Leslie Lofton
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Everything posted by Leslie Lofton
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Good variation of language. It's an artist who can talk about the same thing for such a long stretch and keep it engaging.
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bibliopole - Word of the Day - Wed Jul 31, 2024
Leslie Lofton commented on Myr's blog entry in Writing World
I for one consider myself a bit of an artist with the stuff -
bibliopole - Word of the Day - Wed Jul 31, 2024
Leslie Lofton commented on Myr's blog entry in Writing World
I thing Cacopoly would be a better use of pan-classicism, but the purist would prefer Scatopoly A practitioner could be a Cacopolist or Scatopolist -
bibliopole - Word of the Day - Wed Jul 31, 2024
Leslie Lofton commented on Myr's blog entry in Writing World
Ooh, nice one. I'd just assumed those all derived from -polis. -
witenagemot - Word of the Day - Tue Jul 23, 2024
Leslie Lofton commented on Myr's blog entry in Writing World
Extremely surprised that no one in this thread has mentioned that JK Rowling parodied the term for the Wizengamot. -
absquatulate - Word of the Day - Tue Jul 30, 2024
Leslie Lofton commented on Myr's blog entry in Writing World
I think the coining of neologisms (including neologism) out of classical roots (edit: and other mellifluently euphonious sources) was a nineteenth century phenomenon among authors and newspaper editors. I believe the sesquipedalian contrivance flaucinaucinihilipilification also has similar origin. Professional writers don't do that anymore. More's the pity. -
bibliopole - Word of the Day - Wed Jul 31, 2024
Leslie Lofton commented on Myr's blog entry in Writing World
Are there any other word that carry the -pole suffix for "seller"? -
Apropos of nothing, when I was focus grouping the climax of this chapter with the teen trans club, who were in my basement yesterday, they kind of ruined the ending: "A mane of hair?" "Horses have manes." "Look out! It's a horse in a nightgown!" I think they were trying to get rid of me.
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Casper the thirsty ghost 👻
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“... and she grabbed me, and she was about to kiss me, then you drove up. I remember it like I was really there!” This was Makayla. The real Makayla. Not a shiny lure to hook Susan into some absurd horror. Inside the house, on the sofa, Susan had entwined herself into Makayla’s muscular frame, a limb or appendage snaking into every crevice on her beautiful dark body. “Honey, you are freaked the fuck out, and I don’t blame you.” Makayla said. “This place has a haunty-vibe at night, that
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The technique of standing a board up perpendicular to another board and shooting a nail or screw diagonally through them to connect them is called toenailing. I learned this over the weekend (aged 42), and now I'm going to trot it out every chance I get as if I knew it all along.
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Not many chain motels out in the sticks. The motels there are are probably haunted, too.
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If she has one, I hope it's worth it.
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Plot reasons. I'll go ahead and summit Mount What's-Your-Point before too long here. That joke is stolen from Letterkenny. I've slipped at least one other Letterkenny quote into the story. Figger it oot.
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Dew soaked through the seat of Susan’s pants, but she reveled in it. She was perched on the hood of her car in the chill morning, the cold seeping through her clothes a stark reminder that she was back in the realm of reality. The clear air felt like a balm to her frayed nerves. After clambering down the stairs last night, she'd rocked back and forth on the sofa for what felt like an eternity, trying to shake off the unsettling events. Sleepwalking? She'd never done that in her life. But what ot
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Just a little one.
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Yeah, Makayla's cool. I don't think she believes in ghosts. Whether ghosts believe in her remains to be seen. I believe Susan has older brothers and sisters who couldn't make it to the funeral, and they all have lives and kids and stuff. She's definitely the youngest, but she's doing okay with sleep away college, so Mom is reluctantly letting her fly a little. That's the sort of detail I should have thought of before. I am trying to write without my usual predilection for perfection, just to practice going faster.
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Besides breakfast, Susan splurged on a set of portable computer speakers. All afternoon they blasted from her laptop. When the noise blared, it kept her from having to think her own thoughts. Spotify kept her company while she hung clothes -- the laundromat was indeed shut. NPR podcasts helped her through packing Mom’s room. There were only a few pieces of costume jewelry, to which Mom always replied with a trash can emoji. When she was sick of both, she pulled a radio out of a box she’d already
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When Susan woke, the lights were still lit, but barely competing with the new-risen sun. She was instantly aware of a damp chill. Don’t run the heat if you don’t have to, Mom had instructed her. It was only a couple of days before May, in the midst of a glorious spring, but the nights were still getting into the fifties. Susan rolled off the couch and onto her feet, then stood, stretched, and shivered. The book she retrieved from the floor, flipped through to find her place -- only five pages i
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“Makayla! I can’t hear you!” Susan watched the reception bars on her phone flicker, and the image on the screen, the beautiful brown face of her girlfriend, decayed into a grotesque, garbled caricature. The lips gave forth shards of futile utterance, the feeble phone barely making itself heard over the wind driven rain slapping the windows and lashing the old house’s steel roof. “Cutting … connect … Sus…” the distorted Makayla tried, but with a sad chime, FaceTime hung up. Suddenly alo
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Susan Lewis, a young woman care-taking her late grandmother's house, cut off from the world by COVID-19, begins to suspect she is not as alone as she thinks. Is a shadowy spirit woman stalking her lustfully, or has Susan just been reading too many trashy romance novels?
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To bad you killed off the bellboy right away. I had him pictured as Agador from "The Birdcage". Could you please have it not be him really and instead they find him hanging from a wall in manacles later in?
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Sarah Dawes opened smiling eyes onto the gray stillness of her lodgings. Even if she were wearing her glasses, there wouldn’t be much to take in. Light streamed through the studio’s lone window behind her head, filtering through a fine haze to illumine the back of the love seat beyond the foot of the bed, then mirror back from the blank screen of the television. Wandering right, her gaze considered the door, then onto the right side, the kitchenette and bar. Hard against her right elbow was the
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What if Spock had been lying (exaggerating) when he says Gracie was pregnant. What if his name was Grayson, and he and George were looking forward to a future where humpback dudes could be together? They could still clone the whale and let the two dads do their thing. After all it is (by your calendar) the late twenty third century.
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Finale Foreplaywright
Leslie Lofton commented on Leslie Lofton's story chapter in Finale Foreplaywright
Cool. Everything is working as intended so far. Milquetoast dad; stubborn, proud, but not necessarily villainous mother; Ashlee trying to find help; Felicity is still Felicity; Josh is foreshadowed as slightly sketch. MtF
