Sparks to Flames

Let it be officially announced that I have started yet another bigger project. Maybe this time I will be able to actually finish it as well. It might be easier, though, since this one is not just a story; it will be written in prose, poetry and something in between. If I get fed up with writing only prose, I can whip out a piece of poetry instead, and the other way around. And if I feel particularly creative, I can do those pretty little 'in between' parts, which is definitely my favourite way to write.


The name of the project - at least the work name of it - is Sparks to Flames, which comes from the first part of the story. I am thinking about changing it eventually, though. To something longer.
The story is basically this: a writer (female) has difficulties in figuring out what to write, until she sees a boy/young man in a train, which completely sets her off, and causes a great wave of inspiration to rush to her, making her write story after story - I assume she writes short stories - about a young man and his tragic love life. Eventually she starts feeling more and more attached to the character, and well, falls in love with him. He, in his own world, starts feeling more aware of himself, like he is coming alive, and eventually their worlds 'collide'. (imagine a dramatic scene from A-ha's "Take on Me" here...) He is not particularly excited to know that he is merely a fictitious character, controlled by someone who is nuts about him.
That's basically as far as I have gotten. Hopefully the rest will figure itself out as I go along.

I'm not yet sure whether I should put these texts to Antold Story. They are very short, first of all, and not very easily read independently. So I would have to put the whole thing. But the problem in here is that I'm not writing it in order... We'll see.
Here's a sneak peek, though, my latest addition to the story.

You in My Head

There is one thing on my mind, and one only.

It's like neon green on a white page, in bright summer sunlight;

burning through my eyes with power so overwhelming – it blinds me.

It's like a page of my book blown up by the cooling wind, cutting off my lines of thought, distracting and unruly.

It's like the…

It's like you,

in my head,

so neon, so blinding,

distracting and unruly.

How my mind stops working when you're near me,

how it stops when you pick up the pen;

You took over me in more ways than just one, and

I am forever your beloved little puppet,

a character in your vicious games,

your lover in these pages full of flowing text,

a notion of incompetent devotion you create.