I have been a contributor on wattpad for several years now. This site has been invaluable to me as a writer of Sci-Fi, where I can test the waters with potential stories, treatments, character studies and just general fun. Which brings me to this. There was a recent competition to write a Sci-Fi Limerick… A first for me and a challenge I could not pass up. They must have liked it as much as I did because they gave me a great lead in:
We have the “most greatest” honour to host, today, The exceptional @DavidNadas, the Limerick specialist of the group. Let’s let him entertain us with wit and music.
There was an Alien from Venus,
Who came to Earth to greet us,
When he stepped off the ship,
We heard his pants rip,
And out rolled his un-Earthly…
Well… you know.
To see other poems and nursery rhymes click here: Tevun Krus (#59)
Looking at this picture of my past I can remember everything about that day: How I felt, whom I was with, where and why I was there. I can recall the smell the salt in the air and the heat of the sand beneath my feet.
But an odd thing happened the other day while attending a wedding in upstate NY. My wife and I took a short trip from where we were staying to see the home that our dear friends once owned; it was a warm and beautiful home, a camp as it is referred to, and one we had been to many times, tucked away in the Adirondacks along Upper Saranac Lake. This place became the inspiration for the ending to my Sci-Fi novella, November Seed.
When we arrived at the camp, I got out of the car to snap an image and was overcome by a strong sensation of a past life that was my own. I realized I was standing in the exact location of where a very graphic scene of my story took place. One I had conjured up in my mind months after leaving here for the last time.
But I was not just standing on that road up in the Adirondacks remembering this scene; I was standing in the road where my main characters were dealing with the end of days, protecting their families and friends. I could see the entrance to the Point down the road and feel the tension rising within, my back pressed against the bark of the oak tree, the Moss 10-gauge held along my thumping chest. I could hear the pick-up truck approaching, its tires crunching along the snow-packed gravel and the tick of the engine getting louder. Then taking a few quick breaths I stepped out into the road with one hand along the trigger, the other signaling the pickup to stop….
I walked over to that tree and held my hand against the bark then turned to look back along the gravel road. The smell of sulfur in the air seemed so real to me and I looked down at my feet expecting to see the litter of spent cartridge shells sizzling into the snow.
This is what I enjoy most about writing, dissolving into a hyper-reality where I am alongside my characters; watching and feeling everything they see and do. If I can go the real-world location and relive what took place there, then I know I have created the perfect scene.