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books creative writing women writing

Writing Update

I’m working through The Lightning Thesaurus at a healthy pace. One of the aids to this has been the outlining as a guide, and also understanding more about archetype and story structure.

The draft is telling the story. I’m keen to avoid big chunks of exposition so when it arises, i put them in a separate file so i can break them up and seed them later. Using what I need is key.

Tone is different here. I’m drawing on some disparate ideas and elements, and the language reflects it. You can communicate difference through the words themselves so long as it doesn’t stop you putting them down.

Conceptually, the ideas come from different places. Some of it archetypal, mostly because the idea amuses me and i like the challenge of it.

I’m at a good point, with a great outline and a clear process. I’m looking forward to sharing it with you all in due course.

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blogging creative writing editing writing

Need help with your writing idea?

My experience and passion can help your writing take form and meaning. I provide analysis, a report and suggestions which will show you the issues with your piece and then the solution.

https://www.fiverr.com/s2/8f268d64c6

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Uncategorized

Coffee

I’m currently writing long hand and to my phone. If you’re interested in helping me towards a laptop to write on , here is a link.

https://ko-fi.com/mbblissett

Thank you so much

Categories
books creative writing

The Lightning Rides

An excerpt from something new. Also new Dahlia Bliss is coming as well.

Zephyros ran through the night, calling The Lightning until his head pounded with the effort of speaking it. 

The thumping hooves of their horses and the joyous, terrified cries of men going to war. 

As a sixty feet column of brilliant white and blue light sliced through the trees in a serpentine arc, Zephyros Barak prayed for Ansel Mercer’s men to give up their pursuit.

He had shared his circumstances of birth with Mercer over dinner that same evening. Hatched from The Divine Egg, stolen from a dragon goddess who was tricked into surrender by his father. Mercer had sputtered on his wine and sat back aghast. 

Zephyros remembered the statutes in the hallway. The shard of diamond around his neck, hung on a length of cord. He believed they were affectations,  not beliefs held without shame. 

Zephyros put his hands up, spluttered something about being house trained.

Humour, he discovered, was another skill he lacked experience in. 

When Mercer reached to slash at him, screaming the word, abomination,  Zephyros realised he had been too honest about his circumstances.  Taking a wound to his forearm had distracted him from the concentration used to Speak, so instead he had ran, relying on surprise to make it out of the chamber, and then the courtyard before Mercer could act on his outrage. 

Zephyros remembered the papers he had left behind. A modest proposal to fund an expedition, researches and cataloguing the unknown lands to the south. He had planned to appeal to Mercers noblesse oblige but then he had plans for all sorts of things. 

His left forearm was sodden with blood, soaking through the sleeve of his robe and each step made it sing with pain. The wavering edges of his vision spoke to a blood loss which would overcome him faster than the men at his heels.

Ahead, the forest was growing thicker, and he continued his frenzied retreat as he heard arrows fly ahead.

Zephyros prayed the assertions of a greater destiny were not his moment of ironic demise. Which was when the arrow slammed into his left shoulder and he cries out with shock. He reached out, tested the shaft where it had gone in and his fingertips were sodden with blood.

Each breath was a furnace in his chest, and The Lightning slipped from his acuity.

Zephyros tried to keep up his pace but his wounds were bold with exhaustion and soon, he was staggering and stumbling over his feet as the shouts grew muted behind him.

Let me know what you think.

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blogging books creative writing women

Platforms

So, I have a mailing list as a place where you can find out what I’m doing and thinking. It’s becoming increasingly attractive as a place to share.

If you’ve not been in a cave, then you’ve seen the way platforms change who they want to speak there.

I would like it if you signed up.

https://tinyletter.com/mbblissett

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creative writing men wisdom writing

Father

If you had to invent your version of father,  or yours let you down. If you’ve let your children down, then I’m with you.
We project that it’s easy but it isn’t. A lot of it is you give up the time with them. A necessary separation from people you’d die for,  to support them. You don’t say anything about it because whining about it doesn’t matter. Yet you look at them and find comfort in having something worth dying for.

For me, my mistakes were in being afraid of them not liking me for making decisions which conflicted with their immediate desires.

I tell them I love them. They know what I mean by that. I’ve tested it but I know it exists and I thrive on it.

No man will tell you how it hurts to miss a moment of their children. How it hurts not to. You’re eternal and disposable in the same moment.

The moments of rage and terror come from your children.

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beauty love poetry Uncategorized women

rain of my attention

Beneath the actions,

The calm authority with which

I conduct myself,

The supple confidence

Which comes from being

Unencumbered by restlessness

Some part of me reveals itself

Rough hands made delicate

Deep, gruff voice softened

Into chuckles

Trained but not domesticated

My words are cool sips

Smoothing out into bursts of warmth

And each time I enter the room,

It becomes the first time,

And a rush of adolescence

Returns

Like the building of static

Before a storm

And you dance in the rain of my attention

The ribald peals of laughter

Ringing like church bells

And this, the closest

I’ve come to knowing faith

Makes me feel

As close to salvation

As I’m likely

To

Get

 

Categories
books creative writing fiction short fiction women

Sign Up To My Mailing List

I write about what I’m working on and thinking.

https://tinyletter.com/mbblissett

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books creative writing social media women

Watching The Audience

In conversation with a good friend, and what came up was a question which was worth asking:

What stops you from supporting my work? Or engaging with me on here?

It sounds awful doesn’t it? However, in my defence, a writer wants to be read. If you’re a parent, it relates to that combination of intense protective instinct and also narcissistic validation but without the raw biological wonder of it.

Still, no one owes me anything. However, there’s a few of you out there and whether you’re reading or not, 1300 plus people is a good crowd. The analogy of a gig comes to mind, I’m on stage and in front of the microphone. (Good writing is a lot like burlesque but that image is too distracting) and I’m wondering who’s listening. Who goes home and posts they enjoyed it or it sucked.

Indulge me, if you’d be so kind.

There is also the mailing list which is here:

https://tinyletter.com/mbblissett

And, of course, books.

Categories
poetry Uncategorized

Slow Poison

If I believed in slow poisons

Then what crawls in the labyrinth of the veins

Kills by degree

There’s an antidote

But this grail

Is out of reach

So sat here

Wondering which breath will

Take me with it

So here, no one cares to ask

If this a smile

Or a rictus

These ironies shouldn’t escape any of us

As the last few moments fly

Like migrating birds

Made sluggish

Would a touch

A kiss

A kind word heal?

But suffused with the sorrow of

Bleak stressors

A kindness comes

Even if they’re too exhausted

To administer

No triage shows us hope