HALF WAY! Today marks the halfway point of my year long journey. My friend Sam asked me to come on his radio show at phoenix radio. So I asked if I could write him a story live on air. He agreed. I asked him to give me a song that he hated live at 3:30 today- then I had an hour to write the backstory to that song to convince him the song was good. He told me he hated Lana Del Rey’s Summertime Sadness (listen here). So I set to work in the studio. At 4:30 I was done and he invited me back on air to read the results.
The lyrics talk of a girl all dressed up asking for one last kiss before someone leaves. I thought about kissing and remembered an episode of Radio Lab podcast (listen here) about how vampire bats look like they kiss each other- but are in fact feeding their friends by spitting blood into the others mouth. And thus this story came to be:
When they first found the babe they tried to feed her blood. But the babe just wailed. After much trial and error they learnt the babe would eat fruit.
And so the babe grew into a girl. They named her Lana, meaning ‘glowing’ in Battish, for she was their light in the dark.
During the day, they would nestle round her and rest. Lana would look up at her hundreds of doting parents, their eyes glinting down at her from the cave walls. At night, a few would stay with Lana and the rest would leave the cave to feast and find her fruit.
But the girl did not stay a girl forever. And when she turned 16, the bats could see the sadness in her eyes. So they gathered a mass of fruit and stole human clothing from washing lines during the night. In the morning they told her she must go. She must see her own kind.
The cave filled with the sonic echoes of sadness as Lana left, her translucent white skin glowing in the summer sun.
Lately I have been deep in my uni thesis. This has meant I have basically been reading and re-reading and re-re-re-re-re-re-re-reading my own work. I am so sick of it. I don’t want to read those same words again.
The tower contained only one scroll of parchment and one quill. When she’d filled the parchment she was quite pleased. It was a good story about damsels and dragons.
Years later and she does not see it that way. Every word has been scratched out and replaced several times. She had read it so many times, she’d managed to find several overarching metaphors that revealed her inner psyche, one of which seemed to point to her being reincarnated later in the eternal hell of a strange man’s body who folk called “Kyle Sandilands”. She’d spend all day staring at the reality of the smooth round wall that surrounded her only to dream of being trapped in a worse prison.
So one day, with no ink left in the pen, she ripped up every word of the foul text and rearranged them. It took her months to find a combination that worked. But as she worked, her nightmares about the man folk called Sir Sandilands began to fade. Eventually she had re-written her story. The dragon’s wings had been cut by a beautiful and deadly damsel, but the dragon was cunning and built a new pair.
When she woke that morning, she was flying through the clouds. The tower was a distant speck, and her scales felt warm in the sun.
PS. Tomorrow I will be exactly half-way through my challenge! So I’m hopping on my friend Sam’s radio show and writing a story for him live on air! Tune in to phoenixradio anytime from 3:30-4:40.
I’m going to be doing some filming for a lecturer. He opened the official employee form and suddenly the energy was sucked from the room. He looked at me, I looked at him, I could sense we both agreed: forms are the most boring bores of borevill. But perhaps not all…
What is your current fitness level?
Are you bilingual?
Are you willing to brave harrowing winds?
Is your hearing sensitive to high and prolonged tones?
How much fabric weight can you bear?
Can you battle against strange sparkly creatures under the pressure of a watching audience?
Are you scared of heights, gimp suits and/or have an irrational fear of white pants?
Please click “submit” to lodge your application as a Eurovision Song Contest contestant.
Dee and Susan don’t like reading slang in the wrong context.
Darren has no TV, no internet and speaks mostly to his cattle. He likes making up sayings. His latest is “y’all” as in “y’all ready to be milked?” and “booyah” as in “can I get a booyah milk’s making some moolah!”On Sundays he covers his white ute in Northern Territory rust as he drives into Town for his weekly “scratch-off” (scratchie). People in town don’t understand his sayings.
“Mate I don’t think po po’s gonna catch on, stick to blue heelers.”
One day, Darren wins his scratch-off. He books plane tickets to America, it’s the first brochure he picks up at the travel agents.
When he arrives the girl says “An Australian? Booyah!”
Everyone in America understands Darren. But Darren hates it, his one unique talent has been taken from him. When Darren gets back to the farm, he comes up with all new words. “Stonking” “porkies” and “chip-butty” are a few of his favourites, he’s sure no one’s thought of those.
Sommer told me on twitter she really doesn’t want to read stories about “Teenaged girls who are introverts who hate everyone but everyone loves them.” Sorry Sommer- I’m about to write one.
Britney had nothing to say to anyone, but it just made her more aloof. Boys would blurt out her name in the school corridor trying to get her attention. She got headphones to block them out but it just made her cooler. She bought ill-fitting old clothes so people wouldn’t notice her, but the girls just copied her. When she finished school, she took up art so she wouldn’t have to speak to anyone, but being elusive just made her exhibitions into a cult hit. If Britney had just given someone the time of day, they would have realised she really didn’t have anything to say, and poor vacant Britney could have lived in peace.
Every morning at World Builders Co. the builders check in to the Universe Studio. Universe Studio is a testing ground universe on the outskirts of the Multiverse where World Builder Co constructs new worlds and flat packs them to be shipped all over the multiverse. Although at the current rate the company is expanding, the urban metropolis of the Multiverse CBD will soon swallow their studio.
The craftspeople are always first to arrive. Sculpting new landscapes in minute detail is a never ending and thankless task. Geneticists are also fairly early risers as experimenting with new flora and fauna is a slow and unpredictable process. Lastly, after enjoying a good rest in one of their private purpose-built worlds, the imaginators will put in a few hours of work. Talking into the speakers, they will describe new components for the crafters and geneticists to add to their to-do lists.
No-one is sure why the company continues to thrive, given most worlds are bought as spares which will never be seen in all their minute detailed glory. We can only assume it is an old hang-up of our species, left over from the traumatic demise of the Milky Way.
This month’s theme is ‘conflict’ and lately I’ve been writing in genres that people tell me they hate to see if I can make them better. But today I’m breaking out for just one story as I got the most genuinely odd suggestion from @STREETUND1ES today on twitter. They have a conflict of their own “why do undies sometimes find themselves on the street?” In fact that’s what their entire website is about: streetundies.com. I felt this was a pressing issue that needed to be resolved so here is my story.
SUPERMAN BECOMES THE FLASH(ER)
After Superman was spotted last week without his trademark red underwear, the trend of throwing one’s underwear to the curb is on the rise. Like the burning of the bra in the 1960s many citizens took to the street today to throw out their underwear. Here at BreakingGoodnews.com we’re just hoping PM Tony Abbott doesn’t catch on and let his red speedos fly free.