Jessie, with her honey colored hair and hazel eyes, hadn’t been able to utter a word since that surreal day when she crossed through the shimmering doorway.Read More
I’ve definitely been slacking on posting some stuff. So, here’s one of my writing exercises. I don’t think I’ve ever done this before, but somehow I crammed all three words into the same sentence. I think it was the desperation of getting all of the required words in before the timer went off!
The field glistened in the sun, the grass waving in the breeze and sprinkled amongst the soft green stocks were yellow sunflowers. Kai loved this place and stepping foot in the oasis drained away the stress of the day, but today he wasn’t alone. The spirit of a white horse streaked past him and then stopped right in his path. The horse stared at him intently. Kai knew that the peace he longed for was not going to be found today.
So here’s my writing exercise that relates to Nicole Dragonbeck’s. To reiterate, we didn’t know what each other were writing about. Yet, somehow in five minutes, we managed to write something that seemed to fit almot perfectly together. All I would have to do is change Paul to Daisy!
Paul quickly thumbed through the thesaurus. He had to find the exact right word, but it had to be fast. The derelict library was crawling with cockroaches and it sent shivers down his spine. Twice now, he had to brush them off his pant legs. “Come on, come on, where are you?” He said to the red book in his hands as he flipped through the worn pages. Paul zeroed in on the page, “No, it can’t be”, he breathed. The page had been torn out. Without knowing the synonym for cat, he would never be able to free himself from this hellish dimension.
I have to confess that I had recently watched Gods of Egypt before writing this story. It was entertaining and it left an impression. I love stories that bring ancient Egypt and its mythology to life.
Alric was walking down the sandy alleyway, entranced by the silhouettes of the three great pyramids in the distance. He was too enthralled by the scene before him to notice that he was being followed and taken by surprise when these men shoved him to the ground and mugged him. They were covered in black tattoos that honored the destructive god of Set and with no explanation, they tore his heart from his chest with their bare hands, as if through avulsion. Alric lived just long enough to see his still heart in the hand of his murderer.
He thought that was going to be the end, until he found himself at the silver scale ready to weigh his soul to see if he was worthy to enter the afterlife, where he’d live out his eternity. Alric, didn’t think it was possible to feel this nervous when he was dead, but the white feather on the left side of the scale suddenly looked very heavy.
I had to write about a creepy porcelain doll…
Gabby stared at the nine porcelain dolls lined up along the white shelf above the fireplace. Their faces were cracked with age and abuse except for one. This particular doll had blond curly hair and a blue dress that was tattered, which was the only indication that it had seen years of use. Gabby never liked dolls, they gave her the creeps with their unblinking stares.
“Max,” she called out toward the upstairs bedroom. “Can you hurry up? I want to get out of here.”
“I just need a couple of more minutes. A few more tugs and this old lock will give way, I know it.”
“Great,” she muttered to herself. She cast her gaze over the dolls once again, but this time the blond haired doll was missing.
I had a lot fun creating such a dire situation in a short amount of time.
“If we don’t figure this out now, tomorrow will never come,” Dorian said in a dire tone as he banged the table in frustration. The pages of the open book in front of him fluttered at the disturbance.
Lara looked pensive, “What about silver?” she blurted out.
“What?” Dorian asked. “What did you just say?”
“Silver,” Lara repeated.
A wide smile spread across Dorian’s face, “Perhaps, the world won’t be coming to an end after all.”
Everyone had a lot of fun fitting the word “stapler” into their exercise. It seems like such a mundane word, but even the mundane can add richness to a scene.
Gavin slowly circled the wooden table and looked at the objects strewn across it. Carefully, he picked up the item that was slender and red, “What is this?” he asked.
“A stapler,” Sandra replied in an exasperated tone. She yanked it out of his hand and put it back on the table. “Look, I know you’re keen to learn all about Earth, but we don’t have time right now,” she pushed Gavin over to the pot that was on the stove. The water was just beginning to boil.
Gavin looked at the pot and its contents then back over at Sandra, “Are you sure you want to proceed? There is no reversing the spell once it’s begun.”
Sandra looked the elf directly in his big green eyes, “I’m sure.”
Four years ago or a little more by now, I had this crazy idea for a novel and I began writing it. I was working on it off and on over this period of time, sometimes going months without writing a single word. Around two years ago, a couple of my friends began harassing me about joining a writer’s group that could help keep me on track. I was very reluctant as I felt I wanted to write on my own time and I thought joining a group might be too much pressure.
Well now I can say that, as of yesterday, I submitted my manuscript to start the editing process with Witching Hour Publishing. I couldn’t have done it without the support as well as the gentle kick in the ass by the awesome Ink Slingers Guild (the writers group). I also owe a lot of thanks to my two aforementioned friends, without whom, none of this would have happened.
There’s still work to do to get to the final product, but I never would have gotten here if it wasn’t for this amazing group of people. Erika, Courtenay, Lisa, Nicole, Jen , Rhiannon, and Desi, thank you so much, I love you all and I looking forward to the rest of the journey.
Feathers floating to the floor always makes me think of magic, so I had no choice other than to put a magical bent on the exercise response below.
Malia accidentally dropped the wicker basket on the ground causing the feathers within to stir in the air. “Wonderful,” she said sarcastically as she watched the beautiful white plumes gracefully float to the floor. Slowly spinning around, she assessed whether anyone else was in view, but she was alone. Malia then closed her eyes and started to chant, her words quiet and invoking the power of the wind. The feathers began to rise and whirled around, gently settling back into their proper place. Malia straightened her skirts and picked the basket back up, whistling all the way back home.
Okay, I was getting tired by the time we got to this writing exercise, so I was happy that I managed to get all of the words into a coherent blurb.
Castile took long slow blinks as he let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He really wished he had had that last cup of coffee the barkeep offered. He stared at the golden idol sitting on a stone pedestal at least twenty feet across from him. The trip had taken much longer than he anticipated, two days to cross the Barren Valley, to the base of the Raven Mountains. Now he
Lucian eyed the shell casing of the bullet with great interest. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was intricately carved with symbols that wrapped around it from top to bottom. The casing itself, appeared to be made of silver. He stood up from his crouching position and adjusted his badge as he looked over the crime scene. There were no bodies, only seven pools of blood, and the ground littered with casings just like the one in his hand. Only one person could help him, so he drove to the address. It was an apartment tucked down a dark alleyway, which smelled of soap thanks to a shop a few feet away. After climbing four flights of stairs, he came to an arched doorway decorated in similar symbols to those on the casings.
When donkeys and criminals end up together, all I can think about is the old west and that something must have gone wrong.
Rickie and Jax were riding down the dusty road as quickly as possible, “Is this really the best you could do?” Jax gestured to the donkey he was now riding. “I mean, we’re criminals,” he blurted out with exasperation.
“Well, then the next time you get yourself arrested by the sheriff, make sure you don’t gamble away our horses first!” Rickie yelled back.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re the leader of our gang,” he muttered under his breath.
Books are doorways to other worlds, sometimes literally…
The young man, wearing a tweed suit and spectacles, was absent-mindedly brushing the spines of the dusty books as he walked down the path between the bookcases. He was deep in thought, but a glare coming from his left pierced through the flurry of activity in his mind. Annoyed at the interruption, the young man came to an abrupt stop and turned to see the source of the problem. As soon as he did, he stood there transfixed. A fragile looking black leather bound book, entitled “Your Story”, which he’d never seen before, was glowing. Entranced, he picked it up causing the glow to become brighter. He opened the book, and the pages began to flutter in a sudden wind that grew to encompass him. He was gone, the book now occupying the spot on the floor where the young man was moments before.
These three words had beauty regime written all over them, but I couldn’t make it normal.
Tanya’s daily beauty regiment was strict. Every morning and evening it consisted of a shower, filing her long nails, and plucking unsightly hairs with tweezers. Tonight, however, proved to be increasingly problematic as she had a date and her evening plucking was taking, what felt like, forever. She scowled at herself in the mirror and then let out a groan as she noticed her fangs, which weren’t there a moment ago. Tanya, in a panic, unlatched the window in her green and white bathroom and peered up into the clear star speckled night sky. “Damn,” she said as she stamped her foot when she saw the full moon rising in front of her. With frustration, she walked over to the phone and dialed her date, “Hey Lucus,” she said when he picked up, “we need to reschedule. Something’s come up.”
I really loved the idea of the sunglasses being a way for someone to see things others could not.
Anne glared at a woman wearing skinny jeans and a black flowing tunic top from behind her sunglasses. She could understand why everyone in the train station was staring. She was stunning, with her blue eyes and the striking contrast between her very pale skin and hair as black as a raven. It’s a pity they couldn’t see what the glasses allowed her to see, which was her true form underneath the glamour. The twisted frame, pot belly, and jagged fangs that protruded from the demon’s mouth were truly grotesque. It was stalking a little girl who was whining about the heat on the busy train platform, so Anne hurriedly pushed her way through the crowd and just as the train came into view, tripped the demon sending it tumbling in front of the train and kept on walking. Some hunters may think her nonchalance was rude, but she preferred to think of it as calculated efficiency.
The words shade and mirror just begged to be used in magic.
The prophecy will be revealed when you look in the mirror under the shade of the great tree.
Dimitri had to admit that he was getting a little tired of these cryptic riddles. If the gods wanted him to save all the land from evil, being a bit more helpful was they least they could do. He sighed. Getting upset wouldn’t help the situation, so he took a few deep breaths. Dimitri pulled the ancient map out of the purse he had “acquired” and laid it on the rickety table. Somewhere on this wrinkled paper marred with water stains was the location of this tree and he had to find it, no matter the cost.
For more great responses, go here.
Sliver was the word that got my attention on this exercise. It set the tone for me, in terms that, something dire had occurred.
The firelight was often used as the window into another realm and, tonight, Maleck needed to see into this world more than ever. His palms were sweating from his nerves. It had all happened so quickly. She was taken by the swordsman while he slept, but it shouldn’t have been possible – not with all of the wards he had cast to keep them safe. He had underestimated the swordsman’s magic and now Kira was suffering the consequences. The only sliver of hope that he had left was to widen the window to the unknown realm in the hopes that he could pass through and pursue them.
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For the male character’s name, I was inspired by a movie I recently watched called High Strung. I loved his name and felt like it should live on.
Jonathan Blackwell was often mercurial in his moods. It was hard to know how he would react to the news, but Morena hoped that he’d be pleased. Walking across the black and white marble foyer, she passed the water fountain, whose constant flow of water dropping into the pool below soothed her nerves. She felt drawn to the sound and involuntarily changed direction from Johnathan’s library to the fountain. Staring into the pool, she began to lose herself in the current that was forming. An image of Jonathan appeared. He was angry and his shaky hand held a gun aimed at someone who was just out of view.
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Maybe it’s the influence of Outlander, but how could “Pipes” and “Dance” appear in the same exercise, and I not set the story in Scotland? For me, it was impossible.
Sam listened from the balcony as the bagpipes kicked up into a frenzy. Below, the hall was covered in intricate tapestries whose gold thread glowed in the candlelight. From his vantage point, he could see the women dancing and laughing with the men who were, not yet, completely inebriated, but well on their way. He was pleased that the celebration was going so well, but something in the shadows caught his eye. In the far corner, there was a woman who seemed distraught as a man was trying to pull her through the doorway. “Stop,” he yelled out. His demand penetrated the sounds filling the hall instantly casting the room into silence.
For more creative exercise responses written in just 5 minutes, click here.
For this writing exercise, I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember what the past tense of smite was. When our five minutes were up, I had to ask so I could fix it. “Smote” is a good word!
Looking at my reflection in the puddle it was easy to see that I had been smote. My face was severely bruised where I had been punched. He was a burly man who seemed to take offense at my mere presence in the tavern. I nearly had him when his two friends, that were inexplicably larger than him, grabbed me from behind making me an easy target. Stepping in the puddle to obscure the image, I made my way onto the porch and sat down. Looking up at the heavens, I felt a rush of anger that the gods somehow felt that I needed to be punished. Imagine my shock when one appeared before me in a sparkly shimmer.
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