand majestic monk of Japan, you're a faraway memory. Everyone looks up to you, but who visits more than once a year. The other 363 days they view you squeezed between soft green grasses and through blinking pine forest branches swaying under silver clouds. To me, a hopeless romantic, you might as well be a Koda Goddess singing on stage or displaying music gadgets on distance television screens.
What chance have I to meet you, actually talk and relate, find out who you are and perhaps what you like? You are my bird of paradise soaring blue skies in the blooming buds of white clouds above me. Out of reach. So close to my aching heart.
As head of Japan's Holy Trinity of earthly flesh bordered through the lenses of spring cherry blossoms, am I not entitled to eternal love? The love of a pop Japanese singing girl with hazel eyes, long hair and a peaceful heart?
Heavenly life would she be for me. And I would try hard to be a stand up guy in this cold place on top MT. Fuji. Neither would i trouble her valley of flowers unnecessarily; nor would I be spiky forest pine needles touching her soft skin during unwanted moments. All I asks is for her companionship during the lonely time of the year when no one visit.
She could travel the world, singing, flashing her hazel eyes, tossing long brown straight locks of hair all the other days of the year. Just wearing her wedding ring, my gift, made of precious black jade, blessed by a Shinto Priestess at the base of my fortress home would be enough. Our symbol of love eternal unbroken and forever renewing itself every day, until we embrace again on this summit of happiness once a year.
--The End--
WWG--3
Ostrich Today Dove Tomorrow
(c) Oct 16th 2010 at 02:43:59 PM by Cupideros
One day an Ostrich stood on a sunny African beach reading a compendium on birds. High above a Dove flew and watched, very curious. The nine-foot high Ostrich kept repeating poking her head down, then raising it up and shaking her head, and saying, "Tsk, tsk, pop media." Finally the Dove landed on the beach close to the large book and said, "What's so interesting?"
The Ostrich raised her head and blinked at the Dove. "Bird watching today is pathetic!"
"What do you mean?"
She pecked at the book's edges turning the large picture book around. "See."
The Dove flew up a bit to avoid being hit by the picture book. "Yeah. An Ostrich with his or her head buried in the sand."
"You believe this nonsense?" Said the Ostrich, as she cranked her head around the beach at her fellow race all busy carrying for their nest.
The Dove hopping on the picture book took a closer look. His little black eyes flitted as he moved his head side to side. "Would be hard to breath...your head in the sand and all." The Dove looked around at a distance. "Kinda seems true enough. I see a lot of Ostrich with their heads buried in the sand." The Dove flew off the book leaving little sandy tri-foot prints on the page. "That's a neat head trick!"
"Well, seeing through your eyelids like snakes, and hibernating for three years like snails tops burying your head in sand. And those stories are true!"
"Oh Heck, yes those are better feats," said the Dove excited. "But no one but those humans and snails and snakes know that. Everyone can look around..."
"Have you not heard our greatest religious-philosopher CorHist's Maxim."
"I'd be glad to hear it," said the Dove watching an Ostriches far away raise his or her head from the hot sand and dash off, traveling a snappy forty-three miles per hour on their two pronged feet towards the ocean.
"Ostrich Today Dove Tomorrow." The female Ostrich continued. "You see life isn't always what it seems. People refuse to see reality or face it. If you take another gander about, from a high distance again, you'll see my fellow Ostriches are turning the eggs in their nest! Our eggs weight two dozen times larger than chicken eggs.
"Let me take another look!" Off the Dove flew circling high in the air and taking several dives downward, but not so close as to disturb the largest birds on earth. He landed again, inside two large foot prongs of the female Ostrich. "You're correct! They don't have their heads buried in the sand at all!"
"Finally, someone who sees the truth."
"Reality. But I'm still a little confused," said the Dove flitting his little white head back and forth. "What does the CorHist Maxim mean?"
CorHist believed in reincarnation. Reincarnation means you live and learn lessons, have trials and situations to overcome on earth in one form--then you die and come back in another form and live and learn still more higher lessons."
"Amazing."
The Ostrich's long white hairy neck reached down and closed the picture book. "We have to put up and debunk these myths about us for instance. We can't fly. CorHist said, 'If we learn our lessons well, we become Dove's then finally after many life times humans!"
"Humans!"
"Humans!" said the female Ostrich confirmed.
The Dove excited as he hoped up in short flight and settled himself back down still excited: "You don't say. Amazing."
"Knowing that makes us patience, and astute observers."
"How come we Doves don't have an religious-philosopher like CorHist?"
"I suspect it's because you have too many trips to take and everyone scattered everywhere all over the earth."
"No matter. This conversation has enlightened me. Dove Today, Human Tomorrow!"
"CorHist might have said as much," said the Ostrich putting her head down and pecking at the sand to dig her nest. "It's almost that time now."
The Dove stared unaware, puzzled. He shrugged his wings and leaped into flight and hovered in the moist ocean air. "Almost time?"
She winked her eyebrow, "Time to bury my head in the sand." And she burst out laughing and started digging again.
The Dove laughed and made a small circle, while giggling. "I'll tell all my Dove friends, to look closely. Ostriches face reality. They don't run away from it scared and bury their heads in the sand."
"Thank you," said the Ostrich.
--THE END--
The Palm Reading Ending.
© November 11, 2010 by Cupideros
Little Red Riding Hood pulled the bobbin, and the door opened.
The Wolf, seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bedclothes, "Put the chocolate cake and the little pot of butter upon the stool, and come into bed with me."
But excited Little Red Riding Hood said, “Grandma ma, Grandma ma” and running up to the bed placing the cake and little pot of better on the floor by the bed. I met this wife of a woodcutter. She read my palm and said this was a dangerous day for me. Little Red Riding Hood jumped on top of the bed covers and lay close to the Wolf pinning him to the bed.
Little Red Riding Hood noticed her Grandma’s one arm outside the bed covers. “Grandma ma, what big arms you have!”
“All the better to hug you with, my dear.”
Little Red Riding Hood shrug her petite shoulders and pulled her red hooded cap down off her blonde head. “Oh, I say, let me continue Grandma before you start talking, talking, talking. The Palm Reading Lady said I was in good luck because of my strong life line in my palm.” She held her innocent soft tender palm to the Wolf and he took a big sniff of her hand. “Grandma ma, what big nose you have!”
“All the better to cook dinner for you, my dear.”
“Anyway,” continued energized Little Red Riding Hood, “The Woodcutter’s Wife said, If I had any trouble just call out ‘Someone save me!’ and a strong rescuer would arrive! Isn’t that just amazing, Grandma ma?”
The Wolf turned his ears to listen more carefully to the exact words the girl was to use.
“Grandma ma what big ears you have!”
“To listen more carefully to you, my child.”
“Oh, I say, it gets better Grandma ma, because I met a blacksmith next. He made me these brass knuckles,” and Little Red Riding Hood pulled them out from her red riding hood pocket, put them on her tiny innocent palm. “How did he say these worked?” as she still pushing them onto her hand. She pressed her hand out flat pushing the air, and then she karate chopped the air. “No! I remember now,” she said with great enthusiasm. She balled up her fist and punched down into the bed hitting the Wolf’s leg. One of the Wolf’s big hairy legs popped out from under the bedspread.
“Ouch!”
“I’m sorry Grandma ma!” she paused. “What big legs you have!”
“I used to run marathons before having your Mother, my dear.”
“And, Grandma ma, what big eyes you have!”
“All the better to see you growing up, my child.”
Little Red Riding Hood, getting suspicious, Grandma ma! Grandma ma, you have huge pointed teeth!”
“All the better to eat you up with!”
And with these words, this wicked Wolf struggled out of the bed covers revealing his big hairy massive body.
“Oh I say!” said Little Red Riding Hood, jumping back off the bed. "Grandma ma, this sickness has made you big and hairy all over!"
"And hungry enough to eat you all up."
“You’re not Grandma ma! You’re a—“
The Wolf leaped over the bed and grabbed her. Little Red Riding Hood struggled to kick. She tried hard to punch the Wolf with her brass knuckled, but they were too close together. “Oh, I can’t remember what words to say!” Little Red Riding Hood gasped in between her struggling. “Fire! Fire! FIRE!” She screamed.
In no time, the strongest woodcutter of all the woodcutters in the forest burst down the door, and grabbed the Wolf and hacked him into two pieces. “Are you okay, Little Red Riding Hood?”
Little Red Riding Hood panted and wiped tiny beads of perspiration from her brow. “Oh I say, you’re fast. Fast as the Palm Reading Lady said you’d be!”
“Yes. We had some suspicions about a prowler around these parts lately.” Her rescuer took the bed covers and draped it over the gory, chopped up Wolf. The strong woodcutter smiled. “My wife not only read palms, she makes a great wolf stew. You are welcome to join us, Little Red Riding Hood.”
“Oh I say, I have never had wolf stew before,” said Little Red Riding Hood in her excited perky voice. She retrieved the chocolate cake and the little pot of butter and held them up. “Don’t you think butter and chocolate cake go great with wolf stew?”
“Indeed. Indeed,” said the Woodcutter.
--THE END--
This example shows you can have fun and change things up a bit. Try it!
BookRix.com Writing 101 Advice by Cupideros
From: stormblade85
How long does it have to be?
I've always wondered this. Whether I'm writing a short story or a book, I always wonder how long it has to be before it's considered something else. Have you ever wondered about this too?
Created: on November 14th 2010 at 06:44:34 PM
Answer
From: cupideros
Basic Word Count in Fiction
Word Count in Fiction
By Cupideros
Micro Fiction 6 words to 50 words
Flash Fiction 51 words to 1,000 words
Short Story 1,001 to 10,000 words
Novella 10,001 to 40,000 words
Novellet 40,001 to 50,000 words
Novel 50,001 to 100,000 words
Epic Novel 100,001 to you decide word length
Basically One 8.5 by 11 inch page gives you:
1 page = 250 words
2 pages = 500 words
3 pages = 750 words
4 pages = 1,000 words
http://cupiderosbooks.com
From gemmafasheun
i still have problems....
i've read information on your site about writing prose but i still have problems when i want to start writing fiction. For example my problems start from here:
- I don't know how to show things. for me is always easy to tell then to show. what can i do about this?
- then when it comes to describe people and places, i just can't do it without taking information from someone else. what can i do?
- if i want to do research on a subject when i found the information i don't know what is important to use in my story. please help me!!!
Created: on November 21st 2010 at 08:42:21 AM
For gemmafasheun
Congrats on new kid on way!
This may be a good fertile time for writing creativity may be unleashed in some way. I usually find new experiences bring out new observations. Those observations contribute toward new fiction characters plots and ideas.
As an artist, photographer, you simply need to find a way to turn those mediums back into words. I go out to deviantart.com all the time to look at pictures. Every picture, especially a good one tells a story.
You'll find these three questions are common for new writers. It might help think of how would you describe something to someone who can not see, you can't just point and say look. You might find it helps to think, what if they can not hear, you can't just point and say listen. But this person can read. Then you'll begin to observe with a big ear, big eye so to speak. You'll be turning the information into active word pictures. Writers are word painters!
- I don't know how to show things. for me is always easy to tell then to show. what can i do about this?
Tell first. Then go back and make it show.
Let's take your icon. To tell about your icon I'd say, it's yellowisred, a sort of spiral shell design, rectangle in shape. Telling is basically describing facts you see. In reality, you have to do some telling to yourself before you can start showing!
Showing your icon would be: Gemmafasheun's icon is a flaming yellowishred dragon rising out of the deep earthen fires like a phoenix bird, and not a happy bird at that.
As you can see, gemmafasheun, one description is fine for an art sale, another is fine for fiction novel character or evil monster. lol
- then when it comes to describe people and places, i just can't do it without taking information from someone else. what can i do?
People and places are the same. You have to do a little telling to yourself at first describe the facts, height, build, color, length, location, surroundings, Midnight.whispers is a woman in her midtwenties, long black hair, heavy breasts, pretty eyes and she's wearing a low cut black blouse.
Making characters and places come alive involves movement of some sort. Midnight.whispers smoky black eyes beckoned Billy to get up out of his seat and come over to her table. Her long black hair fell behind her back onto her pale skin barely draped by a spaghetti strap black mini dress, which had risen to her midcalf when she shifted to make room for Billy to sit down. Her long necklaced slinked back onto her hot skin heavy breast cleavage. All Billy could think about was lifting her three caret, white gold jewelry out of its nestled, cuddled place.
We all take descriptions from others when we read, view their photography or film or even listen to music. You want to create movement when you describe your detailed facts about the person.
- if i want to do research on a subject when i found the information i don't know what is important to use in my story. please help me!!!
Research is really no different. You think it is because you're mind is in fact searching mode while researching. After you have researched and after a while, during your researching, you'll find your creative mind getting back into gear. The two processes are separated for a reason. Why should your writer create something creative out of research totally wrong for your story? So . . .
naturally your writer waits until your editor/researcher says, these facts are good now--go with it writer. The editor/researcher cannot write creatively. Your writer/creative self is not a good editor/researchers. Although you writer/creative self may say sometimes shout out, there's my leading lady, someone like midnight.whispers. lol
This is all part of the creative writing process. You'll only get better if you try, if you work on describing things in detail, sometime tiny smallest detail, the moving tiniest smallest detail.
The woman struggled, slow, moving inch by inch forward, almost as if trying to measure her waist and belly by the length of her slender, golden fingers and thumbs, measurements requiring considered recounting for accuracy. Her small hands inched forward, encircling the stretched flesh, her fingertips touched a protruding belly button, closer, closer until finally she almost laced her fingers around her belly. She began an upward movement from her back.
"No honey, No!" said her husband rushing over to her, "You must stop trying to work! It's time to rest and save your strength to birth the baby. I'll do that!"
or Telling: The woman tried to put her fingers around her belly and stand up to work.
What details are right for your story? Content. Content. Content. Choose only enough and the right facts to tell your story. I could have wrote about the pregnant woman's breasts, her hair, her earrings, or dress. None of those got across the point I wanted to make about her late condition and her husband's willingness to help out.
Hope this helps, gemmafasheun.
--cupideros
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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 17.10.2010
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