tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64421882011-04-21T20:46:38.725-05:00BonnitentoThis site is dedicated to the publication of excerpts from my short stories and my occasional ramblings. I've
been writing since I was about eight or so. This is the first time I've
published anything I've written, though I've lost a lot of material.
All the stories that appear in this blog are copyrighted to the author.
They are not for copying, sale, publication, or other use without the expressed
written consent of the author.
Copyright, 2004, Maizin Clement LewisHelennoreply@blogger.comBlogger91100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6442188.post-1082608127871312742004-04-21T23:22:00.001-05:002004-04-22T00:02:57.110-05:00It was the throb of the drums that woke him.
The measured, almost stately, beat pulled Shemmie out of a deeply fevered sleep, sweating and disoriented. Eyes glazed with fever roamed listlessly around his bedroom, dark but for the light streaming in from a nearby street lamp.
The top bunk of the double-decker creaked above him. Raffy. He was in Raffy's bed, and Raffy in his. Shemmie swallowedHelennoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6442188.post-1079639225263456442004-03-18T01:53:00.000-06:002004-03-18T13:50:24.483-06:00The drums are calling tonight. Tonight, for the first time, Shemmie heard the drums....
Helennoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6442188.post-1079596153450477992004-03-18T01:44:00.000-06:002004-03-18T01:52:31.950-06:00This weekend, I lost all the research I'd done on Blood, Drum, and Dance when I crashed my 'puter. It takes a lot of work to screw up a Mac. Well, I put the hours in and managed to do just that. Happily, the first chapter and the intro/conclusion of Blood, Drum, and Dance are online, else I'd have lost everything. The text needs editing; it's very rough. Not right now, though. The drums are Helennoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6442188.post-1079065255675503662004-03-11T22:07:00.000-06:002004-03-18T01:47:29.890-06:00I actually got a solid chapter of Shemmie's story in the can. What I've written is how the story presents itself in my head. Now that the first part is put down in words, I've got to do to go back in there and, as Kate Chopin said, make sure that each word is unique in its place, that each word is the right word. At least, I think it's Kate Chopin.
Ah, Shemmie. The choices we make in life.... Helennoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6442188.post-1079032529460151702004-03-11T12:32:00.000-06:002004-03-11T14:44:13.746-06:00Shemmie pounded the scruffed up end of the coconut-branch bat into the worn dustiness of St. Mark's RC School's cricket pitch. He watched as Boy took his sweet time walking down the length of the pitch to the field. Since Boy liked to pretend that he was West Indies fast bowler Courtney Walsh, Shemmie had learned how to duck, and fast.
This time was no different. When Boy began his wind up runHelennoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6442188.post-1077415431620473332004-02-21T19:56:00.000-06:002004-02-21T20:06:36.123-06:00Today I began outlining Shemmie's story. I'm calling it Blood, Drum, and Dance. That title might be changed. Helennoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6442188.post-1077351801199819312004-02-21T02:15:00.000-06:002004-02-21T02:29:40.623-06:00I've not been writing much. I've been focusing on the other blog. It's a way to remain focused when there is no focus. But tonight, a new character crept into my head. Shemmie. I can see him sitting by the side of the sea and wondering what to do. To go in and go on and so find surcease, or to burn back and face the fury of drums and dance and blood? That is Shemmie's dilemma. If Shemmie goes Helennoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6442188.post-1077350374179153002004-02-21T00:46:00.000-06:002004-02-21T02:28:09.420-06:00No name yet
For some days, Shemmie sat by the sea side and listened to the crash, the thunderous roll and pound, and wondered what awaited beneath the drag and pull of the cream-flecked froth. What would happen when he roused it? He sat on the damp sand, out-stretched bony feet licked and petted by inrushing rills from the outrushing tide, and could not forget that three smooth pebbles, untouchedHelennoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6442188.post-1076113282547643212004-02-06T18:18:00.000-06:002004-02-08T22:42:48.186-06:00Bonnitento is a new blog in which I publish excerpts from short stories I've written or write bits and pieces of possible stories. I'm going to use it as a means of getting back to writing fiction. Some feedback would be great.Helennoreply@blogger.com