Itchy Feet

So I'm three days behind on [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com] and desperately needing inspiration. So, original short story ideas, any genre except romance, go! I need at least two, but will take more for hoarding purposes.

November, the season for crazy writing projects, otherwise known as [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]. Not for me, however - I'm going to be doing my 30 shorts in 30 days, so I can get back on track with 52 Pick Up. Yep, it's [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com] for me!

Edit: And we're off!

Thirty stories in thirty days.

I did it. The first project especially for me, not for the benefit of anyone else, that I've completed since the depression started. If that's not a sign of my beginning recovery, I don't know what is.

My counsellor asked me what I'd do with these once I was done. I think I'll go back through them, tidy some of them up a bit, print them out and bind them. That way I'll have something tangible to say "yes, I did something difficult and creative, and I finished what I started".

So yeah. Feeling pretty good (albeit tired after a long day of work after being off sick last week).

Sequel to this piece, based on this image.

Sunset, when it finally came, was blood-red and stank of sulfur.

There was only one airship left now, the others vanished in the never-ending light of the previous days. Its crew was nameless, almost faceless, identical with their hair bleached white blonde and their faces tanned dark brown, save for the circles of white skin left by their goggles. Their clothing was uniformly bleached white also, no traces left of the original colour.

As individual as angels, they floated above a land of smoke and shadows.