Today I have time to write, but I dont have the inclination. I’ll mine the archives and create loglines as best I can. I need thatkind of practice.
“NAME OF SCREEN STORY is a GENRE about NAME OF PROTAGONIST, AGE, ONE OR TWO VIVID WORD DESCRIBING THE CHARACTER who wants HIS/HER IMMEDIATE GOAL. When THE INCITING INCIDENT happens and ONE MAJOR PLOT POINT, he/she goes on a journey to ACCOMPLISH GOAL and discover/realize/find THEME. ” —http://www.ocscreenwriters.com/?q=logline-formula
“On the verge of a STASIS=DEATH MOMENT, a FLAWED PROTAGONIST has a CATALYST and BREAKS INTO TWO with the B STORY; but when the MIDPOINT happens, he/she must learn the THEME STATED, before the ALL IS LOST, to defeat (or stop) the FLAWED ANTAGONIST (from getting away with his/her plan).”
A pilgrim girl must convince a demi-god to leave his profitable overnight shipping business to cleanse a holy city overrun with unbelievers.
The Song on Benhá is a SFF about a just-out-of-high-school river-girl named Charming who wants to sell coral sugar to tourists coming to her floating city. When a supplier turns up drowned and covered in incriminating messages and her city burns to the waterline she must discover that [[friendship doesn’t mean liking everything about your friend]] before her condemed uncle finds a book to see the future and rule the present.
Crap. This is hard. Loglines seem to have a knack for finding holes in my incomplete thinking.
Eesh. Internet derailment. May add to this limping effort later tonight.
xxx words on day 569
First I should note that I’ve written the other days over the weekend. I’ve not yet posted them. One I won’t be able to post. My on the road experience continues today and through tonight so I may allow that to color the quality of my writing now and tomorrow. Lucky you.
Jun-kata always liked to chat her up before getting to the money. After what that old monk had told her last night Charming felt like using a spear instead of a net. “I gave you the touris for the shirts already. I’m not paying you a second time. Especially not in [cool money sounding name].”
The set of his face made her think for a moment he was upset for reasons other than the undelivered shirts. His words brought her back. “Drown me Charma. That all you think onna these day?”
Charming wanted to tell him not to call her that. Tell him she wasn’t one of his little fish. “I think onna lots these day. But only the one thing onna you: my shirts.”
“I gave a money; you keppa shirts. Where’s my shirts, ah?” she asked, “Don’t calla me that.”
208 words on day 535
I’ll be traveling tonight and tomorrow and then again on Sunday and Monday. After thirty days of daily writing I hope my habit stands steadfast. I expect the entries won’t shine among my other gems and they may not get posted timelyly, but I promise they’ll get done and down.
Charming ran Out down Upper East Gang—before The Kink. Past Michael’s engine shop, River Bog (her backup coffee spot)—where Mona already sat playing dominoes with Slippi, Qhinka-tuii’s, and two Blue-n-whites. Upper East Gang before the Kink took her maybe 20 meters out of the way, but she knew how to dodge and when to duck and where to jump. She’d beat the old Lander monk back to her stall with enough time to catch her breath. He’d never suspect her spying.
Lander touri’s stayed out of the Upper of Benhá this early in the morning so Charming only contended with Bennies on the gang. Someone abandoned a hand-truck stacked with red roof panels crossways in the gang; Charming leapt it like a dolphin. A pair of fisherman and their wives pulled a net taut on the far side; she dropped to her knee then shoulder and log-rolled under it while the four jerked the skein up and out of the way. That kinda hurt but Charming felt like a red blood cell coursing through a living body.
Big Rhonda caught her eye and stepped out from her shadowed post, obviously expecting Charming to come to a halt. She didn’t. Never slowing, Charming threw up a not-right-now finger.
The Kink lay ahead.
270 words on day 531