15,000 Words in a Month. The Big Day!

Well, here we are, the last day of the 15,000 words in a month challenge. How quickly January passed. You have until midnight before you must put up your quills and then a couple of weeks to sweeten the deal with edits if you wish. By the 15th of February we will have our writing  in forms that can shared, i.e. .pdf or .doc. 

I suggest you send them to me and I will publish them simultaneously as one post with links to the blog pages section. Let me know if that suits or if someone has another idea, post it here in the comments. 

At any rate...  

CONGRATULATIONS!

I don't know who these people are, but they're happy for you too!

Challenged

Three did know 

How a story should go

But one struggled day by day.

Still she aspired

To do all it required 

And STAPLES was close anyways.

A challenge for writing 

Was just a small part,

The others were familiar 

With AI clip art.

A challenge is a challenge

Something new to learn,

Who is good, who is not

Is not the concern.

Learning and mentoring

And help along the way,

For sure when we're done

It will be a great day!

 Inspired to give it a go
THE SCRIBES AT MIDNIGHT (ala The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes)

The moon was high in the star-lit sky
Its yellow light agleam
Four scribes hunched low, where keyboards fly
Lost deep in a writer’s dream
By the candle’s glow, their words did flow,
The deadline drawing near
Each tale they spun, ’til the month was done,
Their passion was sincere.

The Charge of the Write Brigade

 (apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

 

Half a page, half a page,

Half a page onward,

All in the town of Roseneath,

Wrote the four, humbled.

"Forward, the Write Brigade!

Charge for your pens!" he said:

Into the town of Roseneath

Wrote the four, humbled.

 

"Forward, the Write Brigade!"

Was a person there dismay’d?

Not tho’ the writers even knew

If and when they’d finish:

Theirs not to make and edit,

Theirs not to once regret it,

Theirs but to later vet it:

Into the town of Roseneath

Wrote the four, humbled.

 

Canon to the right of them,

Epson to the left of them,

HP in front of them

Volley’d and thunder’d;

Stopped only by the dinner bell,

Boldly they wrote and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Wrote the four, humbled.

 

Flash’d all their pencils bare,

Flash’d as they wrote in air

Skewering the grammar there,

Challenged to 15,000, while

All wives and husbands’ wonder’d:

Plunged in the writer’s smoke

Line by solid line they wrote.

Poetry and also prose

Reel’d from the pencil-stroke

Their dictionaries plundered

But O the words in a day they wrote,

(At least about a basic five hundred.)

 

Canon to the right of them,

Epson to the left of them,

HP in front of them

Volley’d and thunder’d;

Stopped only by the dinner bell,

Page by page the numbers fell,

They that had written well

Came thro’ the jaws of Death,

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of four, humbled.

 

When can their glory fade?

O the wild verse they made!

All the world wonder’d.

And honored the challenge made!

Honor the Write Brigade,

Noble four, Finished!

 

Waiting On Inspiration

January 16, 2024

Photo by: cottonbro studio

‘The porous fabric of the night allowed the mist to flow freely all the while preventing sight from occurring more than a few inches away.’

“Blah, blah, blah,” he uttered in contempt. “Word filler.”

Kieran ripped the piece of paper from the typewriter, balled it up and heaved a mighty shot towards the basket. It bounced off the rim before setting through the hoop. “Ooh, a two pointer,” he exclaimed.

And so it went all night. He would type some words, look at it with disgust, rip the paper out, toss it at the garbage can and then start over. After a while all he had for his efforts was word exhaustion. The idea was there. He just couldn’t get it right. 

After 5 hours he put his head down on the desk in front of the typewriter. The coolness of the desk had begun to soothe his skull when he picked up another piece of paper and put it into the typewriter.

‘The darkened mist floated aimlessly, blocking the view of the oncoming traffic.’

Kieran smiled. “Now that was something I can work with. It needs more work but it is closer to what I want,” he reflected as ideas dripped from the mist onto the page.

The 15,000 Words in a Month Challenge - Week 2

Well, intrepid and inspired writers, hope you're all chugging along and enjoying the challenge. You should have around 7500 words now. We're halfway  through the challenge, more or less, with a couple of days to spare.

Perhaps, in the comments section of this post, you could share the subject of your writings. Or not.

As is my wont and to inspire you further... below is a picture of a woman dreaming of  receiving the coveted Roseneath Writers Circle Certificate of Accomplishment which, judging by the font on the certificate, apparently comes from China. Who knew?

 

The Ice Dam

January 11, 2025

“This spit looks like it was man made,” reflected Serena as she walked arm in arm with the man of her dreams. 

John could sense the high cement walls where the water was gently lapping with that push noise it made. The fact that it was on both sides of the spit made it a little unnerving for him. “It is man made,” he started. “Back in the 1800’s this was the railroad bed for an experiment.”

“A railroad went across here?” she asked.

“As the countryside opened up for settlement they wanted to find a way to move people and goods quickly from Cobourg to Peterborough. They decided to build a railroad but the lake was in the way. So they built a bridge across the water from this side of the lake to the other.”

Serena gazed out across the water as they neared the end of the spit. “I gather it didn’t work,” she reflected as she looked at the water dotted with islands across the lake.

John felt great contentment to have Serena here with him. He became more relaxed as her self assured nature didn’t demand anything from him. 

“They forgot one crucial element in their plan,” he said.

“Oh, what was that?” questioned Serena as she turned to look at John.

John turned towards Serena as he felt her arms wrap around his body. He couldn’t help but smile as he tried to picture what they looked like out here on the pier. 

“They forgot how brutal Canadian winters are,” he began as her lips touched his. 

“Oh,” she reflected as he kissed her back.

“Ice in the spring destroyed the bridge,” he said in small breaks, all but abandoning the story.

“You know so much,” she reflected.

His ice dam had been blown apart as his fingers felt the lines on her face, acknowledging the happiness she felt with each movement as they explored her reflection of joy. She was the one for him after all.

The 15,000 Words In a Month Challenge - Week 1

Well, here we are a solid week into the challenge. Congratulations for making it this far. If you've managed to keep going you should  have a manuscript of about 3500 words by now, unless you've plowed ahead or are planning on making up for lost days later.

Remember that this challenge is not just about coming up with the requisite amount of words but to establish something of routine and find out what does and doesn't work for you as part of your schedule.

Also,  remember that you don't have to bring this bit of writing to a conclusion by the end of the month. You can be anywhere  in your story by the time you've chugged out your 15,000 words. 

I  hope you're having fun with the challenge and that you are finding new ways to bring  your creativity to bear.

AT

(To encourage you,  here's a picture of some old guy happily writing away with his quill pen when he has an even older Remington sitting right there beside him. He's happy because he has managed to write over 42 words this week with his quill.)

The Lighthouse Keeper continued Bill - Adrian - Bill

 

The Lighthouse Keeper

 

The waves were crashing into the pier and traveling twenty feet straight into the air before landing. All those waves, when combined with the wind, had created a coat of ice over everything in sight. The lighthouse, being heated from the inside, had a much lighter coating of ice than its surroundings. Rather than being able to see each Christmas light, the ice covering made the whole lighthouse a gigantic light. Add to that the twirling light on the top, the building sent a shimmering sheen across the water.

The lighthouse keeper didn’t normally spend a lot of time up with the light. It was bright and hard on the eyes in the glass encasement atop the lighthouse. He came up to the top on Christmas Eve because when he looked back over the town, he could clearly see all the lights lit up on the town's streets. It was a glorious picture that warmed his heart.

As he turned towards the stairs, he noticed a flash of light out on the water. He moved closer to the rail and focused his eyes on the spot he saw light. He pulled his binoculars closer as he stood there. He saw the light emerge behind a wave. It would be tough going out there tonight. With skill a boat could make it to the inner harbour where a calmer scene awaited. He watched as the light bobbed before pulling up his binoculars to catch a glimpse of what was going on. Slowly the stricken boat inched its way towards the gap between the two piers.

The Lighthouse keeper raced down the stairs and started putting on his equipment to protect him from the raging storm. He added the crampons to his boots, hoping they would give him a bit more traction on the ice.

He hurled himself out the door and worked his way down the pier as great waves of water covered him time and again. The wind worked to create an ice covering for his body. He worked his way over to where the boat had pulled up to the dock, grabbed a rope, and tied the boat to the dock.

“Hello," he called out.

A man in a bright red suit appeared from below deck. He looked a little green around the gills which may have been suitable for Christmas Eve but not so good otherwise.

“Hello," he called out, cautiously.

 

“Throw me your stern line and I’ll cleat ya down!” I bellowed above the roar of the wind and the waves. For some reason the water, usually much calmer at this point in the harbour, was in great turmoil this night. 'Wind must be coming  in straight off the  ocean,' I thought.

He turned aft and grasped the frozen rope between his raw hands and looked up, exasperation clouding his face.

“Can’t do it!” he shouted. “My hands are too numb, and the rope is like wire.”

I looked about and spotted a boat-hook hitched to a post halfway down the pier.

“Hang on! I’ll be right back!” I called down to him.

“Righty-o!” he replied, “I ain’t goin’ no place.”

Slipping and sliding I made my way down the pier. I was very cold now and I wondered how much more of this I could take without passing out. But somehow, I managed to grab the hook and staggered back to the sloop.

“Pass me the bitter end,” I called down, “Run it through the hawes hole, tie it off to your cleat and then put it on the hook.”

“I’ll try!” he replied.

I reached down with the pole while he managed to grab his line between two hands and somehow fed it through the hole. He tied a bowline knot stiffly into the line, hooked it onto the pole and despite the wild bucking of the boat I pulled the line back to the pier. Waiting for the boat to get as stable as possible, I looped the line around a cleat and made it fast. This brought the sloop to as close to the pier as I dared without crushing the hull.

“Throw some fenders over!” I commanded and in a moment two fenders appeared that were sufficient to ward off the heavy wood beams of the pier. The boat was still about two feet below the top of the pier however and I leaned forward and offered my hand.

“Wait until the boat is as high as possible and then take a jump! I’ll try to pull you up!” He did as I asked and just as a wave pushed the boat up the pier I shouted “Now!”

He leapt and I grasped his ice-cold hand, and we fell together onto the pier, breathing heavily.

“Let’s get inside,” I shouted when I’d caught my breath, “before we end up frozen together out here until the spring. He gave a thin laugh.

"Merry Christmas," he managed to get out as together we made our way to the entrance of the lighthouse. 

I found Kris some warm clothes and some food as he sat by the fire gathering some warmth into his body. While he was warming up I set off to check on the lighthouse itself to see how it was holding up from the battering it was taking. All was good.

As I entered the room where I had left Kris I had noticed that he had moved from the chair to standing directly in front of the fire. He turned as I approached.

“It warms the heart to know there are good people in the world. Thank you for helping me out tonight.”

I mumbled,”You’re welcome. It’s a part of my job.”

“Normally I head down the cost earlier than this, but I got waylaid with some unexpected repairs to my boat,” he offered without prompting. “My kids think I am crazy for my love of sailing but I have been at it for over 50 years.”

He certainly didn't look like some of the saltier types I see in the harbour who had been at it for over 50 years. His rather youthful appearance made me wonder about him. 

“It sounds like you are quite experienced as a sailor. What happened out there tonight?” 

Kris looked at me through the warm glow of the fire and contemplated his thoughts for a minute.

“I’ve been sailing my whole life,” he started, " I have sailed this route many, many times but I have seen little like the storm that is out here tonight. Normally I am further down the coast by now but The Holly and Ivy had some mechanical issues that needed to be addressed.” He looked over at me as I sat by the edge of the fire. “By the way, who am I talking to here?”

I was blushing in the pale orange firelight. “My name is Gerry. I should have introduced myself earlier,” I replied.

“I never thought about it until now,” he answered. “You have been so busy providing the necessary comforts that it has slipped both of our minds I reckon.” He continued his story. “I am on my way to my daughter's house. She lives further down the coast. The way this storm came up it caught me by surprise. I have been plying these waters going on most of my life. I have never seen anything like this before. Waves worse than in any hurricane. The winds whipping up such lather that I wish I had reindeer to pull me away.”

“Your boat looked like it was okay, at least what I could see of it.”

“I will have to have a good look when this storm has passed. The rigging will have to be gone over carefully. I think I got it down in time but with the pressure the wind was putting it under I couldn’t really tell.”

Kris walked over and looked out the window at his ice covered boat. He was wondering if his secret stash was surviving well in this weather.

15,000 Words in a Month Challenge - Day 1

 AND THEY'RE OFF!!!