Time to write!
Who decided that it's ok to make bunnies and Santas out of chocolate? Why not ponies?
And why do we eat gummy worms? That's disgusting. Worms are for nasty!
Who chose to name oreos "oreos"?
I have so many questions.
Questions that bubble up inside my head.
They play and frolic between each other, bumping into one another, merging and meshing to form new questions and new problems and new things for me to think about.
I wish I could find the answers, but when I try to ask my dad he always tells me, "What a great question. Why don't you do some research and write an essay on that?"
When he says this, a new question always rises to the surface of my mind. That question is: "Who the heck even wants to do that?"
Showing posts with label voice exercise. Show all posts
Showing posts with label voice exercise. Show all posts
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Sunday, November 4, 2012
A Twist in the Tale
Time to write!
Paranormal romance is all the rage. Girls everywhere are falling in love with vampires and werewolves and dragons. Even zombies are being romanticized. We've had females swooning over ghosts for ages, which has been exceedingly complicated, due to the whole intangible thing. However, the female population have proved themselves loyal fangirls time and time again, as they've overcome fangs, claws, fur, and who knows what else, in order to stay committed to their, in many cases, undead lover.
Well I think vampires are kind of cute myself. Maybe that's because I was in love with one once. He loved me too, and we were very happy for a long time. Of course, that was almost one hundred and fifty years ago, and the rest of the clan is telling me to move on. But things aren't easy for female vampires, because no one falls in love with us.
***
Alexei and I were the epitome of the gothic romance. He was a vampire, crazed with bloodlust, and I was an unsuspecting, completely sensible English young woman. Despite the stories and the unexplained disappearances, I did not believe there were really vampires in London. I told myself there had to be a more logical explanation right up till that night I was walking home from a social at Lady Marian's. Normally, for such a walk, I would've had an escort, but I had ditched mine, finding his company rather unfavorable. I had been not a block from the inn where I rented my rooms, a respectable establishment, though not the most posh place on the street, when he had swooped down, literally, from the rooftops above me.
Running, especially given the shoes and the skirt which were popular during that time period, was futile. He overtook me in a moment. I got one quick look at his deep black eyes and his marble white skin before his lips were on my neck, his teeth piercing the skin just above my collar.
After my transformation Alexei never left my side. Neither he nor I were able to truly come to a conclusion, as to why he stayed with me. It isn't the way vampires typically treat their victims. To be sure, we took thousands of humans together for years afterwards, but none of them, even those who made it all the way to transformation, ever stayed with us. The best we could conclude was that we were supposed to be together, or Alexei wouldn't have waited in the street while I changed. He had leaned over me, letting his black cape conceal my shuddering, changing form. The first sight I glimpsed as I opened my newly changed eyes, now a midnight black and with much keener vision than I'd previously known, was his face. His hand was resting on my cheek and the expression he wore was not that of the hunter I had looked at just moments ago. Instead he looked excited and tender, all at once.
Alexei and I were happy. True, we were soulless, careless killers, preying on the innocent and the not-so-innocent with no care for which was which. True, we lived on the run, attacking a city until the inhabitants were ready to hire an expert or chase us out with stakes themselves. It was not a "good" life, but it was exciting and we were always together. That is, we were always together until the purge. That's the day Alexei, our entire clan, and even our child were destroyed, and I was given the worst gift a vampire can be given: a conscious.
Paranormal romance is all the rage. Girls everywhere are falling in love with vampires and werewolves and dragons. Even zombies are being romanticized. We've had females swooning over ghosts for ages, which has been exceedingly complicated, due to the whole intangible thing. However, the female population have proved themselves loyal fangirls time and time again, as they've overcome fangs, claws, fur, and who knows what else, in order to stay committed to their, in many cases, undead lover.
Well I think vampires are kind of cute myself. Maybe that's because I was in love with one once. He loved me too, and we were very happy for a long time. Of course, that was almost one hundred and fifty years ago, and the rest of the clan is telling me to move on. But things aren't easy for female vampires, because no one falls in love with us.
***
Alexei and I were the epitome of the gothic romance. He was a vampire, crazed with bloodlust, and I was an unsuspecting, completely sensible English young woman. Despite the stories and the unexplained disappearances, I did not believe there were really vampires in London. I told myself there had to be a more logical explanation right up till that night I was walking home from a social at Lady Marian's. Normally, for such a walk, I would've had an escort, but I had ditched mine, finding his company rather unfavorable. I had been not a block from the inn where I rented my rooms, a respectable establishment, though not the most posh place on the street, when he had swooped down, literally, from the rooftops above me.
Running, especially given the shoes and the skirt which were popular during that time period, was futile. He overtook me in a moment. I got one quick look at his deep black eyes and his marble white skin before his lips were on my neck, his teeth piercing the skin just above my collar.
After my transformation Alexei never left my side. Neither he nor I were able to truly come to a conclusion, as to why he stayed with me. It isn't the way vampires typically treat their victims. To be sure, we took thousands of humans together for years afterwards, but none of them, even those who made it all the way to transformation, ever stayed with us. The best we could conclude was that we were supposed to be together, or Alexei wouldn't have waited in the street while I changed. He had leaned over me, letting his black cape conceal my shuddering, changing form. The first sight I glimpsed as I opened my newly changed eyes, now a midnight black and with much keener vision than I'd previously known, was his face. His hand was resting on my cheek and the expression he wore was not that of the hunter I had looked at just moments ago. Instead he looked excited and tender, all at once.
Alexei and I were happy. True, we were soulless, careless killers, preying on the innocent and the not-so-innocent with no care for which was which. True, we lived on the run, attacking a city until the inhabitants were ready to hire an expert or chase us out with stakes themselves. It was not a "good" life, but it was exciting and we were always together. That is, we were always together until the purge. That's the day Alexei, our entire clan, and even our child were destroyed, and I was given the worst gift a vampire can be given: a conscious.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
A Little Inspiration
Time to write!
"Names are powerful," Thran Zilfenridge said with all solemnity. "It's not wise to let someone like that know your name."
"But how do you know who can know and who cannot?" asked Belrow. "After all, you know my name. Does that mean you could use my name against me?"
"Yes," Thran replied seriously. "Names imply familiarity. They imply trust. Do you think I'm going to hurt you, Belrow Quillstock?"
The question hung in the air between them.
"No." Belrow said suddenly, shaking his head perhaps a bit too vigorously. "I'm sure you'd never betray the oath you made to Ivlet to protect me."
That unsettling smile pulled at the corner of Thran's mouth. The elf, tall even be elvish standards, stood and checked his sword at his side, but did not reply.
"Well," said Belrow. "Should we get going?"
"Lead the way," Thran replied, gesturing with a sweep of his arm and a slight bow.
Belrow couldn't quite say what is was that tickled his suspicions about Thran Zilfenridge. Thran didn't inspire the chill and the horror that the Cor-Morin had brought, but something about him made Belrow feel like he needed to be continually on his guard. Still, Ivlet trusted him, and if Belrow couldn't trust in Ivlet, well, who could he trust?
I realllllllllll liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike.
"Names are powerful," Thran Zilfenridge said with all solemnity. "It's not wise to let someone like that know your name."
"But how do you know who can know and who cannot?" asked Belrow. "After all, you know my name. Does that mean you could use my name against me?"
"Yes," Thran replied seriously. "Names imply familiarity. They imply trust. Do you think I'm going to hurt you, Belrow Quillstock?"
The question hung in the air between them.
"No." Belrow said suddenly, shaking his head perhaps a bit too vigorously. "I'm sure you'd never betray the oath you made to Ivlet to protect me."
That unsettling smile pulled at the corner of Thran's mouth. The elf, tall even be elvish standards, stood and checked his sword at his side, but did not reply.
"Well," said Belrow. "Should we get going?"
"Lead the way," Thran replied, gesturing with a sweep of his arm and a slight bow.
Belrow couldn't quite say what is was that tickled his suspicions about Thran Zilfenridge. Thran didn't inspire the chill and the horror that the Cor-Morin had brought, but something about him made Belrow feel like he needed to be continually on his guard. Still, Ivlet trusted him, and if Belrow couldn't trust in Ivlet, well, who could he trust?
I realllllllllll liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
The Snatchifaun
Time to write!
Disclaimer: I did not want to write this. I was extremely disturbed by it. But my roommate said I should do it. And I realized that sometimes stories just need to be disturbing. So here we are.
It seems like every culture has some sort of monster that children hear about and learn to fear at a young age, only to learn it was all nothing but a story. In Russia Babushka Babayaga haunted the dreams of the young, and in Norway children believed that trolls were real. In the town of Whit Send, there were legends about a terrible creature called the Snatchifaun. The Snatchifaun was part witch, part goat, and part ogre. She was unreasonably large, had the legs of a goat, the arms of a man, a nose like a rotting banana, and a large sack in which she put the children she found on her nighttime walks. Once you were caught by the Snatchifaun, that was that. You were taken home to her hut in the forest where you were eaten, live, on a bed of leafy greens.
Trilda, Randy, Gibson, and Hobb were all afraid of the Snatchifaun, Trilda and Hobb most of all.
"If the Snatchifaun ever found us, Hobb would die of fright afore he ever got sprinkled on her ter'ble salad!" Gibson declared Thursday afternoon.
Even though Miss Reelis, their teacher, didn't approve, many of the children talked about the Snatchifaun during their lunch break. They'd take their aluminum pails outside and sit on the steps. Then they'd trade apples and sandwiches for homemade cookies and wedges of cheese and they would tell one another stories of the Snatchifaun.
"If the Snatchifaun ever found us, they'd eat Randy first!" Hobb replied, poking Randy in the tummy.Randy was the plumpest of the children, but with his head of white-blonde hair his weight merely made him seem cherubic, especially at only seven years of age.
"If the Snatchifaun ever comes," Trilda said with great deliberation, "She won't catch me. I won't let her eat me."
Trilda spent a great deal of time thinking about the Snatchifaun. Her older brothers, Horris, Dorran, and Reggie, had told her many stories of the Snatchifaun, so many that Trilda knew she would never let that dreaded beast get her. She was afraid, all right, but her fear motivated her to planning.
Disclaimer: I did not want to write this. I was extremely disturbed by it. But my roommate said I should do it. And I realized that sometimes stories just need to be disturbing. So here we are.
It seems like every culture has some sort of monster that children hear about and learn to fear at a young age, only to learn it was all nothing but a story. In Russia Babushka Babayaga haunted the dreams of the young, and in Norway children believed that trolls were real. In the town of Whit Send, there were legends about a terrible creature called the Snatchifaun. The Snatchifaun was part witch, part goat, and part ogre. She was unreasonably large, had the legs of a goat, the arms of a man, a nose like a rotting banana, and a large sack in which she put the children she found on her nighttime walks. Once you were caught by the Snatchifaun, that was that. You were taken home to her hut in the forest where you were eaten, live, on a bed of leafy greens.
Trilda, Randy, Gibson, and Hobb were all afraid of the Snatchifaun, Trilda and Hobb most of all.
"If the Snatchifaun ever found us, Hobb would die of fright afore he ever got sprinkled on her ter'ble salad!" Gibson declared Thursday afternoon.
Even though Miss Reelis, their teacher, didn't approve, many of the children talked about the Snatchifaun during their lunch break. They'd take their aluminum pails outside and sit on the steps. Then they'd trade apples and sandwiches for homemade cookies and wedges of cheese and they would tell one another stories of the Snatchifaun.
"If the Snatchifaun ever found us, they'd eat Randy first!" Hobb replied, poking Randy in the tummy.Randy was the plumpest of the children, but with his head of white-blonde hair his weight merely made him seem cherubic, especially at only seven years of age.
"If the Snatchifaun ever comes," Trilda said with great deliberation, "She won't catch me. I won't let her eat me."
Trilda spent a great deal of time thinking about the Snatchifaun. Her older brothers, Horris, Dorran, and Reggie, had told her many stories of the Snatchifaun, so many that Trilda knew she would never let that dreaded beast get her. She was afraid, all right, but her fear motivated her to planning.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Jupitress
Time to write!
Your main character must be from another planet.
Citizens from Earth are funny creatures. They have these far-fetched concepts of what constitutes a "person" and what elements are necessary to sustain a living being. Furthermore, the idea of beings on other planets completely terrifies them. Where I come from, we are more than aware of those inhabiting the other planets in our solar system, and generally we do not fear them.
Where you come from I trust you would believe life in Jupiter to be impossible. The construction of the planet is undoubtedly not what scientists from Earth would call "solid" or "livable". To you, the idea of anyone living on a planet made of gas might seem ridiculous.
Keep in mind though that everything which you call solid is still mostly empty space. "Gas" is just even more excited molecules, with even more empty space. That's what we're made of on Jupiter. I can stand on what to Earth dwellers deem merely "air" and I can walk straight through what they would swear is impenetrable.
Despite the advantages of the Jupitrans over Earthlets, we are by no means the most powerful creatures in the universe. We have our own kinds of terrors and monsters, the likes of which dwell only in your science-fiction, or in the dreams you are glad you cannot remember when you wake up. Living in this galaxy with an absolute awareness of everything that is out there is no easy burden to bear, but it gives us so much the advantage to defending the peace-loving species here from those of a more malignant strand. This is why in the year 921 the elders from all of the Aeralien Ginorms - what human astronomers would commonly call the Gas Giants - met in counsel and formed the Aeralien Alliance and Task Force, a sector of which is the InterSpecies Militia.
My father served in the InterSpecies Militia from the time he was eligible until the time of his death, for almost 356 years. This may seem like a very long time to some species, but my father was only 45 when he was killed in conflict, leaving me an orphan, alone on the military base.
I really want to continue this, but it's late. I want feedback. :) This is my first ever attempt at anything even vaguely science-fiction, so be understanding.
Your main character must be from another planet.
Citizens from Earth are funny creatures. They have these far-fetched concepts of what constitutes a "person" and what elements are necessary to sustain a living being. Furthermore, the idea of beings on other planets completely terrifies them. Where I come from, we are more than aware of those inhabiting the other planets in our solar system, and generally we do not fear them.
Where you come from I trust you would believe life in Jupiter to be impossible. The construction of the planet is undoubtedly not what scientists from Earth would call "solid" or "livable". To you, the idea of anyone living on a planet made of gas might seem ridiculous.
Keep in mind though that everything which you call solid is still mostly empty space. "Gas" is just even more excited molecules, with even more empty space. That's what we're made of on Jupiter. I can stand on what to Earth dwellers deem merely "air" and I can walk straight through what they would swear is impenetrable.
Despite the advantages of the Jupitrans over Earthlets, we are by no means the most powerful creatures in the universe. We have our own kinds of terrors and monsters, the likes of which dwell only in your science-fiction, or in the dreams you are glad you cannot remember when you wake up. Living in this galaxy with an absolute awareness of everything that is out there is no easy burden to bear, but it gives us so much the advantage to defending the peace-loving species here from those of a more malignant strand. This is why in the year 921 the elders from all of the Aeralien Ginorms - what human astronomers would commonly call the Gas Giants - met in counsel and formed the Aeralien Alliance and Task Force, a sector of which is the InterSpecies Militia.
My father served in the InterSpecies Militia from the time he was eligible until the time of his death, for almost 356 years. This may seem like a very long time to some species, but my father was only 45 when he was killed in conflict, leaving me an orphan, alone on the military base.
I really want to continue this, but it's late. I want feedback. :) This is my first ever attempt at anything even vaguely science-fiction, so be understanding.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
TMI
Time to write!
Write about someone with a super power.
The first thing you need to know before we go any further is that being able to read minds is not as cool as you would imagine. Sure, it has it's perks. I mean, who wouldn't like being able to read the teacher's mind to come up with the right answer when they try to call you out for daydreaming during class? And the idea of being able to know what your friends, let alone guys, really think about you seems like this great phenomenon. But really? I hear a lot of crap I really could have gone without knowing. And aside from that, being able to read minds causes seriously killer headaches.
Before we really jump into what my English teacher would call "the meat and potatoes of this storyline" let's skim over the FAQs. Origin story? Gosh. Well I wasn't bit by anything, didn't have anything dumped on me, wasn't caught in some type of freak weather accident. If they made a movie of my origin story, it'd be a pretty dang boring one. It would go like this:
A girl with medium long chestnut brown hair sits up in her bed. She can read minds. She couldn't the night before. She knows, because her mom just stuck her head in to see if she was really getting up and even though her mom smiled and her mouth said, "Please get up now, sweetheart," the words which sounded in the girl's head, in her mother's voice, were, "Get out of bed! How are you going to function in college? And did Dan leave the stove on last night? Something smells funny."
I mean, I'm no film critic, but I can recognize that as a pretty lame story. Hardly any dynamic. The mom character's pretty fun though.
Essentially, I have no idea what happened. I feel like something must have happened. People don't just wake up, suddenly able to read minds. Except for when they do. Those are strange times. The best answer I can get you though is: working on figuring out. Will get back to you.
How long have I been able to read minds? A whole week now, and it just keeps getting even more fun friends. Each day I get to see more and more how sad the human race really is. Know what they say about everyone having a secret that if you knew it, it would break your heart? Well that's true. And that would make me feel really bad for a lot of people, except another truth is that everyone has a little jerk inside them, and the judgments people pass and the lies they feed to each other...it's sickening, folks.
Does anyone know I can read minds? Not yet. I feel like I should tell my mom though. I'm scared though, that if I tell her she'll want to get my tested, or that she'll think I'm just trying to get attention. As for friends...well after hearing what goes on in their heads, I don't really want to tell them anything, let alone something this big.
The truth is, reading minds makes me somehow feel responsible for every bad thought I hear. And there's a lot of bad things. And it's honestly just too much information.
Write about someone with a super power.
The first thing you need to know before we go any further is that being able to read minds is not as cool as you would imagine. Sure, it has it's perks. I mean, who wouldn't like being able to read the teacher's mind to come up with the right answer when they try to call you out for daydreaming during class? And the idea of being able to know what your friends, let alone guys, really think about you seems like this great phenomenon. But really? I hear a lot of crap I really could have gone without knowing. And aside from that, being able to read minds causes seriously killer headaches.
Before we really jump into what my English teacher would call "the meat and potatoes of this storyline" let's skim over the FAQs. Origin story? Gosh. Well I wasn't bit by anything, didn't have anything dumped on me, wasn't caught in some type of freak weather accident. If they made a movie of my origin story, it'd be a pretty dang boring one. It would go like this:
A girl with medium long chestnut brown hair sits up in her bed. She can read minds. She couldn't the night before. She knows, because her mom just stuck her head in to see if she was really getting up and even though her mom smiled and her mouth said, "Please get up now, sweetheart," the words which sounded in the girl's head, in her mother's voice, were, "Get out of bed! How are you going to function in college? And did Dan leave the stove on last night? Something smells funny."
I mean, I'm no film critic, but I can recognize that as a pretty lame story. Hardly any dynamic. The mom character's pretty fun though.
Essentially, I have no idea what happened. I feel like something must have happened. People don't just wake up, suddenly able to read minds. Except for when they do. Those are strange times. The best answer I can get you though is: working on figuring out. Will get back to you.
How long have I been able to read minds? A whole week now, and it just keeps getting even more fun friends. Each day I get to see more and more how sad the human race really is. Know what they say about everyone having a secret that if you knew it, it would break your heart? Well that's true. And that would make me feel really bad for a lot of people, except another truth is that everyone has a little jerk inside them, and the judgments people pass and the lies they feed to each other...it's sickening, folks.
Does anyone know I can read minds? Not yet. I feel like I should tell my mom though. I'm scared though, that if I tell her she'll want to get my tested, or that she'll think I'm just trying to get attention. As for friends...well after hearing what goes on in their heads, I don't really want to tell them anything, let alone something this big.
The truth is, reading minds makes me somehow feel responsible for every bad thought I hear. And there's a lot of bad things. And it's honestly just too much information.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
So Late
Time to write!
As per usual it's too late to really write something cohesive. So here goes five minutes of nonsense. Enjoy. :)
Penniworth McGillicutty lived in a small house with green shutters and a yellow front door. He wanted to one day paint his porch red, but who really has time for that kind of nonsense, and besides, he knew his mother wouldn't like it.
Penniworth was seven years old. His mother had named him Penniworth only moments after giving birth, and though many assumed she just hadn't thought the name through, she thought it fit the boy very well. He was small for his age, skinny but with a round face, and big eyes which his mother thought made him look intelligent. It actually made him look more bovine, but such a look is acceptable on seven year old boys with darling hair cuts and corduroy overalls.
Jerome and Stanley were Penniworth's best friends. Jerome lived across the street and one house to the right. That's what Penniworth's mom liked to call "diagonal". Stanley lived over five minutes away, in a big house in a cul-de-sac. That's what Penniworth liked to call "too far away". If he wasn't allowed to ride on his tricycle there, then it was automatically too far away in Penniworth's book.
Daddy was away lots, for his military job. Penniworth missed him greatly, and drew him pictures. Sometimes he'd draw pictures of what happened during the week, and sometimes he'd draw pictures of what he wished had happened during the week. Once he drew a picture of himself riding a dinosaur. The dinosaur was also eating his little sister, but Penniworth added that quick before it got mailed off. He was smart enough to know that Mama wouldn't like that very well.
Emma, Penniworth's baby sister, was actually one of Penniworth's favorite people. He wasn't a malicious child. It was just that Mama had been on the phone for hours that particular afternoon and he'd been stuck watching her. Then she'd made what Mama called "a stinky" and what Daddy called "a big one" and what Penniworth called "just plain gross", and on top of that she'd cried about it. Loudly. If anyone deserved to cry about it, it was Penniworth. So any other day Penniworth would have hated it if his imaginary pet dinosaur Rolo had eaten Emma, but just then it seemed like what Daddy would call "a fine notion, son".
As per usual it's too late to really write something cohesive. So here goes five minutes of nonsense. Enjoy. :)
Penniworth McGillicutty lived in a small house with green shutters and a yellow front door. He wanted to one day paint his porch red, but who really has time for that kind of nonsense, and besides, he knew his mother wouldn't like it.
Penniworth was seven years old. His mother had named him Penniworth only moments after giving birth, and though many assumed she just hadn't thought the name through, she thought it fit the boy very well. He was small for his age, skinny but with a round face, and big eyes which his mother thought made him look intelligent. It actually made him look more bovine, but such a look is acceptable on seven year old boys with darling hair cuts and corduroy overalls.
Jerome and Stanley were Penniworth's best friends. Jerome lived across the street and one house to the right. That's what Penniworth's mom liked to call "diagonal". Stanley lived over five minutes away, in a big house in a cul-de-sac. That's what Penniworth liked to call "too far away". If he wasn't allowed to ride on his tricycle there, then it was automatically too far away in Penniworth's book.
Daddy was away lots, for his military job. Penniworth missed him greatly, and drew him pictures. Sometimes he'd draw pictures of what happened during the week, and sometimes he'd draw pictures of what he wished had happened during the week. Once he drew a picture of himself riding a dinosaur. The dinosaur was also eating his little sister, but Penniworth added that quick before it got mailed off. He was smart enough to know that Mama wouldn't like that very well.
Emma, Penniworth's baby sister, was actually one of Penniworth's favorite people. He wasn't a malicious child. It was just that Mama had been on the phone for hours that particular afternoon and he'd been stuck watching her. Then she'd made what Mama called "a stinky" and what Daddy called "a big one" and what Penniworth called "just plain gross", and on top of that she'd cried about it. Loudly. If anyone deserved to cry about it, it was Penniworth. So any other day Penniworth would have hated it if his imaginary pet dinosaur Rolo had eaten Emma, but just then it seemed like what Daddy would call "a fine notion, son".
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Heat
Time to write!
It is late. It is oh so very late, but I had a date, so whatcha gonna do? (Wow. Really bad grammar to start us out. Doesn't get much better.) Anyway, if you want deets on the date you need to let me know and I'll speak with you about it, but this is a WRITING blog, you silly friends, so let's get to the writing, shall we?
Today I used a "prompt generator" which gave me certain parameters or criteria I have to meet. Those are: first person, description, heat.
My eyes scanned the walls of the empty room, looking for seams, cracks, a way out, but all I could see was myself, reflected from every angle. The room was shaped like a stop sign, with walls extending up to a ceiling which was so high above my head I could hardly make out the bars which formed a grate in the center. The walls were all mirrors, and as I searched for some way of escape my wild, frightened eyes peered back at me wherever I turned.
I wiped my forehead, noticing beads of sweat were beginning to form and edge their way from my hairline towards my eyebrows. Though ten minutes earlier I wouldn't have truly believed it possible, the room was continuing to get hotter. The rise in temperature seemed to be constant, raising one degree every minute or so.
Despite my nature as a self-conscious, modest young woman, I'd already stripped off my tee-shirt and my blue jeans. This made my reflection especially ghastly, showing me a scared girl in nothing but her underwear and a green tank top. My hair where it had escaped from my high ponytail was sticking to the back of my neck. Anywhere my skin creased, such as my elbows and even the hollow areas behind my knees seemed to be new-found receptacles for the sticky droplets which continued to lazily make their way down my body. I slapped the mirror in frustration, meeting my reflected self face to face, our hands connecting.
I slowly pulled away, my hot hands leaving marks on the mirror's cooler surface. I needed to find a way out.
It is late. It is oh so very late, but I had a date, so whatcha gonna do? (Wow. Really bad grammar to start us out. Doesn't get much better.) Anyway, if you want deets on the date you need to let me know and I'll speak with you about it, but this is a WRITING blog, you silly friends, so let's get to the writing, shall we?
Today I used a "prompt generator" which gave me certain parameters or criteria I have to meet. Those are: first person, description, heat.
My eyes scanned the walls of the empty room, looking for seams, cracks, a way out, but all I could see was myself, reflected from every angle. The room was shaped like a stop sign, with walls extending up to a ceiling which was so high above my head I could hardly make out the bars which formed a grate in the center. The walls were all mirrors, and as I searched for some way of escape my wild, frightened eyes peered back at me wherever I turned.
I wiped my forehead, noticing beads of sweat were beginning to form and edge their way from my hairline towards my eyebrows. Though ten minutes earlier I wouldn't have truly believed it possible, the room was continuing to get hotter. The rise in temperature seemed to be constant, raising one degree every minute or so.
Despite my nature as a self-conscious, modest young woman, I'd already stripped off my tee-shirt and my blue jeans. This made my reflection especially ghastly, showing me a scared girl in nothing but her underwear and a green tank top. My hair where it had escaped from my high ponytail was sticking to the back of my neck. Anywhere my skin creased, such as my elbows and even the hollow areas behind my knees seemed to be new-found receptacles for the sticky droplets which continued to lazily make their way down my body. I slapped the mirror in frustration, meeting my reflected self face to face, our hands connecting.
I slowly pulled away, my hot hands leaving marks on the mirror's cooler surface. I needed to find a way out.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Ever After
Time to write!
Today's prompt is to write a scene from a fairy tale from the point of view of a nontraditional character. This could be a fun one to revisit multiple times, because twists on already created stories are sort of my specialty.
I don't even know why you want to hear this stupid story. I mean, everybody already knows it. It's all about stupid Cinderella, so why are you asking me? Why don't you go ask her?
She'll tell you. She'll tell you how, like, I'm just this huge brat and that me and Drizzy always were out to get her. The truth is, she just needs to learn to grow a spine!
But I guess if you are just going to sit there and wait for me to tell you what happened when the prince came, I might as well just tell you. I can't really go back to bed and get my beauty sleep until you leave anyway.
So it was the morning after the ball. I was exhausted, and honestly not in the best mood. Drizzy had been going on and on ALL NIGHT LONG rambling about the Prince and how he had smiled at her. Which is so whatever. It was totally obvious that he wasn't interested in her. He was all wrapped up in the mystery chick, which is just so typical. Of course, obviously, that girl was Cinderella. And I'm not as dumb as you all think. I would've recognized her right off, but after only getting a stiff formal bow from the Prince I was like, Well so much for that option. Now I'm at a party. Let's hit the royal open bar. Not very responsible, but whatever. You'd do it to if you were rejected that way. Charming? Forgive the unlady-like snort, but sooo not.
I'm like way off topic now though. Back to what I was saying. That morning that the Prince showed up on our porch like, "Hey I got this shoe, it fits my one true love, let's see if it's yours," I was not feeling my best. I had a hangover, I hadn't slept well, and I totally knew that shoe wasn't mine. Still, if I had to go downstairs and try the stupid shoe on before the Prince would leave, then I might as well see if it fit. I mean, like, way more than one girl has the same shoe size right? You don't walk into the Shoe City downtown and go to the special rack marked with your name cause you're the only girl with shoes that size. Although, that would be totally awesome, and a tad ideal.
By the time I got downstairs Drizzy had already tried the shoe and was sobbing in the corner because it hadn't fit. I looked at the Prince like Seriously? You want me to try this on? You sure weren't jazzed to see me last night, so why would you even want me to attempt this?
Well obviously the shoe didn't fit. It isn't my fault that Daddy's feet were really big. Anyway, Cinderella deserves the Prince. I mean, he's the one who decided he was obsessed and wanted to get married after one night of dancing, but didn't even recognize her when she came in to try on the shoe.
So like, best of luck to them both, good riddance to her and her whining. And the mice in the house. That was getting seriously disgusting.
And even though Drizzy thinks her life is basically over because our stepsister gets to marry a prince, I'm kinda relieved. Cause when I get married, the guy darn better know what I look like regardless of my shoe size.
Today's prompt is to write a scene from a fairy tale from the point of view of a nontraditional character. This could be a fun one to revisit multiple times, because twists on already created stories are sort of my specialty.
I don't even know why you want to hear this stupid story. I mean, everybody already knows it. It's all about stupid Cinderella, so why are you asking me? Why don't you go ask her?
She'll tell you. She'll tell you how, like, I'm just this huge brat and that me and Drizzy always were out to get her. The truth is, she just needs to learn to grow a spine!
But I guess if you are just going to sit there and wait for me to tell you what happened when the prince came, I might as well just tell you. I can't really go back to bed and get my beauty sleep until you leave anyway.
So it was the morning after the ball. I was exhausted, and honestly not in the best mood. Drizzy had been going on and on ALL NIGHT LONG rambling about the Prince and how he had smiled at her. Which is so whatever. It was totally obvious that he wasn't interested in her. He was all wrapped up in the mystery chick, which is just so typical. Of course, obviously, that girl was Cinderella. And I'm not as dumb as you all think. I would've recognized her right off, but after only getting a stiff formal bow from the Prince I was like, Well so much for that option. Now I'm at a party. Let's hit the royal open bar. Not very responsible, but whatever. You'd do it to if you were rejected that way. Charming? Forgive the unlady-like snort, but sooo not.
I'm like way off topic now though. Back to what I was saying. That morning that the Prince showed up on our porch like, "Hey I got this shoe, it fits my one true love, let's see if it's yours," I was not feeling my best. I had a hangover, I hadn't slept well, and I totally knew that shoe wasn't mine. Still, if I had to go downstairs and try the stupid shoe on before the Prince would leave, then I might as well see if it fit. I mean, like, way more than one girl has the same shoe size right? You don't walk into the Shoe City downtown and go to the special rack marked with your name cause you're the only girl with shoes that size. Although, that would be totally awesome, and a tad ideal.
By the time I got downstairs Drizzy had already tried the shoe and was sobbing in the corner because it hadn't fit. I looked at the Prince like Seriously? You want me to try this on? You sure weren't jazzed to see me last night, so why would you even want me to attempt this?
Well obviously the shoe didn't fit. It isn't my fault that Daddy's feet were really big. Anyway, Cinderella deserves the Prince. I mean, he's the one who decided he was obsessed and wanted to get married after one night of dancing, but didn't even recognize her when she came in to try on the shoe.
So like, best of luck to them both, good riddance to her and her whining. And the mice in the house. That was getting seriously disgusting.
And even though Drizzy thinks her life is basically over because our stepsister gets to marry a prince, I'm kinda relieved. Cause when I get married, the guy darn better know what I look like regardless of my shoe size.
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