The Exquisite Corpse #2

In an earlier blog I mentioned an exercise I took part in at the writers group I attend. The exercise was entitled The Exquisite Corpse. At the end of that exercise I ended up with this sentence: The delicate carpet grumpily meandered the black underpass. I had to make-up a story based on that sentence.

This is what I came up with ~

Long, long ago, in a time and land now forgotten, there lived a maker of carpets. He was a pale weak individual with a delicate disposition. If he had ever possessed a birth name that too had been erased by the mists of time. He was simply known as Carpetta.

Carpetta had forged for himself throughout the years a healthy reputation. He may not have been strong in mind, body or spirit, but his moral up-standing and the pride he bestowed on his work shone through. All who knew him, loved him.

All except one.

Zachariah Tognetti.

Zachariah was a necromancer, an evil enchanter who spent his days trying to conjure up the souls of the dead. It was not uncommon for blood-curdling screams and flashes of light from yet undiscovered worlds, to burst forth from Castle Tognetti.

The castle stood on the northernmost point of Carpetta's village, brooding at the bottom of the Ochre Mountains. None who had ever entered the castle had come out alive.

All except one.

Carpetta.

Many years before, when the earth was young, and the sun shone bright and true, a pedlar wandered into the village. He had for sale many wondrous items of magic and mystery. Zachariah purchased a flying carpet: a carpet ~ the pedlar proclaimed ~ that would take the enchanter to the edge of the world and beyond.

But how gullible can be even the most sharp-minded.

It did not take Zachariah many hours to discover he had been deceived. The carpet could fly, but only round and round in ever increasing circles; giving the evil necromancer giddy head-rush and nauseous stomach cramps.

Zachariah Tognetti was furious. He mounted his mighty steed and galloped after the departed pedlar, bound him in chains and dragged him back to the castle. Once there the poor pedlar was thrown in the deepest, darkest dungeon and Zachariah cast a spell over him. A spell that turned the seller of magic goods into a walking, talking carpet. A shoddy carpet. Thin and threadbare. Delicate and fragile.

Zachariah laughed at the pedlar's misfortune. Declared the only way to reverse the enchantment was for the carpet to escape from Castle Tognetti. He nicknamed the living carpet: Carpetta.

Carpetta paced the dungeon night and day. Plotting his escape. But all to no avail.

Fifteen years passed by.

Each year Carpetta grew ever more threadbare, ever more delicate, ever more grumpy hearted: thinking he would never leave the confines of Castle Tognetti.

But fifteen years of pacing had worn the dungeon floor thin. One day it caved in beneath Carpetta's endlessly pacing feet. Carpetta fell through to a narrow dark tunnel.

The delicate carpet grumpily meandered the black underpass. Second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour, the tunnel beneath the castle began to grow lighter, as it did, so did Carpetta's mood.

After two hours of walking, the carpet stepped out into bright dazzling sunlight. Zachariah's spell slippedfrom his shoulders. Carpetta was a man once more. He made his way to the village and told his tale to all who would listen. The villagers recieved Carpetta with welcoming arms, rejoicing in the fact that he'd escaped from the evil clutches of Zachariah Tognetti.

But some of the enchantment remained. Carpetta was ever pale and delicate, a fragile shell of the man he'd once been. He also found he now had a skill, a skill that out shone any other, the skill of carpet-making.

Carpetta was declared the best carpet-maker of the land. People travelled from far and wide to purchase his wares.

In his dark castle at the foot of the Ochre Mountains, the evil necromancer rants and raves, plots and schemes, awaiting his chance to re-capture the travelling pedlar: Carpetta.

Bathory wins an award!

My novel Bathory has won me an award.
I entered the first two chapters into a local Bursary Award run by the Swale Arts Forum, and yesterday I was invited along to the presentation evening where I was presented with one of the runner-up prizes for my work-in-progress.
Yay!!
I was well chuffed!
My prize was a book voucher to spend in Waterstones bookstore...very welcome.
I found the evening an immensely enjoyable one; as an entrant I appeared briefly on stage to read out some of my work (that was a bit nerve-racking: there was the local newspaper, radio & TV there!), but it was also a chance to meet other authors in my area and exchange details, all good social networking. I had a very lengthy conversation with a lovely lady who is in the throes of writing her third crime novel. She gave me lots of advice and tips on how to approach agents and publishers.
It has really given me a boost. As you all know, writing can be a lonely occupation, so it's nice to get a Well Done and a pat on the back at times.
It has made me all the more determined to get Bathory in print and out there.

Rituals, Routine and Writing.

I have a note stuck to my fridge with a magnet. It says: My house is a hovel, cos I'm writng a novel. I pinched the idea from another female author who, like me, would rather concentrate on her writing than keeping her home spick and span. Obviously that is only true to a point; I do take care of the basics, although I have never been one for regimental housework - even when not writing - life's too short. But there is a flip side to that statement: I find I can't fully concentrate on my creative work if I know there is a sinkful of washing-up waiting in the kitchen downstairs, or dirty laundry that needs loading into the machine, or food that needs preparing for dinner. I have found that I need to have a more or less clutter free mind before I can sit down at my laptop.

Without realising it I have slipped into a routine.

Firstly I tend to any little jobs around the house, jobs that I know will niggle away in my head while I'm writing if I don't sort them out beforehand.

Then I check my emails and quickly check my blog, twitter and facebook comments. Again, this plays on my mind if I don't get it done and dusted. I don't answer or comment myself (that's my reward after I have done some serious writing), but I have to see what their status is!

And while I'm actually writing...?

Well. If it's during the day, I have to take a freshly brewed mug of coffee up to my room with me, and a couple of biscuits. In the evening (that's any time after seven o' clock) a glass (or two) of wine doesn't go amiss!

Finally, I find, I write better if I don my big old baggy navy blue dressing gown with a hood...think monks attire, it won't be far wrong!...I have had this gown for over ten years - and yes, it has seen better days! - but it is so comfy and slobby, that I love it.

I then, and only then, can close the door of my mind to reality and step into my own little world....

The Exquisite Corpse.

Back in the early 1900's, a technique was invented by the Surrealists of that time. It was very similar to that of Picture Consequences - which I'm sure at some time you've all played. I know I have. The techinique was given the name The Exquisite Corpse, for an obvious reason...as you will see!

A group of people are all given a sheet of paper.

On the very top they have to write 'The' and an adjective. Fold over the paper to hide the words, and pass it along to the person on the right.

Write a noun. Fold it over. Pass it on.

Write an adverb. Fold it over. Pass it on.

Write a verb. Fold it over. Pass it on.

Write 'The' and an adjective. Fold it and pass it.

Write a noun. Fold it and pass it.

Everyone reads out the sentence they've got.

The Surrealists first sentence read:

'The exquisite corpse will drink the new wine.'

Pretty cool. Huh?

So. That was the exercise my writers group did this month. We also decided to come up with a short story based on the sentences we ended up with!

My sentences are:

The smoky classroom noisily grazed the colourful candlestick.
&
The delicate carpet grumpily meandered the black underpass. (I like this one best.)

Give it a go. It's a fun way to spend a cold winter's night.
With a glass of wine of course!

Today's Word Count ~ 675 :)

Once upon a time....

Is it just me or do other writers have a hard time finding a good beginning to their stories? I'm not talking short stories here - I've never had a problem when it comes to starting one of my short stories - it's my novel, Bathory, I'm talking about. It took me absoultely ages to find a beginning I was truly happy with. I rewrote my first chapter five times before settling on the one I have now. I either wasn't happy with the character I chose to start the story with. . .or the location it took place in . . .or the dialogue . . or where I picked up the action: was it too early in the story?...or too late?

Without a doubt Chapter One was the hardest chapter I have had to write so far. But I am finally happy with it.

Have any of you stumbled across the same problem?

Enjoy.....

Today's word count~634

A real-life Bathory!

Something amazing happened about three days ago. . .well, amazing to me anyway. I was online looking up something I needed to know about Erzsebet Bathory, when I stumbled across a website I'd never come across before: bathory.org. I could not believe it when I found out the website had been set up by an actual descendant of the evil countess herself, Dennis Bathory-Kitsz, and not only that but what an interesting and informative site it turned out to be.

I believe Dennis lives in America, but he has visited Erzsebet Bathory's home: Castle Cachtice, Slovakia, three times. Each time he has kept a journal - parts of which can be read on his website - and he has downloaded lots of photos of the castle's ruins and the surrounding countryside. All of which I found so interesting and so helpful.

Also there was an email address at which Dennis could be contacted. So I sent him a letter. I introduced myself and told him of the novel I was writing. Within half an hour, much to my delight, Dennis had answered my email.

Dennis Bathory-Kitsz seems a lovely man. He offered to answer any questions I needed answering about the countess, he wished me luck in my project, and asked if he could read a couple of the chapters of my MS when it is ready for other eyes than my own.

This has made Erzsebet Bathory seem so much more real to me, and given me a boost to finish my novel. So, thank you Dennis.

Dennis is working on an exciting project of his own: producing an opera telling the life of Countess Bathory.

I wish him all the best :)


Today's word-count~487 :(