Short exercises: Suggestion, and first one.

Blush_01

I'm in a writing group in college and I've written a few unpolished pieces that I quite like in the space of five or ten minutes. Do you think that maybe we could get a few exercises going in order to see what people can come up with in a short period of time? Someone posts an exercise and if you decide to take part you only allow yourself the amount of time the person posting the exercise allocates you to formulate what you post (well, if you need an extra minute or two, that's not a problem, but you should try to stick to the time constraints as much as possible.

I'll start with the exercise and result I came up with in one of the workshops, and if you guys are interested you can follow the exercise too, posting what you get from it. So you can do the exercise untainted by what I've written, I'll post the exercise at the end of this post here and post the piece in a seperate post.

It'd be cool if you guys were interested in getting involved - it'd add a new facet to the forum, don't you think?

So here goes!

Using the following trigger words, write a piece in roughly 5 minutes. You do not need to use any of the words, or you can use all of them if you wish, their purpose is to act merely as a trigger or guide to your imagination. Enjoy!

Trigger words: odour, wave, the cat whimpered, he began to trim his beard, she ran all the way.

Blush_01

She ran all the way, chest aching, panting, feeling her lungs turn hard, freeze, become ice. She ran and ran and never wanted to stop running, pumping blood hard around her body, beating powerful red into veins whole and quaking at the ferocity of the assault they received. She shot her legs like pistons, and in her head, totally detatched from the repetative thrust of her legs, she envisioned herself running around a track, legs whirling like those of a chartoon character - like Wile E Coyote or Roadrunner. Thinking took her mind off the piercing ache in her chest, her arms swinging wildly and hair streaming in the frantic air behind her. Here she could be - an edge of pain to remind her she was alive, but good, wholesome, solitary pain, an ache that was wholly her and nobody else. And while she kept running, time could never catch up, life could never catch up, and freedom could run its hands over her face, trunk, limbs, through her hair - impersonal and intimate in one instance. The constant motion keeping her in balance, holding her up; each foot automatically saving her in her forward fall, before she fell too far. As she dreamed of running through the pink clouds blossoming above her in the sunset, her pace slowed, her feet halted and she fell against the hard, hard wall of home.

Sandals

excellent next one discuss imagination.

cjs19

Wave after wave crashed upon the rocky harbour. The night had not seen such mayhem for many years. It was old McGregory's watch tonight and a keen eye he had to keep too. His beam illuminated every raindrop that fell in it's path, yet what pleased McGregory in terms of sparkling hail, gave little hope to those who rocked relentlessly on an almost theatrical stage. Wave after wave. Illuminated falsely. Upon the ledge where his flask sat the tabby cat who had been happy in the corner, now stood to attention warily watching the dark sea. He remembered the last time he had seen this night and how the rig had had no chance despite the beam. The sea was too unpredictable. She ran all the way up the rock bank and tore a hole in her stern. He never heard a sound high up in his loft that night, but he always remembered the sound he thought it would have made, wet metal on stone, man and the earth. He kicked off his boots and lay them on the ledge, kicking the tabby aside to make room. The cat whimpered and sprang to the ground to nestle somewhere in the corner of the round room. It sometimes mad his head spin, the light, the dark and claustraphobia, but he maintained his composure with flask to lip. The odour of his whiskey was enough to keep him warm and sane, or at least fool him into thinking so. He remembered Beth and how they used to come here and make a night of it, but those times were gone, no more chequered rugs or teapots laid aside. He took out his little swiss army knife and struggled extracting the metal scissors. He always found the indentations too small to get a good grasp on, but then he reconciled that his nails were too far bitten. He began to trim his beard here and there, in little tufts. Each tuft fell on his lap, ginger on the corduroy. He paused brushed the hair off and returned to his flask. Illuminated raindrops.

The Gnome

The sweet odour drifted across the room as he sat infront of the mirror. Wild fruits blended expertly with a hint of vanilla. It was her scent, one he knew by heart one he could never forget even though he hated each moment of its presence. He could see her reflection toss slightly as she whimpered, it was a primitive noise. Quiet, soft, filled with terror.

He like the way it was now, he was in contol again. He loved the sense of power he got from seeing her restrained lke this. He was in his element. Thoughts were quickly shattered by a short, sharp alarm. It would be over soon. He reveled in the tense time before his work. he picked up the scissors and began to slowly trim his bears. Something for them to find he thought.

He sat in silence then till it was midnight, that smell washing over him. Wave after wave after wave.