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Storm Coming; Genre Undetermined
Oct. 20th, 2009 02:47 pmThe stones gleamed a golden beauty beneath the rain from the downspout that polished the ordinary dull rocks to shining jewels. The water ran over her fingers, reflecting the sun that shone through the clouds. The storm light made the leaves bright green and the pebbles precious jewels, it made the air heavy and fragrant with promised fertility and possible death. The sunlight shone green, tornado-green, though the clouds were only light. Cars drove past on the street, heading home as soon as possible. On the edges of town, wind blew through the wheat fields.
Inspiration: "Zen In The Art of Writing." I don't think this approach to memory-mining works for me. Maybe I need to do the linked word-groups thing. Very odd, but seems like an approach worth attempting. So--ah, yes. I loved storm weather as a little girl, and my favorite thing was to be out in it, staring out how it transformed ordinary pebbles. Well, not strictly ordinary. My mother collected granite and quartz and other interesting-looking rocks, possibly as part of the same thing that made her interested in gravestones.
Story Potential: High.
Notes: Maybe high potential? Storms transforming nature/beauty. There's something there. But I'm also looking harder for something because of the source. Hrm. I mean, really, there's something in anything.
Inspiration: "Zen In The Art of Writing." I don't think this approach to memory-mining works for me. Maybe I need to do the linked word-groups thing. Very odd, but seems like an approach worth attempting. So--ah, yes. I loved storm weather as a little girl, and my favorite thing was to be out in it, staring out how it transformed ordinary pebbles. Well, not strictly ordinary. My mother collected granite and quartz and other interesting-looking rocks, possibly as part of the same thing that made her interested in gravestones.
Story Potential: High.
Notes: Maybe high potential? Storms transforming nature/beauty. There's something there. But I'm also looking harder for something because of the source. Hrm. I mean, really, there's something in anything.
