Post Your Darlings


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Thread: Post Your Darlings

  1. #1

    Post Your Darlings

    I've just been writing to techno trance. It gees me up and gets me in a rhythm. I wrote this while high on beats and it dawned on me, we haven't got a thread for our darlings. So, give me your darlings, those little snippets that have you hugging the pillow at night, thanking the lord you chose to write.

    The day stretched out before him, beyond his grasp, each second counted down, tomorrow, an epoch away, a point of impossible odds. All he could think about was the ‘T’, the simple communication turned missive by her breath. If it were to be this and only this then he would be satisfied. He had found solace in their brief exchange, enough for a lifetime, enough for an anorexic soul.
    By the way, this forum is awesome!
    Last edited by TheMightyAz; February 26th, 2021 at 05:11 PM.
    Craft / Draft / Graft And Write To Entertain.

  2. #2
    Am I the only person on this site that loves paragraphs or has their favourites? lol. Come on, folks, let's see your darlings! You don't really have to murder them.

    The dishevelled, drably attired pod-mother, stared across at Briar’s Tavern, her hair finger combed and frazzled. Makeup had been liberally applied, and floated on the oily skin, hinting at the features enhanced but never specific to them. She looked like the practice doll of an aspiring, eight year old beautician.
    Craft / Draft / Graft And Write To Entertain.

  3. #3
    Okay, I'll bite.

    The day finally came.We could walk barefoot in the grass and feel the coolness between our toes. The sting of cold had long since vanished and our bodies sought heat. But the heat of a boat in the middle of the lake, in the middle of summer; that was the best. The old men in us simply retired and went away. They were winter men; we had no need for them now! We made our plans. We were young and our summer faces mirrored in the lake waters proved that was so. As we looked at the reflection of clouds and sun on the surface of the water, we could also see the fish below. Clever fish, swimming as if in camouflage, thinking we were blinded by the beauty of the vista and could not see them.


    and . . .

    But oh, the summer. I know it’s coming and I hear Frank calling, “hurry up summer!” as he stamps his feet in the winter cold. He’s waiting for me, just like always. I take my hat off and tip my head back once more, close my eyes and there we are, Frank and I, watching the clever fish in camouflage, thinking we can’t see them.
    When the night has come
    And the land is dark
    And the moon is the only light we'll see
    I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid
    Just as long as you stand by me.


  4. #4
    Well, this is going to spoil the lovely mood SueC created, but here goes:

    Ascending one night from the bowels of the demon's labyrinthian hive, on leathery wings black as his soul, he came to their midst, preaching a gospel of unholy conquest.

  5. #5
    Quote Originally Posted by druid12000 View Post
    Well, this is going to spoil the lovely mood SueC created, but here goes:

    Ascending one night from the bowels of the demon's labyrinthian hive, on leathery wings black as his soul, he came to their midst, preaching a gospel of unholy conquest.
    Oooh! I can see it! Very good Druid
    When the night has come
    And the land is dark
    And the moon is the only light we'll see
    I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid
    Just as long as you stand by me.


  6. #6
    Member JBF's Avatar
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    Too many hours spent in spartan classrooms impressed the particulars, the tumultuous history of a country eternally yoked by one foreign master or another, the blood diluted and split and spilt of a people taken to butchering outsiders with an enthusiasm second only to butchering each other.

    A world away north in a land equally hot but markedly less humid a crew chief newly returned from this same country leaned against the rolling doors of a maintenance hangar set a pinch of chewing tobacco and explained it thus:

    The language was a mongrel kind of indian spanish, the chief said. The faith that of Rome crossbred to a thousand years of pagan cannibals, the currency powder white, the religion yankee green, and below the skin, the politics red. A man chanced his soul with the temptations offered him and his health with everything else. Breathtaking in natural beauty and labyrinthine in its antiquity, a world where men moved under triple-canopy jungle since time immemorial with swords and spears and Kalashnikov rifles, bearing ahead their crosses and flags and totems of gods such as no white man would ever know, behind them trailing their golden spoils or chained slaves or burlap sacks of processed coca.

    Against distant crags hued ochre and purple and dusky orange and blood red, below the sloping mountains with their feathered cuts and gullies in shadow, a pair of light strike birds were running, bucking a headwind that made the wings dip and shudder and flashed a reflection diamond-bright from the canopy glass. From the far horizon the mosquito whine of the turbines did not carry over the desert emptiness.

    The chief spat.

    It was, he said, the goddamndest kind of place.

  7. #7
    Quote Originally Posted by druid12000 View Post
    Well, this is going to spoil the lovely mood SueC created, but here goes:

    Ascending one night from the bowels of the demon's labyrinthian hive, on leathery wings black as his soul, he came to their midst, preaching a gospel of unholy conquest.
    Great stuff! There's something 'growly' about writing descriptions in horror and fantasy.
    Craft / Draft / Graft And Write To Entertain.

  8. #8
    Quote Originally Posted by JBF View Post
    Too many hours spent in spartan classrooms impressed the particulars, the tumultuous history of a country eternally yoked by one foreign master or another, the blood diluted and split and spilt of a people taken to butchering outsiders with an enthusiasm second only to butchering each other.

    A world away north in a land equally hot but markedly less humid a crew chief newly returned from this same country leaned against the rolling doors of a maintenance hangar set a pinch of chewing tobacco and explained it thus:

    The language was a mongrel kind of indian spanish, the chief said. The faith that of Rome crossbred to a thousand years of pagan cannibals, the currency powder white, the religion yankee green, and below the skin, the politics red. A man chanced his soul with the temptations offered him and his health with everything else. Breathtaking in natural beauty and labyrinthine in its antiquity, a world where men moved under triple-canopy jungle since time immemorial with swords and spears and Kalashnikov rifles, bearing ahead their crosses and flags and totems of gods such as no white man would ever know, behind them trailing their golden spoils or chained slaves or burlap sacks of processed coca.

    Against distant crags hued ochre and purple and dusky orange and blood red, below the sloping mountains with their feathered cuts and gullies in shadow, a pair of light strike birds were running, bucking a headwind that made the wings dip and shudder and flashed a reflection diamond-bright from the canopy glass. From the far horizon the mosquito whine of the turbines did not carry over the desert emptiness.

    The chief spat.

    It was, he said, the goddamndest kind of place.
    That's more than one paragraph, cheat!

    Bloody marvellous though.
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  9. #9
    Member JBF's Avatar
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    Paragraphs.

    Also, I am constrained by no law of decency, sense, or rationality in my quest for schlock supremacy.

  10. #10
    From my second novel of nearly 35 years ago. (untidied. I don't cheat) LOL

    “Right, my sweets,” he said, reaching for his toys and then slipped them beneath the bedclothes. A ruddy hue lit the pages of the pornographic magazine, which had automatically fallen open onto the most lurid picture therein. He closed his eyes to the image and lifted it from the page with his mind. She sat beside him on the bed, those breasts inches from his cheek, those legs enticing. She slid her hand beneath the sheets to join his own busy hand and turned so that Jacobs could rest his head on her breasts. Slowly and blissfully, he drifted into seamless fantasy; that moment when the author forgets he is creating and the words begin to live. He directed many lurid scenes; each one seemed an eternity squeezed into to a single moment; each one more depraved than the last. That was the way he would orchestrate his journey, building gradually to its pinnacle and his ultimate sin.
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