Creative spurts

[softbird]

Hi all,

I'm not a writer, at least not on here. Who knows if I will ever publish anything here. But I like writing, dabbling in it here and there. So, what follows will be these little dabblings, none ever amounting to a full story, unfortunately.

Feel free to add your own snippets, or even continue from the previous poster's thingy...whatever suits your fancy, or post snippets of other stories you may have read and loved.

This is something I wrote on the spur of the moment in another thread about writing orgasms...

"She seemed far away now, falling low, and lower, as if the only way out of this was if she fell through the world, becoming the world, and all the while, little screams, like disembodied voices - some hers, some uncannily strange and wild, like the howls of she-wolves in gothic forests - and further she fell, into the dark light of this long profound silence, yes, silence, despite the howling wolves, despite the distant wailing, like a midnight dream, but no sooner had she fallen into this silence the voices would clamour again, submerging her in a trance of flaming skin, and flailing limbs, and she rolled back, and found that if she stayed still the flood would take her, and she would, miraculously, fly, soar, sing, and then the wolves howled again, like an ancient prothalamion, wrapping her in the moistened universe of joy."

 

[TheGreatOz]

I start and dont finish more stories than I end up completing.

This is part of an unfinished story about two Asian sisters being sexually dominated by a bunch of white guys. As the story progresses it becomes apparent there aren't actually any white guys, it's all just the daydreaming and imagination of two young sheltered virgins.

*****

The white men are so bad. They make us say dirty things, think dirty things, do dirty things. We would never have had all these thoughts without them.

For a while, until dumbass Nari was careless and father found what we were looking at, we would see porn on the internet of how mean the white men are to girls like us. We don't have our phones and internet any more thanks to dumbass but we learnt plenty before we lost them. And we saw. Oh we saw all right. Asian girls that look just like us on their knees surrounded by a gang of white men with fat white cocks bobbing in their faces. They have Asian girls on leashes and their cocks jammed in girls’ mouths! Up girls’ bottoms! We saw men's stuff come out! So gross! Spurting all over and dripping from these poor girls' faces!

Oh we learned plenty. We learned a lot. We learned all sorts of rude words too, and we got good at them.

We play games with the words. At dinner, Nari will randomly pass me a note under the table that says I’m a dirty little cocksucker and if I laugh in front of mother I lose. Or I will whisper in her ear in church that her face is nothing but a white man's cumrag.

“I'm not a cumrag! You're a cumrag!”, she whispers back.

“You are!”

*****

I can't sleep. I'm restless. I'm lying there in the dark but I'm wide awake.

I think the white men are going to come tonight.

“Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“I think the white men are coming. I think I heard them.”

Sometimes she doesn't want to play. She just wants to sleep and says she doesn't hear them and then they go away. Maybe they go and pester some other poor innocent girls.

I really hope she can hear them tonight though.

*****

It's not just at night that the white men visit. They have started making us do things during the day as well. It began when they made me tell Nari to spread her legs on the bus. I whisper in her ear “white men say you have to…” and I see her face flush.

“Really? Now? What if people see?”

“They don't care. You need to do it or we'll be in so much trouble.”

“Oh my God, they're so mean.”

“You have to do it Nari! Do it! You're not allowed to close them unless someone comes by.”

“Oh my God. Is that enough?”

“They say wider.”

“There! Are they happy?”

“Wider!”

*****

They made us buy some really slutty underwear. Our little secret, carefully ordered and covertly collected, hidden away and washed when mother is out.

We have to walk about in the village wearing it under our skirts. They make us pull our skirts up and show each other. We have to say rude things to each other.

“The white men say only a whore would wear those Jin. They say you are a little whore.”

“I'm not! I'm not a whore Nari!”

“They say when we get home they are going to bend you over and take it in turns fucking you with your whore panties stuffed in your mouth. That's what you're for Jin.”

*****

 

[OddLove]

That's very poetic writing.

I think the 'Creative Spurts' is normal for almost everybody. I'm not some artistic expert in the slightest, but I do believe creativity is like a muscle. Not just in the sense that it can get stronger, but also in the sense that it needs breaks, it can be strained, it can take time for it to replenish. Some creative people might experience that different, but from my own experience, and the experience of many artists I enjoy, it seems to come and go.

For some it's all about building that momentum, piece by piece. Some days you can write a full page, or maybe even several. Other days maybe just a few lines or a scene. And some days, nothing. But giving enough time and interest, it happens.

Here's a pretty successful and well respected rapper, writer, and producer who openly talks about running out of steam for months at a time. IDK if it's aspiring for anyone else, but it was nice to here another artist talk about it so openly since most wouldn't dare.