Archetypes: Birth of an Artist

She lit a cigarette, turned back the covers, and started the bath. The night's triumph, while, satisfying on a superficial level, only served to awaken the hunger that always resided in her belly. The boy from the bar was just that. . .a boy, a neophyte. The triumph gave way to reality.

Oh make no mistake, he was a grown man, but he was a child in a man's body, at least in any way he could hold her attention. He didn't know what he didn't know. She knew when he found out, he was either gonna be pissing all over himself and running out the door, or throwing a mattress on his back and following her to the four corners of the earth. In another life.. .another place, either one of these options would have been fine with her, but not now, not this trip. She had neither the time, nor the patience. She had 'raised' enough "children", trained enough subs, and run off enough wannabes. In the right time, and the right place she was was very comfortable as a teacher, but she didn't have time for that shit right now.

She stubbed out her cigarette, turned off the bath water, peeled off her jeans and shirt. She hadn't worn panties in years--at least not as an everyday accoutrement. She sunk into the hot bath and let her aching muscles relax while her mind began to wander. . . She was not one to question the what, how or why. Nonetheless she thought back to the beginning of this journey.

She never lacked for for confidence or comfort in her own skin when it came to exploring her sexuality. Guilt, thank the goddess, was not one the problems her mother had saddled her with. The drunken string of no goodninks mother seemed to attracted like flies on trash heap was a different story. But mom always protected her, kept her safe. mom was such an enigma. She had allowed, even encouraged a healthy curiosty and respect for her sexuality, but she could not form a meaningful relationship with another human being.

What that confidence brought her was something she was totally unprepared to handle at first. . .awe, respect, power. It also aroused some anger, contempt, and envy in those small minded fools who had only been taught to fear such things. She learned to have fun with both types. But the real fun came into play when she met that person who held all of those views at the same time-competing for dominance and attention in their own respective soull. This person was moldable, this person made the perfect toy. As she learned early, a good top always takes care of her toys.

She may have never realized just what a gift this power was and what a thrill it was to weild it if it had not been for one fateful day in. . .among all places, the grocery store. She was in the vegtable section when he heard a soft, but clear and confident, voice exclaim "Now, that is one spankable ass."

She didnt even have to lift her eyes, she felt her ears burning, and an unfamiliar swirl began to bubble up in her depths. She looked up and he was staring right at her, staring through her. There was something in the way he said it, something in the way he looked at her. He had no fear of her. He was older, not like the college boys she had so much experience with. They talked a good game-but that was just it. . .talk. They had little experience and most of the bravado was a front. When she got them where she wanted them, the majority were oh so unfulfilling.

This was something more. She knew it at some level, though she did not have any words to describe what she knew. As she looked back, she knew exactly what it was. . the pupil was ready and had found her teacher. At the time, her head and emotions were bubbling over. She just knew she had to get away fom there. Not because she was afraid of him. No, she thought, at least not in the sense that he would actually harm her. Hurt her, maybe. . .but never harm her. Before she could regain her composure and get away from there, she heard something in her head, "Give it some more thought, honey, when you are ready, come back, we'll talk." Did he really say that, or did she dream it?? She found herself leaving the store without buying anything. She had to get some air. . she had to think.

The water was turning cold. She pulled herself up out of the tub, drained the water and wrapped a towel around her torso. She looked in the mirror and smiled, my god, you have come a long way she thought to herself. She walked back into the bedroom sat down and lit another cigarette, and let her mind wander back again...

It was two weeks, hell maybe two months after the fateful day. She found herself in a cafe with Mr. . .

Nowhere fast

My novel is nowhere and it's getting there fast
it wont come in first and probably not last
so pull out the sail, and put up the mast
we'll take up the anchor and off we will cast
we'll not look back to word of the past
nor into the future much too vast

We'll just take it one word at a time
but I promise 50,000 of the phukers wont ryme
If I were a beer man, I'd break out the lime
Then I'd yell it out loud like like the best little mime
and sprint like the runner well past his prime

Chapter one--Fundage

Now you must realize that I am no writer, am not an author, and really have no business being here. So, why, you ask, am I here. I have a deeper purpose and a higher calling. The old authors would not want to hear it, but I am here as reformer. I am here to clean up this waste of the donator's money, waste of band width and wastes in excess of 36 inches. If I should win this prize, I, for one, will reject any such frivolity being sent my way in my name for the act of writing 50,000 words. No, I shall be frugal and humble while I am in the spotlight. I will go on and on in a modest style of humility and reject any such personal gains or glory for accomplishments which I really deserve. For I wish you to think well of me and to hold me up as a paragon of virtue while you are watching me.
However I will have a trust set up for wife and family by which all funds may be diverted. . .all bacon and pork products may be sent in care of. For I have learned this political season that sincerity is not a virtue that anyone takes serious, so you will not find me on a bandwagon where there are no wagoneers or bandaleros. Just send the money, send the pork, send the contractors and the oil contracts. I will graciously turn them down, but as not to embarrass or to snub an important constituency, I will send the funds to the family trust. Everybody wins, and I get to be a greedy reprobate while claiming to be a reformer.
Please make all checks payable to the Novel to Nowhere. Actually cash, money orders or gold bullion would be the preferable manner of payment, but no monetary offering will be turned away.

Chapter

While the enstries will sprig forth in a "chapeter" format, do not readanything into that. The chapters, like the paragraphs and the sentences will not follow in any organized fashion unless the goddes herself should come down out of the volcano and type entries while I sleep, reading this material is an exercise best left to the professionals who try to figure just where it was I snapped before they found me naked running around the mall peeing on car tires and marking my territory.

An Introduction

Here is the deal. Nanowrimo.org is sponsoring a contest to write a novel in 30 days. My friend Wes (BigPirate) blogged about it and asked for encouragement and help, so I signed up. In the mean time I have learned that katitude also has aspirations of writing in this contest, so I have also determined that I will extend well wishes, cheers, encouraging comments, and whistles from the wrail to both of my friends. The wrail is similar to a rail, only, the wrail is where writer fans and observers sit to cheer, as opposed to the rail, where poker fans can cheer on their favorite players.
You know what?? Don't read this crap. It is not informative, nor is it art. But it is fiction and it is my effort to string together fifty thousand words. Hey, watch the snarf. I didn't laugh at you for looking at this (well not that you know of) Wow, where do I start? Some authors may use the term when they have so much to write knowing that they must pair down sentences and form them into paragraphs and sentences. Enough of that crap for now. There will certainly come time for wordy expositions wherein I seek merely to fill space and count words, but not now.
This is my effort to help a friend of two who really have the talent and desire to write their novel, their story, their book. Me, I have no such delusions of grandeur. The fact that one sentence follows another in this work does not mean those two sentence must have anything to do with each other. Furthermore, split infinitives, misspellings, changes in tenses, will not only be tolerated, they will be encouraged. If is enough that some sort of punctuation be placed on the screen. This is not a high shcool creative writing exercise, in fact I failed highschool creative writing, and if you read much further, you will understand why.
Now for my part of this, I have no plan, I have no characters, no plot, no theme, no burning bush expositions, no wisdom, no spell check, no booze, no drugs, no sex, no death defying acts of courage, cowardice, or humanilty. I do have a computer and two fingers and a determination to get somewhere between 50 and 50,000 words down in some fashion. This will be ugly, this will not make sense, and I don't know that I care.

more shall be revealed.