Vagrant Journalism

Published pieces from the past, the present and of the potential future.

Posts Tagged ‘e28e’

6 June 2006: Dance to the Radio

Posted by Christina on March 2, 2009

joy-division

For the Creative Fiction class, we were to write a piece inspired by a piece of music. I had no previous thought of what I would make my story about but I knew I wanted to use Joy Divisions “Transmissions” for this assignment. I did just that and came up with this.

Dance to the Radio

And we would go on as though nothing was wrong.
And hide from these days we remained all alone.
Staying in the same place, just staying out the time.
Touching from a distance,
Further all the time.

Catherine plays well with others. Her mother is so proud of her, watching her from behind the glass window. All the other little girls are stumbling, fumbling with their awkward little feet in ballet slippers. Catherine is so elegant, so poised perfectly and pretty. Her mother beams watching her daughter while all the other mothers gab about the latest issue of Vogue, the hairstylist that messed up their hair or the nail salon that overcharged them for their weekly French-tip. In the midst of all the vanity, all the seemingly stressful incidents in the chaotic world of these wives of rich businessmen, bankers, doctors and lawyers, Catherine’s mother swells with pride.

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1 June 2006: Fiendish Revelries

Posted by Christina on March 2, 2009

heart-paintI took a Fiction Writing class in the Spring Quarter of my junior year at school. This was the first time I was writing creative fiction for class and needless to say, I was a little rusty on not having a basis of information from which to gather information from for my writing. The last time I ventured creative fiction was right before I left for college. I had created several chapters of a potential book (in my mind) but, as luck would have it, the contents of my computer was erased in my freshman year after a computer virus spread through our dorm. Computer reformatted and my computer broken, I will never, to this day, forget the story I had concocted back then. Regardless, there were some exceptional pieces in the class and this is merely my first real effort at creative fiction.

I was in an interesting place when I wrote this. I was really into the nitty-gritty, expletive sort of writing and heavily influenced, more than any other point in my life, by The Great Doctor, Hunter S. Thompson. I tried to incorporate his mode of creative journalism into my mode of fiction and came up with this.

Fiendish Revelries

Violet is awakened the next morning by a forearm, swiftly coming down hard on her stomach. She doesn’t bolt out of bed with the sudden pain but her eyes flutter open and for a split second she’s utterly confused. There’s a faint hint of something like burnt skunk which she places as remnants of last night’s ganja. Her nose crinkles and as her senses explore her surroundings, she smells the processed rubber of latex and tastes the sour, chalky feel of lubricant in her mouth.

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