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Dustin LindenSmith

father | musician | writer

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writing update + DJ Olympics (Part 1)

Submitted that first piece (motel/drunk driver story) to the online writer's group I joined this week. Got my first crit on the story yesterday, which provided two great suggestions: include more details re the killing and re-arrange the revelation of the motive. This reviewer remarked that the reader's emotions could be more fully jarred by an explicit description of a painful death (presided over by a calm, cool narrator), and then just when the reader thinks that this guy is a real sicko, the daughter's earlier vehicular manslaughter is revealed for a one-two punch. It could add a meaningful contribution to the story, I think. I'll try it out to see what it looks like.

Also saw the DJ Olympics tonight, but that turned out to be a misnomer because it was actually a breakdance competition. A dozen dancers had a showdown in the middle of the floor to a DJ spinning some beautiful classics from the early 1980s (in honour of the 25th anniversary of the birth of hip-hop, I believe). Two from that crew were particularly stunning, with one being an obvious winner, I thought. Incredibly to me, the judges didn't pass him through to the finals though, even though he was an artiste par excellence out there. Serious power, this kid had. And stance, like a gang banger. But white. The guy could swing, that's for sure.

Tomorrow's a busy day, with no time for writing. The weekend's busy too, with a rehearsal on Saturday, an assignment in statsdue by Sunday night, and some prep to do with Z's room, which is next on our list for the renovations and painting. Also need to go for a run and maybe even a long bike ride if it's not raining, which it's supposed to be.

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rhondak October 15th, 2004
I love reading writing stories. If you can manage it ( I cannot ) Julia Kristeva writes a nice bit on horror. The Abhoration of Horror maybe? The first chapter is at least doable. She writes in it the most horrible
visual of the Holocaust wasn't the stick figures of real humans or bones...but the stack of children's shoes before the oven's door.

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