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Genre: Literary Fiction
About ayn_elizabeth_timmermanLocation: Chicago, IL. School of the Art Institute of Chicago Home Region: Age:20 Website: http://annatimmerman.mosaicglobe.com/ Favorite novels: The Catcher in the Rye, The Dharma Bums Favorite writers: Salinger, Kerouac, Hemmingway, Rand, Orwell Favorite music: Rock (indie, grunge, punk, others), Folk, Classical (Bach, Bethoveen, Yoyo Ma) Non-noveling interests: Painting, Kayaking, Walking, Skiing, Bouncing Tennis Balls off of Buildings |
Joined: octobre 30, 2007 This Year: Official Participant NaNoWriMo History: NaNoWriMo posts: 2 NaNoWriMo buddies: 9
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Brief Author Bio: I currently go to art school downtown Chicago, work as a dog walker and work on art at home when I get the chance. Last year I wrote an opening paragraph and was surprised that I got 52,000 words out of it. I'm going to try doing it the same way this year, this time satirizing the art scene. As an outsider I have sort of an interesting perspective on this all... wish me luck! |
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Synopsis: Synthetic
The human condition can only exist so long within the confines of man made excuses. In a world where almost everything has been fabricated or altered by human hands, a mind breaks. The weight becomes unbearable.
Excerpt: Synthetic
Chapter 1
A sense of peace prevailed. There were not sounds of traffic, no airplanes overhead, no shouting or homeless bums whistling in the night, only calm, the stillness of nothing, and it felt right.
The coolness of the ground was seeping into her body, and the heat from her slowing arteries and veins was loosening itself into the breeze. The grass underneath her was flattened, there would be an imprint left after they moved her, a perfectly shaped form nestled rather than cast onto the ground, hidden by the nodding seed heads of the canary-grass and foxtails.
Her eyes closed, lids blocking the sight above of stars, millions uncountable, the barest smudge of the milky way bright in the heavens, unobstructed by lights or planes or cloud, just pitch black ink spattered with silver, which was the way it should be. The sight was burned into her lids, which contented her. The eyes were closed, not to be re-opened until the coroner examined them.
And the peace prevailed, with a silent smile on frozen lips.
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