Prompt:
Write a scene from the perspective of someone (drugged, foreigner, fevered, etc.) who familiarizes the familiar; in other words: describes the world around him/her in a fresh, unexpected way.
The city streets normally wouldn’t have deterred her. They were the same as all other cities: Main St., Market St., 29th St. The lights were dim, the homeless people stooped over their scarse belongings, and the loud music emanating from the crowded clubs. All the usual elements of the vivacious city life. Only tonight things were different. The different country, the different streets, the different building and people. Even the brilliance of the moon seemed to have a different glow to it; it seemed almost more authentic, more quaint, more alive, than in the San Franciscan sky.
As she walked down the red cobblestone road, her fingertips gently graced the weathered buildings. Each brick shone brightly under the night moon. The coarse texture excited her as she fearlessly walked the streets of Florence. The uneven stonework of the roads caused her to stumble on occasions, but the steadfast walls held her up with its own uneven surface.
Upon turning the corner, the clay facade of the fountain splashed cool water out from its out as the hollow eyes pierced through the passersby. The crystal clear water of the fountain generated a strange cleanliness and purity that seemed to wash away the hesitation and doubt. The quiet water quelled her fear and intoxicated her with Italian amour.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Assignment #3
Prompt:
Think of a particular place that looms large in the imagination. Using this place as inspiration, write a very short story (or beginning of a story) that’s told in short sections, a la “In the Heart of the Heart of the Country”. The chronology can be conventional (or not), but try to make each section a self-contained scene.
From atop the brilliant structure, the city of Paris sparkled with its colorful lights. The busy street noises could not be heard from this high up. The arguments and deadlines all came to a halt. Everything looked pristine and neat. In the distance the Sacre Coeur glowed in its white light. The Seine River peacefully carried boats of tourists. Notre Dame’s bells were so faintly heard from the peak of the Eiffel Tower. I point out all the Parisian landmarks with complete ecstasy.
“It’s not coming out correctly in my pictures!” I hear someone say.
“The weather is awful!”
“It’s humid and I need a shower!”
“We’ve been walking all day and my feet are aching!”
In the summer heat, everyone has become rather unpleasant. I sit and sigh, my travel book open, and I try to read.
There in a foreign city, all the comforts of home are gone. My own bed, my own shower, my own reminders of home. Instead, the luggage’s stand against the walls. Our toiletries line the bathroom counter. My personal space now includes three others. My bed doesn’t feel friendly.
Think of a particular place that looms large in the imagination. Using this place as inspiration, write a very short story (or beginning of a story) that’s told in short sections, a la “In the Heart of the Heart of the Country”. The chronology can be conventional (or not), but try to make each section a self-contained scene.
From atop the brilliant structure, the city of Paris sparkled with its colorful lights. The busy street noises could not be heard from this high up. The arguments and deadlines all came to a halt. Everything looked pristine and neat. In the distance the Sacre Coeur glowed in its white light. The Seine River peacefully carried boats of tourists. Notre Dame’s bells were so faintly heard from the peak of the Eiffel Tower. I point out all the Parisian landmarks with complete ecstasy.
~ ~ ~
The grass is cool against my skin. We sit and admire the spectacular light show. The entire tower is completely engulfed by sparkling lights. Tourists and natives alike pause to see the glimmering tower. Some watch in awe. Others mutter about their tired feet. Some distance away a baby cries. Someone is hungry nearby. With the abundance of people around the tower, it’s hard not to be sucked into their conversations. While someone is laughing merrily by the fence, another couple argues about money or direction or something. I am only the silent observer sitting underneath the tower’s beauty.“It’s not coming out correctly in my pictures!” I hear someone say.
~ ~ ~
There in our hotel room we collapse wearily into our beds.“The weather is awful!”
“It’s humid and I need a shower!”
“We’ve been walking all day and my feet are aching!”
In the summer heat, everyone has become rather unpleasant. I sit and sigh, my travel book open, and I try to read.
There in a foreign city, all the comforts of home are gone. My own bed, my own shower, my own reminders of home. Instead, the luggage’s stand against the walls. Our toiletries line the bathroom counter. My personal space now includes three others. My bed doesn’t feel friendly.
~ ~ ~
Alas, I am alone. It is peaceful and quiet in my head. The surrounding tourists blur together and all I hear is me. The beautiful Italian ruins are reminders of the history of years ago. Their legacies and their mistakes. I bask in the beauty of the architecture as I am alone with my camera. A couple interrupts my reverie and asks if I can take a picture for them. I happily oblige and upon their thanks, I return to my personal bubble, intoxicated by the sheer excitement that I and the travelers around me feel. The amazing walls that have crumbled and weathered away show no signs of weakness. Their immense size, though beaten and damaged, stand ever so tall with their stories ready to be told. I close my eyes and listen.~ ~ ~
The metal bars and gates are clear indications of the day and age we are in. everyone has a digital camera glued to their hands. What a different view it must be to see the brilliance of man in a two by three inch screen. I steadily climb the rugged steps of the Coliseum eager to absorb in all that has occurred here. The fights, the crowds screaming, the Emperor with his bemused smile. Then I stop and wonder what all these tourists are thinking. The immense capacity of man’s intellect. The power of man’s strength. All of it combined right here, right now. Thousands of years’ work present here all in the same place under the same sky.~ ~ ~
There is a stone hallway in which I rejoin my fellow companions. Water bottles in one hand, cameras in the other, their faces show signs of exhaustion from the walking and the heat. I smile brilliantly in return.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
A Bit of Background on My Posts
So if you’re reading this, you’ve somehow got a hold of some random – and rather strange – writings that don’t seem to connect well nor even sound like something I would write. Basically the purpose of this blog is merely to share the writings that I do in class (thus explains the length of each posting and the lack of conclusion – or even a middle section). Some have expressed interest in reading the silly little things that I write in class, so here goes nothing. They're also not likely finished.
Note: All that is written here is based on a given prompt from class. Sometimes from other classmates. None of the posts are to follow the prior post. They’re just assignments from class. I’ll try to post the prompts as well as my writing so as to not confuse the reader.
On that note, enjoy! =)
Note: All that is written here is based on a given prompt from class. Sometimes from other classmates. None of the posts are to follow the prior post. They’re just assignments from class. I’ll try to post the prompts as well as my writing so as to not confuse the reader.
On that note, enjoy! =)
Assignment #2
Prompt:
1. Write the first sentence of a story that immediately posits a fantastical world – a universe drastically different than our own. (Then switch cards.)
2. Using the first sentence you’ve been given, try to write a scene (or beginning of a story) that expands upon its premise. Try to establish some sort of “logical illogic”.
All twelve of his ears burned when the suns collided. It happened all too often, or so the boy thought. It was a rite of passage, they said, it wouldn’t be that bad. But it seemed as the suns had a different agenda. It was as if the suns found humor in his dismal state. For everyone else, the suns’ collisions were a sight to behold, a reason to celebrate. But while everyone was dancing and singing in merriment, John’s ears burned with incomparable fury.
It was now three weeks since the last collision. With his ears still healing from its last unfortunate singe, john took solace in the peaceful hours when the moons pranced in the sky. John feared the day when the moons would fall away and the suns would collide again. It was only a matter of days. No one knew when it’d happen, but everyone was eager to see the spectacular sight. All but John. The mere thought of his twelve beautiful ears burning as the sky had its festivities caused his bones to shake.
“There must be a way to end this!” he grumbled.
With his bandaged ears, he set off to end his suffering. While everyone else had plants sprout from their palms, or water ooze from their pores, or something cool like that, John got stuck with burning ears. Not just one burning ear, or even a burning finger because that could come in handy at times, no, John had all twelve of his ears burn when the suns collided. Every single time too. Even his sister had fishes come out of her with each collision.
Least that had some economic value, he angrily thought. But burning ears? His head was literally on fire!
The following day as the seven moons drifted off into the horizon, the suns began their funny little dance. Below them, john felt his ears begin to twitch…
1. Write the first sentence of a story that immediately posits a fantastical world – a universe drastically different than our own. (Then switch cards.)
2. Using the first sentence you’ve been given, try to write a scene (or beginning of a story) that expands upon its premise. Try to establish some sort of “logical illogic”.
All twelve of his ears burned when the suns collided. It happened all too often, or so the boy thought. It was a rite of passage, they said, it wouldn’t be that bad. But it seemed as the suns had a different agenda. It was as if the suns found humor in his dismal state. For everyone else, the suns’ collisions were a sight to behold, a reason to celebrate. But while everyone was dancing and singing in merriment, John’s ears burned with incomparable fury.
It was now three weeks since the last collision. With his ears still healing from its last unfortunate singe, john took solace in the peaceful hours when the moons pranced in the sky. John feared the day when the moons would fall away and the suns would collide again. It was only a matter of days. No one knew when it’d happen, but everyone was eager to see the spectacular sight. All but John. The mere thought of his twelve beautiful ears burning as the sky had its festivities caused his bones to shake.
“There must be a way to end this!” he grumbled.
With his bandaged ears, he set off to end his suffering. While everyone else had plants sprout from their palms, or water ooze from their pores, or something cool like that, John got stuck with burning ears. Not just one burning ear, or even a burning finger because that could come in handy at times, no, John had all twelve of his ears burn when the suns collided. Every single time too. Even his sister had fishes come out of her with each collision.
Least that had some economic value, he angrily thought. But burning ears? His head was literally on fire!
The following day as the seven moons drifted off into the horizon, the suns began their funny little dance. Below them, john felt his ears begin to twitch…
Assignment #1
With the given character and scenario, write a scene in which your point of view changes. Make your change in perspective subtle. (One card had a vocation [ballerina], the second had a strange scenario [the itchiness]. Then we switched cards. So if you're wondering where I got such random ideas, there it is: they're not my ideas. I just built upon them. )
The beautiful dancer gracefully pranced onto the stage floor. Each step she took was commanded by the orchestral music. Step by step, note by note, every move compelled by the flutes and violins. Poetic license was hers to take led by the compelling nature of each crescendo and decrescendo. Tempo and movement there in perfect harmony. Her turns and leaps flew with the music.
She had been practicing with the orchestra for months now for this performance. Everything was solid. They knew their notes and she knew her steps. Everything was perfect.
Turn. Step. Step. Turn. Smile. Hop. Straight limbs. Straight lines. Pause. Slow down. Horns, then strings. Itch. Itch?!?
The music went on. The audience watched in awe. But there it was.
All eyes are on my every move. That stupid dog in the park? I knew he wasn’t clean! A bug bite? Really?? Now?? No not now.. I can’t scratch! This is my big debut! The thought that there are hundreds of eyes watching my every step, my every move is only making me more and more aware that my leg is killing me!
Step step step. Listen to the music. They’re watching you! Even the other dancers in the wings are watching. But all I want to do is scratch that itch. Focus focus.
There’s a break! The perfect chance! Better than nothing. Tiny step. Scratch. Tiny step. Scratch. The utter bliss to scratch that itch. To fall into temptation. To do that which I’m not supposed to do. To fall at the mercy of a mere bug bite?? But I need to finish! Focus focus!
This is it! I curtsey. The music stops. The applause begins. I crumble and fall to temptation and, alas, utter bliss.
The beautiful dancer gracefully pranced onto the stage floor. Each step she took was commanded by the orchestral music. Step by step, note by note, every move compelled by the flutes and violins. Poetic license was hers to take led by the compelling nature of each crescendo and decrescendo. Tempo and movement there in perfect harmony. Her turns and leaps flew with the music.
She had been practicing with the orchestra for months now for this performance. Everything was solid. They knew their notes and she knew her steps. Everything was perfect.
Turn. Step. Step. Turn. Smile. Hop. Straight limbs. Straight lines. Pause. Slow down. Horns, then strings. Itch. Itch?!?
The music went on. The audience watched in awe. But there it was.
All eyes are on my every move. That stupid dog in the park? I knew he wasn’t clean! A bug bite? Really?? Now?? No not now.. I can’t scratch! This is my big debut! The thought that there are hundreds of eyes watching my every step, my every move is only making me more and more aware that my leg is killing me!
Step step step. Listen to the music. They’re watching you! Even the other dancers in the wings are watching. But all I want to do is scratch that itch. Focus focus.
There’s a break! The perfect chance! Better than nothing. Tiny step. Scratch. Tiny step. Scratch. The utter bliss to scratch that itch. To fall into temptation. To do that which I’m not supposed to do. To fall at the mercy of a mere bug bite?? But I need to finish! Focus focus!
This is it! I curtsey. The music stops. The applause begins. I crumble and fall to temptation and, alas, utter bliss.
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