So my last post was muted, which was kind of a shame ( as I believe it was a good post ) but I get why it happened. I posted a Thursday on Friday post in the 'Weekend Experiences' community haha! I had confused the days ( those things happen, after 7 years of being self employed and living pretty much in the countryside since 2018, albeit in the smallest of cities, since February of this year ) and then, after realizing the day, I decided to try posting in that community anyway, hoping that at least Friday counted as weekend. Turned out it didn't ;<)
Anyhow, lesson learnt.
If you didn't read that latest post, because it was muted, give it another chance. It will surely put a smile on your face. I promise.
Unless you're a sour grape. Fruits can not smile, aside from bananas.
Here's a link to My Niece and I - Diarrhea of a Creative - Part 9
Today I am gonna try something creative, once again, digging up the ghosts from the past.
I was reminded of a story that I wrote, 4 years ago, as part of my ( successful ) attempt at writing 50 thousand words in one month, for NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month ( November 2019 ).
I don't think I ever shared this part ( of this story ) and, if you have been following me for a while, you might know that I never published those 50k words, only fragments of it.
Suffice to say that it didn't turn into a novel. It felt too complicated ( at the time ).
It did lead to dozens of short stories though and, eventually, a book called The Life of Hypersensitivosaurus: 22 Short Stories about Dinos and other Animals, of which I printed ( a mere ) 10 copies on 22-02-2022 and then, more recently, I managed to finish another book of about 60 pages, of which half are illustrations. I am referring to the notorious *Hypersensitivosaurus and Cold Turkey, of which there's still a couple of dozen ( signed ) prints for sale and unlimited digital copies ( PDF ) available.
Reach out to me, if you're interested.
Today, I decided to share a fragment of the story that I wrote, almost 4 years ago. I dealt with a couple of typos and added some commas and breaks, for increased readability.
To refreshen your memory, or in case you never heard of this story, I wrote what was supposed to become a book about a depressed writer, a big fanboy of dinosaurs, working on his first book, a story about dinosaurs ( and, in particular, a character called Hypersensitivosaurus ). The 'poor' man does not have the faintest idea how much of an impact this is going to have on his life.
Now go get yourself a drink and settle in for an excerpt:
If she knew how awful he felt deep inside, she would want to hug him and never let go. He was all doing it to protect them and couldn't stand another casualty in their family. Nevertheless, whether it was raptor behavior or not, all the meat eating and acting tough didn't feel natural to him, it didn't feel right. He sensed that something was off, he was moving in the wrong direction and if he wouldn't turn back soon enough, it would be irreversible. It took him a while to realize that he had probably been depressed for quite a while, without having knowledge of the existence of this illness.
To be totally honest, he didn't figure this out himself, it was a female raptor, that he met at the water hole ( where he secretly went to grieve for his brother )
He looked up from his laptop and tried to smile but didn't make it past a fake smile, as if he were a Gorilla imitating a human being looking at him from behind a glass wall in a zoo. Wasn't writing supposed to be fun? Hadn't he set out with that intention, when he started on his story? What had happened along the way? Was all of this meant to be? Had his writing turned into some kind of therapy? Whatever the case, it hurt.
His hands were freezing cold, as was often the case, especially in Winter. He liked to tell people, if they came to speak of the subject, that he was born a reptile, hatched from an egg.
He was feeling very cold, while sweating at the same time. It was nearly impossible to warm himself. As a raptor – he would always be cold blooded, not just in the process of killing. Also, it didn't help to have such pathetic little arms with sharp claws. Whatever they were (useful) for, they surely weren't meant to rub yourself warm, nor were they handy for making fire besides the fact that the art of making fire was still million years away ).
The best he could do, in a situation like this, was getting as much sleep in as possible, as well as fasting until his body had fought off the illness.
Why was is that even talking about fasting made him hungry? Why was his mind so extremely focused on food all the time?
He prepared himself a healthy lunch of plenty of vegetables, brown rice and fat fish and almost felt guilty about this, as if by doing so he was betraying hypersensitivosaurus. So very much was he identifying with his story's main character. When he had finished eating, he felt way better and – immediately after washing the dishes – he got back into writing mode.
He woke up much later, feeling slightly better. His ankle was still sore but his fever seemed to have diminished. He felt pretty dehydrated though and took a thankful swig from a banana leave drinking tool that he had constructed himself.
Something was off with this scene. How could a raptor construct a drinking device with his little arms? Still, he wanted his favorite lizard to survive, no matter what and wasn't sure if it was a wise idea to let him leave his cave ( to search for water ) in the fragile state that he was in. Then again, the story needed to be – more or less – believable or people would just laugh about it. Although he hoped that the story of hypersensitivosaurus would evoke more emotions in his readers than depression and he hoped they would get some laughs too. He hoped the latter would only happen at the right / intended moments. Not because the story turned from believable into ridiculous.
He was feeling way better. In fact, he didn't remember having felt this strong ever before. The fasting – something that animals do naturally when sick – had done wonders to his body. Setting out to search for food, he promised himself to never eat meat anymore, no matter what other carnivores would think of that. Surely, the last time he tried to help out a fellow raptor, wasn't much of a success and had almost ended in a double fatality. This is what happens when we eat too much meat – he thought – we change into bloodthirsty savages. But not me, I'm not like them. In all honesty, I have never really felt like one of them. I've always felt different, no matter how hard I tried to fit in. Sometimes I wonder if I'm perhaps adopted. That would sure explain a lot.
Interesting enough, it was this single line that reminded me of this story, earlier today:
it was a female raptor, that he met at the water hole ( where he secretly went to grief for his brother )
Or, to be more precise, I met a woman, not a raptor, at the local river beach, days ago, who brought back these memories.
And, in case you wondered, my brother is alive and well. In fact, he is about to visit me, here in Portugal, in a couple of days :<)
Hope you enjoyed me turning back time and showing some more of the story that kickstarted my Hypersensitivosaurus writing. I sure did and felt like I had to. I will probably share more of this ( story ) in the coming weeks and months.
Let's see what it all leads to ;<)
TO BE CONVINUED...
