Thursday, October 18, 2012

Creative Writing 101

Note: Just for the fun of it, here's a story (or at least part of one) off my head for a half hour. No rewriting, warts and all:

Brain X-D49, (or as it liked to call itself, Ecks,) felt a jolt across one of the thousands of pins that impaled his folds and creases. There was a swirl of vertigo as his consciousness was transferred. He was a horse, his hooves pounding across a muddy field, kicking up divots of grass as he tried to find traction. A light figure on his back dug boots into his side, and he spurred on faster. Wind blew across his mane and he lowered his head to-

The sensation ended, and he was back in his jar. A warm jet of dopamine bubbled up and tickled his hippocampus. He felt happy. He wasn't sure what he had done, but he had obviously done it well.

Another pin prickled with electricity. This time, a giant television loomed above him. On the screen, one blob punched another in the stomach. Blob number two's eyes inflated like balloons. Ecks laughed, but all that came out was a sort of gurgle. Everything was huge. A giant woman with hairy legs that ended in fluffy slippers sat in a chair next to the television. He couldn't focus on her, he couldn't focus on anything. He tried to stand, but plopped back on his heavy diaper. There was a wet squishy feeling-

Again, he was home in his jar. Again, a jet of dopamine tickled his fancy. 

Another tingle crossed his nerve endings. He lay on his back, staring at a tiled ceiling. Ecks sighed. He waved his hands in front of his face. They were white and featureless. They didn't even have fingers, they were like marshmallow mittens. He was in Doctor Morrisberg's office, on his padded green imitation leather couch. Again.

"So, X-D49," Doctor Morrisberg said. Ecks turned his head to look at his psychiatrist. He was fat and bald, with horn-rimmed glasses. "What did you experience?"

Ecks related all of the sensations he had experienced since their last session. The sewage worker, the pig at the slaughterhouse, the hamster, the prostitute... he ended with the horse and the baby and let out a long sigh.

"Very interesting," the Doctor said. "And what pattern can you deduce?"

Ecks thought for a long moment. "Mud," he said, "or something wet and with the viscosity of mud. A sensation of dirtiness, of being mired down. The overall emotional translation would be some form of frustration, possibly tingled with guilt."

"Excellent!" Doctor Morrisberg clapped his hands. Ecks stood. He wandered over to the mirror. He saw nothing there, just static. It hurt him to look, as if he had dysesthesia, and looking at his reflection was like being stung in the eyes by bees. He turned away to see the Doctor scribbling furiously in his notebook.

"Will that help?" Ecks asked.


OK, that's thirty minutes. Perhaps I'll add more another time.


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