A huge thanks to everyone who tried one of these writing exercises! As promised, it's been a month and now I am awarding a free year of access to Bookfox Academy to a randomly selected person who participated. Very happy to announce that @youareawesome5236 has won a free subscription! If you didn't win, I'm terribly sorry, but at least you got to try one of these exercises and improve your writing skills! Here the link to check out courses: thejohnfox.com/writing-courses/
@@youareawesome5236 Hi, as I said to your comment below, please email me using the email in my channel description. I'll set you up with the free access. Or just leave your email here and I'll set you up.
Congrats, I entered the comments in a random number generator and you've won a year's subscription to Bookfox Academy! Reach out using the email in my profile and I'll get you set up with access.
crying is something that is often shamed especially if it's a boy or man crying if society beats that into you if make crying hard to do grieving is hard work you could write letters to the ones you lost or to God get your feeling out don't hold them in if you are afraid someone will find them and read them you could burn them but just write out your hurt
I have said this on a number of occasions, but you sir are the consummate teacher. Teachers in classrooms throughout the world would do well to view your videos. Well done.
Thanks for your videos! Also, I love these exercises. Here are 7, 6, and 1. I have to rewrite 5 (my current draft is in a place they know), and the others are taking more time. 7 - Suspense Write the paragraph before they discover the dead body. ~~ Merrion stood with the detective at the school's teeter-totter. Her doubts about the supposed witness nagged at her, but her annoyance at the detective grew. Managing his frustration had only made it harder to interpret the young girl's low-verbal communication. She shuddered as her quiet keening replayed in her mind. Whatever that girl thought she saw had been bad. Merrion frowned. Except, she hadn't actually seen it. She'd felt it. Her parents tried to explain her synesthesia, but seeing from touch sounded far-fetched. Still, Merrion avoided getting too close to the playground equipment. The detective ran his hand through his hair and walked toward the woods behind the school. She followed him through the open gate. She paused to touch the cold frame. Did it still screech as loudly now as it had when she'd been young and impressionable? She turned to catch up to the detective, only to freeze as the detective swore. She forced herself forward as he retched. ~~ 6 - Description Describe a tree, showing emotion without naming it ~~ The tree had been planted on her very first day of school. The bark had slowly grown rough, intricate paths leading to the branches stretching outward and upward. The brilliant sunlight filtered through fluttering shades of green. The tiniest beginnings of fruit poked out from under the leaves. ~~ 1 - Six word story Full story in six words. ~~ Embracing life by severing her womb. ~~ Thanks again for these!
My attempt is 1#, the scene before the corpse. (P.S. Not an English speaker) When Shiril returned home, he had a good feeling. Do you know those kind of days, when you’re sure everything is going to be fine? Shiril had one. That is the reason he didn’t notice. He didn’t notice the silence. Usually, when he went home at four, he could hear the kids fighting, and he could hear Jessica shouting at the kids to stop fighting and clean their room. Today, there was a complete silence. But Shiril didn’t notice. After all, it was a good day. He didn’t notice the phone. Usually, at four, Jessica would call him, and ask him when he’s returning. Today, he’s phone was silent. But Shiril didn’t notice. After all, it was a good day. He didn’t notice the front yard. Usually, at four, his kids would be playing outside, and the garden gnomes would all be standing strait. Today, the garden was empty, and the gnomes were scattered all over the place. But Shiril didn’t notice. after all, it was a good day. When Shiril opened the door, he finally noticed. The living room was empty. The living room was never empty. Maybe it wasn’t a good day.
Exercise 3 - single word of dialogue. That was fun :) Once upon a time, an evil witch cursed the twins Marry and Barry to say only one word for the rest of their lives. Luckily, the townsfolk knew of a good witch who could undo the spell and told the brother Barry how to find her. He went home and drew a map for his sister Marry. Marry pinched the edge of the handkerchief, avoiding the charcoal scribbles all over it. "Right..." The spiky triangles must've been the Darkgarden Woods, the magical forest supposedly full of strange beasts just outside of town. That made the wavy squiggles running through the Rootwater River, and the little box on its bed the good witch’s hut. …The greater mystery was how on earth her brother communicated their situation with just a word and gestures, but now wasn’t the time to ponder that. Barry handed her a silver-copper alloy key. Its end was black with tarnish. Marry sighed and stood. "Right." She put on her coat, her brother followed suit--filling his pockets with jerky before they left--and they locked the door behind them. Barry led the way, being the one who heard the instructions himself. Marry followed behind, comparing her brother's sketchy map to their actual surroundings. At the first crossroads--a dirt path outside town--Barry hesitated, looking back and forth. "Right." Marry said. They took the rightward path. At the second crossroads, a split in the river, Barry looked down the two paths again, then tilted his head left. "Right?" "Right." Marry chuckled as they walked the leftward path. But on their way to the third crossroads, a giant grey cat leapt out of the woods and pounced onto Barry. He tried to wriggle out of its grip, but the big cat was much stronger and heavier than he was and he couldn't move. Luckily, all cats act the same regardless of size, so when Marry balled up the handkerchief map and threw it into the woods, the big cat chased after it. The twins ran away before the cat could find them again. They caught their breath at the third crossroads. Barry groaned and sprawled out on the ground. Marry laughed. "Right?" That just made Barry groan again and Marry laugh even harder. Eventually, she helped him up and they continued their journey. They finally made it to the little hut in the Darkgarden Woods, the home of the good witch--if the townsfolk were correct--but the front door was locked and there was no other way in. Marry knocked, and Barry peeked in through the window. He didn't see anyone inside, only a little calico cat yawning in the sun. "Right!" Marry rummaged through her pockets and fished out the alloy key. She unlocked the door, the twins stepped inside, and the little calico cat stretched and meowed. She, of course, was the good witch, and more than happy to undo their curse in exchange for scratches and snacks. --- …The epilogue, or maybe the punchline of the story. On their way home, it occurred to Marry, "Oh right." Barry cringed. Marry made a mental note to never say that word again for the rest of her life. "How did you explain our situation to the townsfolk?" Her brother lifted a handkerchief covered with charcoal writing. "I wrote it down." "What a half-assed curse!"
Exercise 1 - paragraph before dead body. Technically didn't follow the prompt lmao, but the last line gives it closure. "Don't mind the smell," Mom says, sitting me down at the kitchen table. "We just deep cleaned the house. I have to take this call, but I'll be back soon, 'kay?" “Is it Dad?” “Maybe!” She smiles and shuts her office door. I kick my legs and sniff the air and crinkle my nose. It does smell weird. Everything smells like bleach, but if I smell really hard, I can smell the tasty soup too. She left a pot cooking on the stove. She always says you can’t leave a pot alone. I push a stool to the stove and scoop out the foamy grey stuff like Mom always does. Then I stir the soup, giggling as the oils sparkle and shine under the yellow stove light. There’s two pieces of meat bumping around in the soup. They’re long, with a thick bone in the middle, and there’s more meat on one side than the other. There’s a bunch of chives too, but no ginger. I frown. Mom knows I love ginger. I stand on my toes. The little white bowl on the counter has some garlic, but no ginger. I open the fridge. The top two shelves are full of meat. There’s even a metal tray under them full of red juice. But I can’t find any ginger. Then I open the freezer. "...!" It's full of weird meat too. Toes, fingers, and- My dad’s head, staring back at me.
Exercise 2 - show narrator's emotions through tree description I run through the dense-knit forest and trip upon a malicious root. All at once, the pale birches surround me. They prod and probe with their puffed up catkins and trade conspiratorial whispers beneath the wind. Their bodies are sturdy towers, covered in black lenticels that stare like a hundred unblinking eyes. Overhead, the branchwork net is thick with twitching leaves, and with every second it draws tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and-
Exercise 4 - one second action paragraph I exhale, jerking open my laptop on account of our fresh spat. One careless gesture- And the dustless glass trinket pitches off the table. I scramble to catch it, that abstract art thing--a colored glass curve that twists in on itself, smaller than my index, with an uneven bottom so it never stood straight, so light that it couldn’t even qualify as a paperweight. Truly a useless bauble with no purpose whatsoever. My desk barely has enough space for all the necessary tools as is, yet I saw fit to make space for this. …Because it was the first thing she made. And she made it for me. And even though it did nothing but add clutter to my desk, I kept it there for the five years since she gifted it to me. I reach for it, but fall short. The trinket tumbles and for a moment, sunlight flows through the glass and projects the most brilliant pattern of colors onto the plain hardwood--a harmonious shift between green and blue that mixes into teal, my favorite color--before it strikes the floor. I entertain, just briefly, that it can be fixed. With a good clear glue maybe, if we’re really lucky. But cracks consume the piece whole and it shatters into countless tiny jagged shards beneath my desk. I’m not a superstitious man--never have been, never will be--but as the shards clink their way down the vents, I know our relationship will meet the same fate.
Exercise 5 - info dump/action juxtaposition “Do you know about jo-ha-kyu?” I look up from my taxes with a scowl. “What?” “Jo-ha-kyu.” My younger brother uncaps a pen and I yank the papers away before he can doodle in the margins. “It’s a Japanese concept of pacing that means to start slow, speed up, and end quickly. Wikipedia translates it as ‘beginning, break, rapid’, but I’ve always found that unwieldy. Can’t you think of a nicer phrase, as a writer?” “Uh, sure. I don’t know Japanese though.” “Oh right. Loser.” “You’re the loser for reading Wikipedia all day!” “Wage cage slave or pampered parasite, who’s the real loser?” “You!! Get a job!!!” “Heh.” He flicks the pen cap onto the floor. What is he, a cockatiel? I ignore him, copying values from my W2 to my state tax forms with another pen. I filed the federal taxes for free online, but the site charges for state taxes, and city taxes are too specialized to be available. Since I had to print and mail city taxes anyway, I said ‘fuck it’ and printed out the state tax forms too. “Jo-ha-kyu might seem identical to the western three-act structure, but the placement of the story’s climax tends to differ between them. In Noh plays--a medium heavily influenced by jo-ha-kyu principles--the plot’s climax is typically the identity reveal of a mysterious figure, but that event falls into the tension-building ha phase instead of the climatic kyu phase.” “Huh.” I wrap up my state tax forms and move onto the city ones, filling out my name, address, and social security number. “Because in Noh plays, the reveal of the mysterious character is an expected event, not a twist. The emotional climax is the expression of catharsis that follows the reveal, and that’s what occupies the kyu phase.” I pause my tax returns-ing. “So there’s a cultural difference in what parts of the story are emphasized?” “Right!” I resume copying numbers. “You know, I always felt like Japanese anime and light novels had a different feel to their pacing than equivalent American media, so that makes sense now. But I read Araki’s ‘Manga: In Theory and Practice’, and he mentioned the ki-sho-ten-ketsu plot structure, how does that mesh with jo-ha-kyu?” He shrugs. “I haven’t read the Wikipedia page on that yet.” I snort. “But jo-ha-kyu isn't exclusive to plot. Like I said, it’s a philosophy of motion and pacing. The author of its founding text, the Noh playwright Zeami Motokiyo, observed that even the calls of birds and insects follow the pattern of jo-ha-kyu. In Noh theatre, each gesture of the actors will follow that rhythm, and even the order of plays performed throughout the day. It’s a lot more versatile than the three-act structure, you know?” “Yeah yeah, I get it.” I fill out the last box on the city forms and exhale. Then, I go back and read over both tax returns. It’d be a huge pain if I messed up and had to fill them out again. “...” I squint. The state tax returns look right, but on the city taxes… Instead of my name, Jonathan, The text I wrote in the name field was- Jo-ha-kyu. I fold the messed up tax form into a paper fan and smack my brother. “Ow! What was that for?” “Deterrence.” I print out a second copy and begin filling it out again. “...” At this, my brother snickers, sits on the table with his legs crossed, and grins. “Hey Jon, do you know about Manzai comedy?”
Exercise 6 - dialogue between two characters with secrets I’m Pharaoh the talking sphynx cat, but how and why that happened doesn’t matter today. One summer afternoon, due to some unfortunate circumstances, I had to nap in the kitchen instead of the bathroom. Don’t get me wrong, the cool tile felt nice against my skin, but the cozy curve of the sink is sooooo much better. Something about contained spaces is just so satisfying… Keys jingle outside. “/ᐠ.ᆺ.ᐟ\ !” Ears and tail up, I walk to the front door as my dad steps in. “Heya Pharaoh, I’m home.” Water splashes on the ground and I leap back, haunches raised. “You’re wet!” He laughs. “Yeah, it rained.” “How terrible. I’m sorry for you.” He chuckles and kicks off his shoes, strips off his clothes, and towels off in the laundry room. I follow him, avoiding the trail of water, and hop onto the laundry machine. “Since you got rained on, you don’t need to shower right?” “The water outside’s dirty, so I need to wash off.” “Oh…” I pace around. “Do you really need to shower?” “Yup.” He dumps wet clothes into the washer. “Humans have sweat and oil glands and go outside most days, we get gross if we don’t wash ourselves regularly.” “Groom yourself. I can teach you.” “Humans don’t have the right tongue or enzymes.” He measures out detergent and dumps it in. “You’re more like me than most cats actually. Hairless cats need to be washed regularly or your skin will accumulate oil and grime.” I crinkle my nose. “I hate baths…” “Yeah yeah.” He smiles and pets my head. “Every other week I need a new trick. You know, it’s about time and I’m already soaked anyway. What do you say Pharoah? Bath time?” “Never /ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ” He chuckles again. I grab his fingers and nip them. For a few minutes, he wiggles his fingers while I chase and bat at them. Then he asks, “Want a Churu?” “Churu? Of course I want a Churu! ♡” He grins and scoops me up. His hands and arms and chest are cold but I still purr. He picks up a Churu tube from the kitchen and cuts it open. I can smell it. It’s a chicken flavored one, mmmm… Churu… He stops outside the bathroom’s closed door. “Huh, why’d you knock the shoebox out?” …Uh oh. I wrap my tail around his wrist. “Don’t go inside.” “Why?” “ᓚᘏᗢ…” Wait a minute. I look up at him. “Why are we going in the bathroom?” “...You still want a Churu right?”
my attempt at the tree exercise: The orange decayed leaves fell lazily to the ground. On the lowest branch were tied two worn ropes. At the bottom the two ropes were linked by an old plank of wood to form a swing. Slightly above the lowest branch inside the trunk is a tree hollow. In the tree hollow laid a wise looking owl.
No. 6, Describing a Tree in a way that reveals a character's emotions: (loopy tired & doing this one too for fun lol) Character 1: Rooted, standing tall and straight, with vivid leaves turning out crisp air day in and day out. That branch on the side would be a good place tie the rope swing to, in a year or so. Today, the tree still provided enough shade. Character 2: Light broke through the leaves she didn't know the names of. Bright, like fire through fractured emeralds. She squinted. Kicking the rough bark did nothing. The tree didn't start screaming. It wasn't a magic tree.
#7 (Dead Body Paragraph) The house at the end of 6th Avenue -with its pale yellow siding and overgrown lawn peppered by plastic flamingos- had one elderly occupant -a Mrs. Steinbeck- and a trash can that reeked of rotting turkey. The adults that passed by her house on their yappy-dog walks and bare-bellied jogs blamed the odor on the recent power outage, as they all had frozens to discard after being without their fridges for a few days. But Charlotte, who saw Mrs. Steinbeck take out her garbage during her daily Fisher Price wagon commute, didn't think the thing in the old woman's trash looked like a turkey at all. (Love your content. Thanks for the challenge!)
This video is perfect timing! I literally have been working on #2 (The Secret) for my novel. I started last night and am cleaning it up today before adding it to my beta-reader. (She is reading a chapter at a time and giving me great feedback.) I am going to have to rewatch this, and like with so many of your videos, take notes to add to my files. Thank you so much!!
Hi all, I would like to try all the exercises. I would appreciate your input. I noticed people are not posting them in one single post, so, here they are separately: 1. The Suspense Exercise: She walked in her mother’s home, flowers and a birthday card in hand. The air took away her smile the moment she walked through the door. Why? The cars outside did not break the silence inside, not even for a second. As she walked through the door, that summer day turned into a cold winter night. Yes, it was warm out, but her soul froze with the coldness of the foreseeable unknown. One step, and the world got heavier. Two steps, and the world got heavier. Three steps… There was red in the hardwood floor, there was red in her hands, but at that moment, everything around her had turned black and white, unfortunately forever. For there is no return to the sight of a farewell.
Hi John, Thank you for this brilliant exercise. I find it both challenging and interesting. Nevertheless, here is my take. No.6: THE TREE EXERCISE. Under the mango tree, a pebble-smooth, pregnant fruit sparkled with quiet admiration; its warm yellow skin shimmered in the April sunlight. Its flirtatious grip was just within reach, teasing in delicate spurts and whirls. A touch of weightless joy brushed against the ruffled, whistling grass beneath. The mango's green, throbbing heart pulsed with serene, righteous adoration-it was that glimmer, that silent allure, that melted the decayed atmosphere. Its towering head bowed a thousand times over, a simpleton in sun-filled dreams, swaying with the blushing leaves and gleeful branches. Its eyes watched, its charm forever dancing. Always a guardian, always beholding, always protecting-always watching! Once more, its warm, leafy universe-shades of greenish yellow-washed over the sad wayside garden in a comforting, blanket-like nostalgia, like the mango’s yellow skin. An airy admiration hovered above him, its soothing shadow swirling softly like a ceiling fan over his supine body. Under the mango tree.
Hi John, yet again, another entertaining assignment. Here are my results. I tried writing all 7 of them, but I'm still working on Exercises 4 and 3. Exercise 7: "What do we have here? What do we have here?" Lucas said, ripping open the packages with a satisfying tear, the sound of tape and cardboard echoing through the room. "Hey Tom, did you ask for extra cheese?" "Yeah dude, I did. And I grabbed that beer you wanted, too." Tom took a few steps into the living room, the old wood creaking under his feet. His gaze shifted uneasily from one corner of the room to the next. "Now that’s what I’m talking about. This cheeseburger smells so…" "Rotten," Tom interrupted, his nose wrinkling. "What?" "Dude, have you even been here before?" Tom asked, his fingers brushed the back of an armchair, then froze mid-air, as if unsure whether to touch anything. "Yep, I told you-like, a few times. No one’s here. Chill." "What about this?" Tom finally pointed to something that wasn’t furniture. “Nope, that definitely wasn’t here last time." Lucas grimaced, and his voice dropped. "Ugh, no more cheeseburgers for me, I guess."
Suspense excersize: There was something in the air. "Do you smell that?" he said. She took one sniff and then two and turned to him. Her torchlight flashed him sharp and sudden. Her eyes widened slowly. "Yeah..." she said. "It's the smell of your fucking paranoia. Jesus." She rolled her eyes and swung on her heel. She walked on. He followed her. The hall was sleek and shimmery in the gaps where torchlight broke the dark, and the black and purple smears every now and again seemed out of place against the sterile walls. They walked on and their torchlight was shaky. He swore he could smell something. He sniffed, and she heard him and turned and said, "If anything you're breathing in all the dust. It smells like a hospital. Okay?" "Okay," he said. They passed a door set ajar and a corkboard with papers dangling from their pins like crucified men at the break of their expiration. A second door was sealed closed. From underneath came a faint moonlight that would've been unnoticeable save for the darkness of the hall. He stopped and the smell was so strong he couldn't bear to go on. "What is it? Jesus!" she said, groaning with much drama. Her torch dropped and she wandered in protest back to where he was standing. Then it hit her. Her nostrils flared and she took two sniffs and his stomach dropped. "What is that smell?" she said and her voice was very small.
Phin sits under a large oak. His back pressed into the sturdy trunk, barked with what seems like armor. He looks up towards the sky, letting sunlight create a kaleidoscope pattern across the field beneath the tree. The thin young sprouts dance freely in the wind, while the branches ground themselves into the trunk. The roots grip the earth, allowing the tree to stand tall and provide shade for Phin.
Thank you for the video. I'll try my hand at a couple of these: Exercise 1 - The 6-word Story: 1) The doorbell rang. No one answered. 2) The husband died. The wife didn't. 3) Withered roses, memories of another time. Exercise 4 - Compressed Time: Emilia Giles had to sleep with that gangster. She just had to. There was no time for her to consider her own feelings. She had to save her husband and children. If only he hadn't gotten involved in that underground business... But, alas, the past was gone, and only her future would remain, in which she would forever regret her actions. Still, she hesitated to enter his bedroom, even as he urged her to come inside. It felt like a betrayal, that feeling plunging deep into her chest. She would sacrifice her faithfulness and her honour because David didn't know where she was or what she was doing. If he saw her there, her life would be over. Nothing could repair the damage she had done. It was a deal they had made. Her love for all their lives. She was just about to give him everything he had always wanted, but, in that one moment, she thought many thoughts. How would she do it? Would she be good enough for him? Would she have the strength to remain there for the night and lie with him in his nest of sin? How would she wake up the following day and bake bacon and eggs for David and the children with a smile on her face like nothing was wrong? It would be forever inside her head, even if she didn't get pregnant. Wait! Pregnancy... He surely wasn't going to use a condom. Why would he care? Why would he care for her wants or needs? No one seemed to care, despite their reassurance. She almost broke down crying and went home. Finally, after a few seconds, she opened the door, reaching the point of no return.
6 word exercise: Sold a soul. It was yours. This exercise is really difficult because so often even if it looks liek a story, there's more like a prompt to what might happen next and not really unfolding things as clearly as the Hemingway example.
The first thing she noticed was that the kettle wasn't on. By this point in their relationship, he knew her so well that he could time the whistle to the exact moment she walked in the door. But it wasn't whistling. Odd, she thought, but nothing more. But then it got worse. As she looked around their flat, things were not as they should be. He wouldn't have left without texting her, and sure enough, all of his shoes were in the shoe place by the door. Her eyes drifted in the way a horsefly does, along the floor. Things were broken, tipped over. A pot of sugar whipped across the floor in an arc, sofa cushions flayed and gutted, their hat-stand harpooned into the drywall and stuck out at a near-perfect right angle. Everything was a cacophany of visual noise, but there was no actual noise. Except one. It was a tiny, wet slapping sound. "Joe?" she called out weakly. She didn't realise it, but she was reflexively gripping her handbag strap. "Joe?" She kind of awkwardly strafed across the room from the front door. The sound was coming from the bathroom. It can't have been that quick, she told herself. He'd only been off his meds for a day, she had picked them up on her way back from work. Surely, there was no way he'd change so quickly. But the rhythmic wet slapping sound seemed to tell her otherwise in plain English. Slowly, she approached the door to the bathroom, wrapping her fingers around the doorknob. As her fingerrs tightened around the doorknob, invisible fingers tightened around her throat. The door creaked open a crack, and a crack rended her mind in two as she saw it. Saw him.
congratulations you found a way to get writers talking funny how few comments writing videos get other then good job or something like that but 6 words seems to come easy for some that would be tricky for me i will come up with something to put up as the challenge
The zipper exercise: "Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?" Ralph was holding the glass of wine with two hands, his head leaning down just enough that he could take a sniff of the red liquid. Just a sniff, then he pulled back and sighed. "Thou art more lovely and more temperate." His gaze met with the one of his reflection's in an infinate staring competition. He bended over the glass, kissed it and tilted it. The wine slid down his throath. He inhaled the aroma of his breath. Hot. Staggered. A slight smile. A fazed gaze. A dazed gaze. A dead gaze. "Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines..." A candle flame was only lit. Illuminated the livingroom. Illuminated all the dark-glassed bottles laying on the floor and on the table, dried up. Illuminated the bills for them. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. Ralph was asleep.
The barkeep put one hand on the small of Rivet’s back and shoved him ungently through the door to the kitchen. He stumbled a bit, only catching himself by one hand on a counter, which landed in something sticky. “F*ck,” Rivet said to himself. Then he looked up. Watching him over a steaming tray of macaroni and cheese was Kurt, the man who’d broken Rivet’s heart two months ago by leaving him on his birthday. Kurt, the man who’s entire family lived on a desert planet on the rim-this planet, Rivet guessed. “F*ck,” Kurt said, and pulled a silver cigarette case out of his pocket. “F*ck.” Rivet agreed. Kurt tried to light a cigarette, but his hands were shaking too badly and he dropped it on the floor. “F*ck,” Kurt said again, sounding more defeated than anything. He absently turned and gave a hard shake to one of the pans on the stove behind him. Rivet turned around the flee the kitchen, but the door only opened a couple of inches before being blocked by something Rivet couldn’t move. He reckoned maybe someone had set a chair under the knob. “F*ck,” Rivet said again.
Overhead, twisted limbs and jagged branches formed a dark canopy, blocking out any trace of light on the shaded ground below. The roots, gnarled and skeletal, jutted like boney fingers, desperate for a breath of air. Even the leaves seemed to have a razor's edge, warning off anyone who dared to approach. The decrepit truck slumped to one side, its musty bark-like skin cracked and weathered, emitting eerie groans with every sway, as it bore the weight of its own decay.
@@JhadeSagrav Yeah... in between a few fullterm babies, my wife has had four miscarriages, we found out twice from sonograms. Good news though, she's pregnant again and the baby is healthy and well! 🙂 Let me write part two, a redemption story: Life finds a way. Rainbow baby.
Every day on her walk she notices how the lone tree is isolated from the others in the park. It’s tall and slender enough to hug, but its rugged bark will abrade any attempts of that kind of intimacy. Tufts of branches sucker around the base of the trunk, encasing the avoidant tree and creating another impediment to physical touch. It’ll poke you if you try. The sharp needle leaves high overhead are said to be evergreen, but the yellowing reveals its vulnerability to the scorching sun without shade from any neighbors. Involuntarily resilient, its roots reach deep into the earth, clinging to the hope of finding connection, even if only in the unseen realms.
to be fair i agree with rust, the prose feels empty and it just feels like a tryhard description that ends up conveying absolutely nothing. it doesnt necessarily feel like you’re conveying anything with the character and more just personifying the tree. theres just not enough emotion and the words are meandering aimlessly. also, i couldnt really understand what the description was describing or what it was supposed to bring attention to. i hope that makes sense my feelings about this are hard to pinpoint
Exercise 6: The young sprout stood straight and proud in the rich soil covering its yet invisible roots. The trunk was oh-so-slender but flexible and strong, branches swaying easily with the savage wind attempting to rip them away. The leaves were a bit battered and torn, but ultimately held tight. *Note: I think this is pretty rough and unpolished, but serves the general purposes of the exercise.
Exercise 7: The house was quiet as Sarah pushed her way inside. No running tackle hugs from Josh, no shouted greeting from Mom. Nothing. “Mom? Josh?” she called, shuffling her bag to the ground. The dull thud of books hitting the wood was shockingly loud. “Did they go out somewhere?” But as she slowly made her way past the living room and into the hallway, she could make out the sound of a steady drip coming from the bathroom, disrupting the silence ever so gently. *Note: This was one of the easier exercises for me, I think. I think it's pretty alright for the most part, except the paragraph is a bit long and awkward because you specifically mentioned doing a paragraph specifically. I'd definitely line break at least one of the spoken sentences and maybe one other place. Or, more likely, I would've established the norm in an earlier part of the story so I wouldn't have to explain what's different now. It would be automatically apparent.
I think I have the "Compressed Time" Excercise sort ta. Because, in my novel I have a scene where the MC has like 10 seconds to defeat the enemy and the whole time he counts it down in his head while delivering blows to the enemy. There is also another suspense kinda action kinda scene where the enemy like throws weapons towards the MC and like MC tries to dogde it by predicting where the weapons are coming from. Does that count? Idk...but its pretty fun to do. Also I will try the tree excercise too in my novel(if I can properly fit it in). Thanks for the advice!
2. The Tree Exercise: After 25 years growing together, the humble tree had finally been acknowledged for what it truly was. Its leaves were not one blurred mountain of green anymore, but individual pieces of moving life, each wanting to be cherished. The trunk had texture that could be seen, not only felt by the touch. Simple glasses made it finally fully admired. And so, for the first time, the tree was watered not by the rain, but by a single tear of joy.
Exercise 5: “Daaamn!” Claire said approvingly upon seeing a pair of heels Melissa wordlessly held up over shelves in the next row. Melissa eagerly dropped to the floor to try the heels on, but her fingers kept slipping over the delicate buckle before she finally got the patent leather through the small opening. But just as she pulled it tight…the plastic snapped. “Damn.” “Damn?” Claire asked as she approached. *Note: Pretty sure I achieved the objective, but the setup is pretty awkward considering it was thought up without prior planning. Edit: I feel it was also a bit of a cop out to end the exchange on a questioning tone that has less to do with questioning how the character feels in the moment and more to do with asking for clarification. In other words, it's asking for clarification rather than conveying its own meaning. Maybe if I wanted to do this anyway, it might've been better to add a third person to the group. Make it seem more natural. Or maybe had Claire be closer to check out the problematic shoe without immediately seeing the issue. I dunno. The third one was kind of pushing things a bit without exactly copying the example given in the video. (It felt effectively the same anyway though, so this probably also needs work.) And if pressed for a further continuation, I'd probably really struggle. Maybe I should done a scene where a couple was taking a walk. One nods towards the pond and says "Duck." "Duck?" The other asks, craning their neck to see. Suddenly a remote-contolled plane veers towards them from behind. "Duck!" someone warns. There, that's slightly more original. Though the "duck" play on words is worn to death at this point. So maybe it's not better at all really.
Fabulous contest idea! Exercise #2: The Secrets. (I hope this isn't too long.) June and Nyla sit cross-legged on the floor in June’s bedroom, sweaters tossed on the bed and math textbooks open in their laps. “Waaaay too much homework,” June says. She flips through her math book, riffling the pages back and forth between her fingers. “I hate math,” Nyla says. “Me too, but Mr. Dodd makes it ... fun.” “You think? I still don’t get this whole algebra thing.” Nyla fishes her math binder and pen out of her bookbag. “Even the first question messes me up.” June leans back against her bed. “I might just not do these assignments and see what happens.” “You’ll get a zero.” “Will I?” June dips her chin and looks at Nyla through her lashes. Nyla looks away, brushes imaginary carpet lint from her paper. June laughs, a breathy giggle. “Anyway. You don’t want to take that chance, June. You want to graduate, don’t you?” “What? One stupid assignment won’t kill my whole math grade.” “Still. I just don’t want to see you mess up this close to the finish line, you know?” “No worries.” June smiles. “I have my math class all sewn up.” She closes her book and shifts to face Nyla. “Isn’t Mr. Dodd sexy though?” Nyla frowns. “No?” “Of course he is! All the girls in our class are in love with him.” “I never noticed.” Nyla starts to copy an equation into her binder but ends up doodling instead. “He’s not my type.” “Really? He’s totally my type. He’s got these - anyway.” Another breathy giggle. “What is your type then?” “Not Mr. Dodd.” “Who then?” “I’d rather not say.” “Nyla, you’re blushing. Who do you like so much?”
Here's my tree exercise :) Wow! Her leaves are so green today! Yesterday they were light green, and Monday they were light green, and Sunday they were light light green, but today they're green green. Plus, I can see there's gonna be new baby leaves on the branch I can almost reach. This morning, the tree really looks like she's reaching for the sun, so maybe tomorrow the babies will be born.
EXERCISE 7 "Broken Promise" or "This Nightmare Isn't A Dream" by Frank M Van Meter Aug 6, 2024 Did something just go bump in the night or in his dream? Ander heard Dad's voice in the kitchen. Or dining room? He decided to go see what's up. His lamp wouldn't light up and the wall switch didn't work. He couldn't find his flashlight in the dark. "Where did I leave that?" The hall light wouldn't light up. He considered going back to bed and covering his head. A pale blue glow from outside painted watercolor rectangles on the hallway floor. "Well the street light works. That's better than nothing." All the lights were broken or the power was out or something. Dad coughed in the kitchen, so he hurried in. But the kitchen was empty. Then his foot bumped something and he jumped back. It was Dad on the floor. Ander helped him sit up and the streetlight revealed his bloody disoriented face. Fumbling for a towel or something Ander found a damp washcloth by the sink and tried to stop the bleeding. He also tried to stop thinking about how the streetlight made Dad's face look like a dead man. "What happened? The lights are all out. Did you fall down? I'll go get Mom." Dad stiffened. Suddenly on high alert, he gripped Ander's arm and held him down. "Ssshhh...Stay low." Dad pulled down a big knife from the counter as they sneaked into the dining room. A shadow oozed across the kitchen floor, climbed the wall then zipped away. The boy suddenly felt cold. Shivery cold. Dad wrapped a reassuring arm around him and whispered "Get under the table stay there and be quiet until I get back." A drop of his blood landed on Ander's hand. He tried to scrub it off on his pajamas. His terrified little face glanced around the dining room. He'd never seen it from this angle in the dark. All shadows and mystery. He clung to Dad's arm. Dad pushed him away and he slid between the chairs, sat on the floor, pulled his knees to his chest and hugged the table center post. The little man began to cry. Quietly. As manly as he could manage. Ever watching. Ever listening. Ever dreading. A grunt. A painful moan. Bang. Broken glass. Thud. All the lights came on at once. Silence. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the blood smeared on his hand and pajamas and on the white carpet. "Mom won't like that." His mind turned to her and longed for her voice. Her touch. "Where is she?" He began to shiver again. Years passed in silence as Ander hugged the center post, tears forgotten. "I need to pee." He looked around, hoping to see Dad's feet step into the room. He strained his ears praying to hear Dad's voice. Silence. "Oh man, when is he coming back? I really need to pee."
Exercise: “Action in a second” (also, thx for your amazing videos!)- I sucked my wings deep into my shoulder blades petrified they might pop out. I had tucked my wings similarly the night before when I’d gone swimming in the Rainbow Galaxy after everyone had fallen asleep. I’d jumped into the unicorn pool feeling the gush of bubbles rush through me; dolphin dove through the illuminated glittery pink water cradled by the rainbow mountains. I arched into a back flip circling through gravity until I rested in a ball at the bottom of the pool-suspended in silence; the whole world gone. I held my breath as long as possible then burst through the surface. The galaxy opened to me filling my lungs with fresh air. I floated on my back watching cascades of rainbow comets crisscross the constellations. Now, I stood a glassy-eyed porcelain doll, my feet smushed into the tiny high heels the office had forced me to wear when they discovered glitter dust on my own. I’d spent hours trying to scrub away all signs of the Rainbow Galaxy, but my efforts were no match for the office’s ultraviolet scanner. My manager raised an axe over his head. My horrified eyes blurred against its shiny silver as I lost control of my muscles. My yellow wings popped out of my back still braided with Booker’s pale blue yarn. As my manager whipped the axe downward, ferocious pain ripped through my body. A silent blood-curdling scream sliced through my stomach. Blood splattered across the walls, bright red with former life. In the security monitor, I watched my wings fall from my back in one piece into my manager’s arms. “These really will look perfect on my wall.” He held my wings like a baby, their vibrant yellow now gray and lifeless; their pale blue yarn soaked purple with blood.
Exercise seven in sixty seconds: "More shale, gooey ooze, tailings seaborne." It's not really a sentence, more of a haiku. But you could still sell it as the plot for an environmental thriller.
My character would say: Standing alone and yet so content. You spent your life taking care of others, and got no appreciation in return. These falling leaves are your tears aren't they? It's too late now, but I understand. The pain you've been through developed your flowers. Maybe, the only friend you need is you.
These exercises seem way easier to me than the thing each exercise is supposed to be a reaction to. I realize that’s insane, particularly if you’re deeply interested in genre fiction.
Thanks for the great video! These writing exercises intrigued me. Here’s my crack at a couple of them. #1: The 6 word story New wheelchair: my prison with wings. #6: The tree exercise, AKA Describe the tree The oak tree’s branches stretched in every direction, save for one broken bough that had grown too lofty in its effort to be beautiful. Becca ran her hand over the tree’s gnarled, gray bark till she encountered a hole in the trunk. The opening sagged at the corners, edges rolled and puckered like chapped lips. In her best impression of a lion tamer, Becca risked her head inside. A rotten stink made her nose wrinkle. Trash was all that filled the tree’s hollow belly. Black mold was already eating away at its thin walls like cancer. Why would someone do this? How many people added to the heap? Did the first offense give permission for all that followed? Leaning in, Becca strained but the garbage remained out of reach. With a cough, she was forced to retreat for better air.
I tried writing without an e and dashed this off in about a minute. "Forty four low hanging fruit said, 'I am not low hanging. I am high worth'." If what you write must make logical sense it could be a lot harder.
5. The zipper exercise: “You see? What nobody talks about is what are the basic founding blocks of an opening.” Zach waved around the wooden spoon before setting it down on the kitchen counter and grabbing the knife. “Why do they always jump right onto the different lines!” He started to cut the green onions, so fast that his apprentice thought he was going to cut his own fingers off. Upset, the knife stopped for a second as he exclaimed: “I don’t care about the lines now, I just want to know the basic foundation!” He threw the onions into the pot, grabbed some pepper and added it to the soup. “So, what makes London a London? Well. Your d pawn is now on d4, your e pawn is on e3, your c pawn is on c3, and your black bishop is on f4!” He then grabbed the salt, showed it to his apprentice, and said: “Does the order in which you move your pieces matter? Not really! The essential elements and position is what defines the London system.” He then grabbed the wooden spoon and started to stir the soup. “Now, if you want to move your knight to f3 first or your white bishop to d3 first is a matter of strategy and following up with the different lines of the game, but the London structure is all about those four pieces.” He lifted the spoon, dropped some soup into his hand, and tasted it. “And so, that is how you make tomato soup! Salt and pepper, or pepper and salt. Checkmate.” 6. The secrets: Husband (looking down on his coffee avoiding eye contact): So, how was your night? Wife (looking out the window): I… couldn’t sleep. I just… too much in my mind. Husband (looking at the mug, not drinking, not setting it down): Sorry I came home late last night. The office was crazy. Wife (smiling faintly to herself): Yes… it… was… Husband: I just wanted you to know that I might be late for dinner again. Wife (putting down her wedding ring on the kitchen counter): I know… I’ll be in bed. 7. Six-word story exercise: 1. I am a lobster. Use sunscreen. 2. They kissed and walked. Separate ways. 3. Far blue marble! No.. more… fuel.
5: Shawn crossed their arms, a frown on their face. "Good", they said. Clint furrowed his brows. Honestly, he understood where Shawn came from. The thing was, he would react the same way, had their positions been reversed. He just wished Shawn was a little more considerate. "Good?", he questioned. Shawn turned away. Their shoulders moved up and down again as they breathed heavily. Clint felt sorry, but he didn't speak up. He wished he could hug Shawn, but he felt like the situation was too tense, like there were too many unspoken words between them. There was so much weight on the tip on his tongue, but his lips were sealed. He leaned back against the wall. As the seconds passed, he became ever more unsure about the situation. Was Shawn crying? He worried his feet and went a little back and forth. "Good?", he whispered. He didn't know what else to say. Doing anything seemed too much, doing nothing seemed too little. He did nothing but watch Shawn's back as they slowly calmed down, their breaths evening out as they stood there, just some feet away yet suddenly unreachable. How had it come to this? Clint felt like screaming. He wished they'd say something - anything. Why didn't they turn around? Did they hate him now, knowing... ? He couldn't even think about it. He was a freak. He felt like a monster. Maybe he deserved this treatment. He swallowed heavily. "Good?", he repeated, forcefully, anxiously. What did this word even mean? Shawn laughed haughtily. "Good?", they mocked. Their voice was dripping icicles. Clint lost all of the defenses he had prepared when he heard their laugh. He had never heard something that hollow from the lively fellow before him. They spun around angrily and formed question marks with their fingers. "Good", they spit, as if their word was acid in their mouth. Their face was made up of fury. Clint couldn't do more than watch as they stared at him with a crazed expression before opening their mouth again. He closed his eyes by reflex, as if the darkness would protect him from the things he himself had messed up. But Shawn said nothing. The silence dragged on and on, until the only thing Clint could hear was his own breathing. Slowly, he opened his eyes. A door fell shut.
Exercise 1: Here lies Lara, male gaze icon. *Note: Definitely the hardest one for me by far. If you haven't noticed, I'm a rambler. And each other example I tried to think of had at least one extra word and/or was more of a sentence than a whole self-contained story. This still reads a gaming journal's tagline rather than a story, but it was the best I could manage before calling it quits. It doesn't work, because it relies on outside context to give a clue of what happened. And then it's still not a story. Just kind of a suggestion or idea. Definitely something to work on for certain. This is the only exercise I give myself an F on, but I give it decisively.
I would like to try all. I posted them all but only two appeared. So, I will post them in blocks, starting here: 1. Suspense Exercise: She walked in her mother’s home, flowers and a birthday card in hand. The air took away her smile the moment she walked through the door. Why? The cars outside did not break the silence inside, not even for a second. As she walked through the door, that summer day turned into a cold winter night. Yes, it was warm out, but her soul froze with the coldness of the foreseeable unknown. One step, and the world got heavier. Two steps, and the world got heavier. Three steps… There was red in the hardwood floor, there was red in her hands, but at that moment, everything around her had turned black and white, unfortunately forever. For there is no return to the sight of a farewell. 2. The tree exercise: After 25 years growing together, the humble tree had finally been acknowledged for what it truly was. Its leaves were not one blurred mountain of green anymore, but individual pieces of moving life, each wanting to be cherished. The trunk had texture that could be seen, not only felt by the touch. Simple glasses made it finally fully admired. And so, for the first time, the tree was watered not by the rain, but by a single tear of joy. 3. Single word of dialogue: Lost in the cold mountains, carrying his injured father on his back, George’s legs were almost giving up. There was no more energy, food, and almost no hope. He had lost too much blood and even the slightest touch of the cold breeze was already too painful. Suddenly, a dark cave offered shelter. George looked at dad, and heading towards the entrance, he asked: “Light?” His father, who had his arms free, pulled a lighter from his pocket. “Light,” the father answered by igniting their old improvised torch. George could not be careful when trying to lower dad onto the floor. “Light! Light!” Dad whimpered in pain. George was shaking, a mixture of cold, fear, and anxiety. But his dad was calm. Looking behind his soon as if he was seeing something. Dad reached “it” with his hands, and as the air escaped his lungs, he said: “Light!” 4. Compressed time: Exercise: Write a paragraph that takes place in less than a second. [Five] [Four] [Three] [Two] And it was then that he had to make the decision of his life. No more time to think. It was now or never. Red, blue, or green wire. One right choice and he would be able to make it to the dinner he had planned with his friends. Tomorrow, laundry, dry cleaning, and maybe a movie with his fiancé afterwards. Of course, the wrong choice would mean nothing else would matter, at least not for him anymore. If he was right, time moved forward. If he was wrong, time would stop. Well, unless his girlfriend was right about “the other side.” “Ah! Nonsense!” he thought to himself as he closed his eyes and pressed the cutting plier with all of his strength, with all of his hope… [One]
Tree exercise: The old woman told me to meet her under the oak tree. “You know the one,” she said, “at the end of the dirt road. The tall one with branches weighed down by the years, tired of sheltering everyone and everything from the elements. Its leaves are now brown and deeply veined. Most of them have fallen on the ground. But its roots run deep, and there is still power in its reach.”
My entry for The Tree Exercise - His children were asleep as he stood staring out the window of his back door in the twilight hours. The months had made the absence of their mother only slightly easier to deal with while tucking them into bed each night. He gazed upon the massive single oak tree that stood as silent sentinel in the center of his backyard. Towering above its smaller kind, it's roots ran deep creating a foundation that would support the heavy weight this life exerted on it. Every branch jutting forth flourishing with life. Leaves soaking in the sun's precious gifts while shading those beneath it from the harshness these same rays could bring. Sturdy limbs made to support life in the smallest: insects, birds and any number of creatures looking for shelter and a place to call home. They would also support life in its fullness: quiet moments between lovers resting against its trunk. Tree houses and tire swings where memories of giggles and laughter would forever be preserved in the grains running through its core. In the colder months it would lose its leaves but not its stoic presence. Flaring with color in a grand display, even while dying a small bit on the inside, it would drop its leaves to again provide joy to the little ones rolling in the mounds of its loss, giving its all. It would remain, but now, allow the sun to shine through its branches bringing added warmth and comfort to the home below. It would, of course, flourish again and continue to stand against the the storms that waged war against it, trying to uproot its very foundation. For now, though, it would remain standing guard as long as it was allowed to do so, knowing this was what it was made for. Turning away from the tree as the last light of dusk faded, the father took in what lay before him. He wondered if he should change out the last load of laundry before cleaning up the dishes from dinner or pack the school lunches first. S. Holyoak Hall holyoakhall@gmail.com
Six words exercise : Beautiful flowers. Growing from my wife Suspense : He opened the front door. A foul yet hidden odor of rot and garbage entered his nose before his eyes could see the mess of the living room. Dark. Dark was the only synonnym to be said about this dimly lighted and mold encrusted place. He made one step, then another, and another. At every step, the smell violated his poor pure virgin nose. And then, after crossing the messied and saccaged kitchen, where the food smelt exactly as if it was already digested, there laid the staircase. He knew it. He knew his friend's room laid up there. Right after the bathroom and his long lost parent's room. And once again, at every step he took, a disturbance occured. This time in the form of cracks. *clung* *clung* *clung* The wooden floor of the stairs threatenen to crack open and swallow him into hell everytime he moved his feets higher. At the end, the smell was unbearable. He rushed to the toilet. To his disgust, his vomit mixed into the shit and piss rotten into the toilet, stains of grease and sadnesse decayed through the white floor tiles of the walls. After crossing the bathroom door. It hit him. For the last time. Holding his hand to his mouth, he traversed this hell, the smell of unclened dishes and food, hell, no. It wasnt this. It couldnt be. It was too intense. Too putrid. Even dead animals' carcasses smell like roses compared to this. When he finally reached the half opened door, which the interstices were lighted up by the friend’s monitor, he layed his hand into the handle, and opened. He laid there, kneeled to the ground, vomiting. His friend was in the same position he had left him. Him and his chair made into one, with the rot and mold. He was dead. Smiling with his blackened theeths. Single word Dialogue : They managed it. Without really knowing what they were getting into, they got into It. It is a place made only out of mold. Purple, Green, Orange and Black all melt and shape together this small room. Rachel was the first to speak : What ?, as they were promised their deepest secret to go live and be born. Then came Tony, : What !!?!, He said with exited, as a pure copy of the nude body of Rachel rise from the ground, in a deformed yet seductive form. Then it was Math's turn, What !, He said. As Rachel's boyfriend, knowing his bestfriend's biggest wish was to have what he owned, it was no surprise he was mad. Then, as they're feet sunk into the ground, absorbed by the mold, for having it grant His wish, pain similar to sinking into lava rumbled their flesh and veins. What ???, Did they all scremt into unison. Then a figure arised from the disgusting wall "paper", It was a women. Nothing particular. Nothing but a once again nude women. "You have sinned an unholy request. Thus as your punishment, You shall sacrifice something dear to you, or either sink into my body to the point of no return." And once again, they all said What, but with determination and grit, as well as fear and anger, to which she responded in a calm and serene tone : "One of your friend." Second Paragraph (second in the time manner, not in the second, after the first) : He held his twisted and cruled knife above her head at this point. It's look which would more fit a replica of a DnD assasin's weapon. Time stopped for him. And hers would too. It had be months since he stalked her. Her whereabouts. Friends. Familly and hobby. And it had be weeks since her got closer to her. Learn literature such as Crime and Punishment, Philosophy, he watched countless anime, he himself coulnt even recount how much. And now, it had been seconds since she entered his house, minutes since he offered to go watch a movie, in another room. Another room which meant that they would be moving. Walking to it. And when they were in the middle of the doorframe, and she was in the middle of saying her favorite movie actually was scooby doo, trusting him that he wouldnt laugh. He took the knife from his pocket. Sweat dribbled on his forehead. It was really an uncomfortable feeling. Like being drenched in water while wearing a furr coat. Yet only this time. Only this time had he felt this feeling. This feeling of discomfort. But it wasnt the only one. He looked at her in his wide opened stare. Almost a tear in his eye. How could he corrupt such an innocence ? A pure angel descended from paradise to help those here, in hell. She was genuielly good. In the little time he got to know her, he noticed she had a quirk for helping people. Yet he was going to render her whole body in red. In her own red. And then do things to her body he wouldnt even dare speak. For a microsecond he though about shoving the knife in his chest instead. Or of simply enjoying Hellraiser with her. He thought maybe hed finally taste love. Real one. Maybe she was honest. And was interested. But in those moments of doubt, he though about all the other girls, who made him wither away for months only to ghost him, whom he tried to show his definition of love, but who cruely rejected him. He wasnt stressed or doubting anymore. He could see their backs. Anger got the better of him. And he plunged his knife deep in her body. Multiple times after the initial strike. The Secret : "Howdy there, Humperman!" Said the man in the brown trenchcoat. Said it to the trembling man pale and his face ridden with tears. Said it in the mourn and bland room with for only window one that only the inspectors could see. "Alright, Lets make both of our job easier, why you've done it ? Thirst for blood ? Tired of this crazy bitch ? Was it simply because you couldnt feel anything else ?" "I-I-I-I di-Didnt !" "Paul... We've been neighbours for five years now... I want to help you !" Said the brown man laying his hand to the man in a gesture reminiscning of giving a gift. "Let's just make my job easier, and your sentence shorter ! Friend's deal !". The grey man started breathing heavily, even to the point of not doing it at cycles. "It w-wa-wa- It was my wife ! My cherished one ! How could i Have done it !!!!" Said the grey man, with an impressive anger and grit. "Look... Paul, your dna, your fingerprints, the bloody steak knife you used and nothing else on the crime scene could have said it wasnt you, so if you have a better idea of who it is, and please if you do, tell me ! Once again, im here to help you !" "B-b-but..." "C'mon Paul, I've heard, and even Nicole heard the sreamings you were frequently throwing at each others ! Little Lucy even told me about how you would both hit eachothers !" "Oh God !!! Oh God, not Lucy !! Not Lucy everything but Lucy, I beg you,,,, Has Lucy heard of it, why did it happen !!! Why God, why !!!" "Now tell me Paul, would you rather let Lucy know you killed her mother, or would you rather let her know that you killed her mother yet where so deep into your drugs and twisted psycology that you denied ever doing wrong by killing that stupid brainless whore ?" "W-what ?" "Yes, after all she did always tell me about how you were always rambling about how womens are satan's work to ruin man, while you sniffed your "weird flour". Tell me Paul. Oh and nobody's hearing us." Said the brown man pointing at the one sided window. "Deputies trust me enough not to have any supervision... We truly live in a flawed world... But yes. I've been sherif here in this little county for decades Paul. And bizarrely a new commer suddenly kills his wife, his pretty... pretty and perfect wife.... Yes, once again a victim of drugs and sex deprivation. And worst part of it all, is that the trusted sherif actually putted his heart out to protect that little girl from trauma... Trying always to get her out of this hellhole of a familly.... Him and his... perfect familly..." The brown man said with disgust on his face, looking once and finally out of the eyes of the grey man, at the ground. Before having a slight laugh and continuing "Im trusted and crooked enough to make out of you the new Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul ! Like seriously ! Who has their ways with their dead wife's body while their little girl is watching !" The brown man took out of his pocket a cigarette and putted it to his mouth and took out a retro lighter and lighten it. Took a good puff before continuing and looked at the broken man, still in total disbelief. "Look Paul, you either get life in prison serving as the butt slave of a big buff man named Dequille, serve 15 as a butt slave to a big buff man named Sheron, or shove the pen i layed accidently on the table, deep into your throat, realizing youll never be happy anymore, while the sherif go gets some coffee. Anyways. Here's the confession paper. If it aint signed when i come back, well you can already imagine what's gonna happen." The brown man took one last puff of his cigarette and crushed all of the ashes at it's mouth in the astray. "Oh ! Bloody me, Almost forgot the pen, here you go ! Gonna go get some coffee now !" As the brown man tossed the pencil towards the grey man, he left the room with two empty cups in his hands. As he walked through the door, ignoring the choice of the grey man, he pulled out the bloody steak knife and took one good and long lick at it, swiping clean all of the guts and blood out of it.
The Secret : "Howdy there, Humperman!" Said the man in the brown trenchcoat. Said it to the trembling man pale and his face ridden with tears. Said it in the mourn and bland room with for only window one that only the inspectors could see. "Alright, Lets make both of our job easier, why you've done it ? Thirst for blood ? Tired of this crazy bitch ? Was it simply because you couldnt feel anything else ?" "I-I-I-I di-Didnt !" "Paul... We've been neighbours for five years now... I want to help you !" Said the brown man laying his hand to the man in a gesture reminiscning of giving a gift. "Let's just make my job easier, and your sentence shorter ! Friend's deal !". The grey man started breathing heavily, even to the point of not doing it at cycles. "It w-wa-wa- It was my wife ! My cherished one ! How could i Have done it !!!!" Said the grey man, with an impressive anger and grit. "Look... Paul, your dna, your fingerprints, the bloody steak knife you used and nothing else on the crime scene could have said it wasnt you, so if you have a better idea of who it is, and please if you do, tell me ! Once again, im here to help you !" "B-b-but..." "C'mon Paul, I've heard, and even Nicole heard the sreamings you were frequently throwing at each others ! Little Lucy even told me about how you would both hit eachothers !" "Oh God !!! Oh God, not Lucy !! Not Lucy everything but Lucy, I beg you,,,, Has Lucy heard of it, why did it happen !!! Why God, why !!!" "Now tell me Paul, would you rather let Lucy know you killed her mother, or would you rather let her know that you killed her mother yet where so deep into your drugs and twisted psycology that you denied ever doing wrong by killing that stupid brainless whore ?" "W-what ?" "Yes, after all she did always tell me about how you were always rambling about how womens are satan's work to ruin man, while you sniffed your "weird flour". Tell me Paul. Oh and nobody's hearing us." Said the brown man pointing at the one sided window. "Deputies trust me enough not to have any supervision... We truly live in a flawed world... But yes. I've been sherif here in this little county for decades Paul. And bizarrely a new commer suddenly kills his wife, his pretty... pretty and perfect wife.... Yes, once again a victim of drugs and sex deprivation. And worst part of it all, is that the trusted sherif actually putted his heart out to protect that little girl from trauma... Trying always to get her out of this hellhole of a familly.... Him and his... perfect familly..." The brown man said with disgust on his face, looking once and finally out of the eyes of the grey man, at the ground. Before having a slight laugh and continuing "Im trusted and crooked enough to make out of you the new Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul ! Like seriously ! Who has their ways with their dead wife's body while their little girl is watching !" The brown man took out of his pocket a cigarette and putted it to his mouth and took out a retro lighter and lighten it. Took a good puff before continuing and looked at the broken man, still in total disbelief. "Look Paul, you either get life in prison serving as the butt slave of a big buff man named Dequille, serve 15 as a butt slave to a big buff man named Sheron, or shove the pen i layed accidently on the table, deep into your throat, realizing youll never be happy anymore, while the sherif go gets some coffee. Anyways. Here's the confession paper. If it aint signed when i come back, well you can already imagine what's gonna happen." The brown man took one last puff of his cigarette and crushed all of the ashes at it's mouth in the astray. "Oh ! Bloody me, Almost forgot the pen, here you go ! Gonna go get some coffee now !" As the brown man tossed the pencil towards the grey man, he left the room with two empty cups in his hands. As he walked through the door, ignoring the choice of the grey man, he pulled out the bloody steak knife and took one good and long lick at it, swiping clean all of the guts and blood out of it. Six words exercise : Wanted to rest. Took 23 sleeping pills (sorry... yeah this one aint my best, so much so that it aint even 6 words)
The Secret : "Howdy there, Humperman!" Said the man in the brown trenchcoat. Said it to the trembling man pale and his face ridden with tears. Said it in the mourn and bland room with for only window one that only the inspectors could see. "Alright, Lets make both of our job easier, why you've done it ? Thirst for blood ? Tired of this crazy bitch ? Was it simply because you couldnt feel anything else ?" "I-I-I-I di-Didnt !" "Paul... We've been neighbours for five years now... I want to help you !" Said the brown man laying his hand to the man in a gesture reminiscning of giving a gift. "Let's just make my job easier, and your sentence shorter ! Friend's deal !". The grey man started breathing heavily, even to the point of not doing it at cycles. "It w-wa-wa- It was my wife ! My cherished one ! How could i Have done it !!!!" Said the grey man, with an impressive anger and grit. "Look... Paul, your dna, your fingerprints, the bloody steak knife you used and nothing else on the crime scene could have said it wasnt you, so if you have a better idea of who it is, and please if you do, tell me ! Once again, im here to help you !" "B-b-but..." "C'mon Paul, I've heard, and even Nicole heard the sreamings you were frequently throwing at each others ! Little Lucy even told me about how you would both hit eachothers !" "Oh God !!! Oh God, not Lucy !! Not Lucy everything but Lucy, I beg you,,,, Has Lucy heard of it, why did it happen !!! Why God, why !!!" "Now tell me Paul, would you rather let Lucy know you killed her mother, or would you rather let her know that you killed her mother yet where so deep into your drugs and twisted psycology that you denied ever doing wrong by killing that stupid brainless whore ?" "W-what ?" "Yes, after all she did always tell me about how you were always rambling about how womens are satan's work to ruin man, while you sniffed your "weird flour". Tell me Paul. Oh and nobody's hearing us." Said the brown man pointing at the one sided window. "Deputies trust me enough not to have any supervision... We truly live in a flawed world... But yes. I've been sherif here in this little county for decades Paul. And bizarrely a new commer suddenly kills his wife, his pretty... pretty and perfect wife.... Yes, once again a victim of drugs and sex deprivation. And worst part of it all, is that the trusted sherif actually putted his heart out to protect that little girl from trauma... Trying always to get her out of this hellhole of a familly.... Him and his... perfect familly..." The brown man said with disgust on his face, looking once and finally out of the eyes of the grey man, at the ground. Before having a slight laugh and continuing "Im trusted and crooked enough to make out of you the new Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul ! Like seriously ! Who has their ways with their dead wife's body while their little girl is watching !" The brown man took out of his pocket a cigarette and putted it to his mouth and took out a retro lighter and lighten it. Took a good puff before continuing and looked at the broken man, still in total disbelief. "Look Paul, you either get life in prison serving as the butt slave of a big buff man named Dequille, serve 15 as a butt slave to a big buff man named Sheron, or shove the pen i layed accidently on the table, deep into your throat, realizing youll never be happy anymore, while the sherif go gets some coffee. Anyways. Here's the confession paper. If it aint signed when i come back, well you can already imagine what's gonna happen." The brown man took one last puff of his cigarette and crushed all of the ashes at it's mouth in the astray. "Oh ! Bloody me, Almost forgot the pen, here you go ! Gonna go get some coffee now !" As the brown man tossed the pencil towards the grey man, he left the room with two empty cups in his hands. As he walked through the door, ignoring the choice of the grey man, he pulled out the bloody steak knife and took one good and long lick at it, swiping clean all of the guts and blood out of it. Six words exercise : Beautiful flowers, growing from my wife.
The Secret : "Howdy there, Humperman!" Said the man in the brown trenchcoat. Said it to the trembling man pale and his face ridden with tears. Said it in the mourn and bland room with for only window one that only the inspectors could see. "Alright, Lets make both of our job easier, why you've done it ? Thirst for blood ? Tired of this crazy bitch ? Was it simply because you couldnt feel anything else ?" "I-I-I-I di-Didnt !" "Paul... We've been neighbours for five years now... I want to help you !" Said the brown man laying his hand to the man in a gesture reminiscning of giving a gift. "Let's just make my job easier, and your sentence shorter ! Friend's deal !". The grey man started breathing heavily, even to the point of not doing it at cycles. "It w-wa-wa- It was my wife ! My cherished one ! How could i Have done it !!!!" Said the grey man, with an impressive anger and grit. "Look... Paul, your dna, your fingerprints, the bloody steak knife you used and nothing else on the crime scene could have said it wasnt you, so if you have a better idea of who it is, and please if you do, tell me ! Once again, im here to help you !" "B-b-but..." "C'mon Paul, I've heard, and even Nicole heard the sreamings you were frequently throwing at each others ! Little Lucy even told me about how you would both hit eachothers !" "Oh God !!! Oh God, not Lucy !! Not Lucy everything but Lucy, I beg you,,,, Has Lucy heard of it, why did it happen !!! Why God, why !!!" "Now tell me Paul, would you rather let Lucy know you killed her mother, or would you rather let her know that you killed her mother yet where so deep into your drugs and twisted psycology that you denied ever doing wrong by killing that stupid brainless whore ?" "W-what ?" "Yes, after all she did always tell me about how you were always rambling about how womens are satan's work to ruin man, while you sniffed your "weird flour". Tell me Paul. Oh and nobody's hearing us." Said the brown man pointing at the one sided window. "Deputies trust me enough not to have any supervision... We truly live in a flawed world... But yes. I've been sherif here in this little county for decades Paul. And bizarrely a new commer suddenly kills his wife, his pretty... pretty and perfect wife.... Yes, once again a victim of drugs and sex deprivation. And worst part of it all, is that the trusted sherif actually putted his heart out to protect that little girl from trauma... Trying always to get her out of this hellhole of a familly.... Him and his... perfect familly..." The brown man said with disgust on his face, looking once and finally out of the eyes of the grey man, at the ground. Before having a slight laugh and continuing "Im trusted and crooked enough to make out of you the new Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul ! Like seriously ! Who has their ways with their dead wife's body while their little girl is watching !" The brown man took out of his pocket a cigarette and putted it to his mouth and took out a retro lighter and lighten it. Took a good puff before continuing and looked at the broken man, still in total disbelief. "Look Paul, you either get life in prison serving as the butt slave of a big buff man named Dequille, serve 15 as a butt slave to a big buff man named Sheron, or shove the pen i layed accidently on the table, deep into your throat, realizing youll never be happy anymore, while the sherif go gets some coffee. Anyways. Here's the confession paper. If it aint signed when i come back, well you can already imagine what's gonna happen." The brown man took one last puff of his cigarette and crushed all of the ashes at it's mouth in the astray. "Oh ! Bloody me, Almost forgot the pen, here you go ! Gonna go get some coffee now !" As the brown man tossed the pencil towards the grey man, he left the room with two empty cups in his hands. As he walked through the door, ignoring the choice of the grey man, he pulled out the bloody steak knife and took one good and long lick at it, swiping clean all of the guts and blood out of it. Six words exercise : Beautiful flowers. Growing from my wife
Tree : Ahhhhh, the jolly and happy tree. It's log so happy to be. Leaves wriggling around like worms trying to feed off dead carcasses. And every one of its branches a fact of how even the one who do nothing will succeed. Living his life in bliss and beauty. Never to stop and think about all the problems. Who cares if someone loves him. Or if he'll get a promotion. He doesnt care. Why should I ? And why should it ? Doesnt matter if he has talent in life, or if he'll ever accomplish something. Ahhhhh, Arent all trees overgrown tumors from the ground ? Their roots encrusted into dirt, whom they never asked if they could be there, sucking every mineral from the ground. Yet he flourish. With bright and purple colors, from the end of his flowers. Even if he withers away and parts of him tumbled to the ground, It doesnt matter ! As they'll go back in the soil and come back as nutrients ! Even at what he fails, he'll still get a discount comeback ! Such an happy go lucky tree.
#7. Suspense: Write the paragraph before your characters find a dead body. #6. Tree: Describe a tree in a way that tells you how the character feels. #5. Single word dialogue: create a scene where the characters use a single word repeatedly in multiple ways to communicate what is happening. #4. Compressed time: entire scene happens in one second of time. #3. Zipper: character recites something while completely unrelated scene happens. (Forrest Gump: Bubba talking about shrimp recipes.) #2. Secrets: tell me your characters' secrets without telling me your character has secrets. #1. 6-Word Challenge: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."
5. The Zipper: “You see? What nobody talks about is what are the basic founding blocks of an opening.” Zach waved around the wooden spoon before setting it down on the kitchen counter and grabbing the knife. “Why do they always jump right onto the different lines!” He started to cut the green onions, so fast that Maggie thought he was going to cut his own fingers off. Upset, the knife stopped for a second as he exclaimed: “I don’t care about the lines now! I just want to know the basic foundation!” He threw the onions into the pot, grabbed some pepper and added it to the soup. “So, what makes London a London? Well. Your d pawn is now on d4, your e pawn is on e3, your c pawn is on c3, and your black bishop is on f4!” He then grabbed the salt, showed it to Maggie, and said: “Does the order in which you move your pieces matter? Not really! The essential elements and position is what defines the London system.” He then grabbed the wooden spoon and started to stir the soup. “Now, if you want to move your knight to f3 first or your white bishop to d3 first is a matter of strategy and following up with the different lines of the game, but the London structure is all about those four pieces. Nothing else. Right?” He lifted the spoon, dropped some soup into his hand, and tasted it. “That is how you make tomato soup! Salt and pepper, or pepper and salt. It doesn’t matter! Right? As Maggie looked at him, he asked: “Checkmate?”
I remember when the cherry tree first caught blight. It was spring, and the disease crept in like a secret about to be whispered-a few spots here, a lesion there. Unseen but multiplying rapidly. By summer, the green canopy was patched with yellow, and there, the fruit was shriveled. We cut away those branches, hoping to stop it. But by next summer, it had spread. More years, more wilting, more cutting. The leaves began to die. They fell first from the top, then downward. Further, further, until it was a bald stranger I saw. Where once had been a healthy, robust tree-full of life shade and birds and blossoms and fruit-now only stands a frail skeleton, barely clinging to the little life that remains. I don’t think it has long.
Exercise 6 The branches creaked under the strain, bending slowly at first, then deeper, then a little more, but then it stopped. The wind rustled through the leaves. And then, it came the unmistakable sound: crack! Exercise 5 The best man burst into the chapel, swinging one door open, then another, and finally he opened the right door. “Ring?” The groom turned from the window, his eyes widening. “Ring?” The best man rummaged through his lower pockets. “Ring...” the groom extended his hand further, his voice tightening. “Ring, ring, ring!” The best man searched frantically through his jacket, his face flush with panic. Finally, he stopped, defeated. “Ring...” The groom touched his forehead, then turned slowly back to the window, his shoulders slumping.
Single word dialogue. Hearing someone enter her room, Mary opens her eyes. “John!” (surprised). She sits up. Her eyes widen as she sees he is holding a knife. “John?” (Confused). “John!” She grasps the bedcovers around her. She hears a crash from out in the hallway, John turns towards the door as another man enters, raises a handgun and shoots John, who falls to the floor. “John!” She nods in confirmation to the second man. “John.” 😊
Here is my attempt at this, but i will put which exercises i used at the end of this [ **March 20th 2019, I finally moved into the new house at last, the neighborhood is beautiful and pretty calm, the neighbors have been very welcoming and kind, the house has been cleaned and fixed, but it still needs some more work, but despite that it still feels warm, even if it gets a bit chilly at night, might be the windows, but i think i will manage. - Alice p. Danes** She put her diary down before getting up and off to bed, it was pretty late after all, and she still had a lot to do in the morning The next morning came far too soon, and alice was awake and about before her alarm even went off, she hated how uneasy she felt whenever she changed anything, her location and new home no exception, sleep has evaded her all night, she sighed as she stretched, no big deal, she WILL get used to the change soon A few hours later, alice stepped out of the house only to be greeted by the morning sunlight, seems to be another bright day "Oh! Good morning Ms.Danes!" alice looked over to the fence where Mrs.Jones was standing with a genial smile, Mrs.Jones was her next door neighbor, an elderly widow with an only son, alex, who lives in the city, she was especially welcoming of Alice when she started moving in "Good morning Mrs.Jones, tending to the flower beds today too?" Alice asked as she walked closer to see the old lady's mud covered hands "Ah, yes, someone has to take care of these beauties after all" she said referring to the bed of golden flowers, alice could identify daisys, but she couldn't recognize the rest, the flower bed was pretty big too, but she could only see three types as far as she can tell "Are you alright dear?" Alice snapped her attention to Mrs.Jones, she didn't even realize that she was staring emptily at the flower bed "I'm fine, just trying to figure out what flowers you are growing exactly, I'm not much into gardening so i don't know much" she said calmly, even if her heart raced as if in a marathon, why? Alice couldn't figure out, for the life of her, why she felt off "Ah! Well that's alright! You could have just asked, well these are daisys, daffodils and marigolds, beautiful, aren't they?" Mrs.Jones said with a smile "robert loved the color of gold, so i planted all the golden variants for him here" Alice noticed the new name, but didn't question it 'it is probably her late husband's name' she thought to herself "Did you know, daffodils symbolize change and rebirth? To start over if you will, and daisys symbolize innocence and playfulness, so simple, yet holding sweet meanings, but my favorite must be the marigold flowers!" Mrs Jones said as she tended to the flowers, taking out the weeds from the soil with a gentle tug "i believe they symbolize courage and hope in northern Europe, but I've also heard they symbolize envy and hate in Greece because of it's relation with the goddess of magic in old mythology, interesting, isn't it?" She looked up at alice at the end Alice couldn't help but feel that something was a little off, but she nodded and smiled at the old lady anyway "it is interesting" "But i personally like it's meaning and use in Latin America, it symbolizes death and destruction, such a beauty, symbolizing such things, it really makes me wonder how humans think sometimes" Mrs.Jones said as she put her tools in the old rusted bucket "but I've also heard that they use these flower to help guid the dead to get back home, it's said that the dead love its smell, that it is special" Alice felt a shiver run up her entire body, a chill suddenly engulfed her, she stayed silent for a moment "i didn't know that..." Was all she said Mrs.Jones chuckled as she got up and looked at Alice "not everyone does, so don't think about it much" she said "anyway, i need to head inside, i still need to clean up and get everything ready" Alice perked up at that "oh! You are expecting visitors?" "You could say so" she said with a weird smile, one that brought that uneasy feeling back to alice "an old friend is coming over" Something about the way she said that, made alice feel uneasy, she had a feeling that she wouldn't like meeting with her neighbor's old friend That night, alice couldn't ignore the unusual and unmistakable tingles of anxiousness, and the chill that ran up her body, the peculiar conversation about the flowers from the morning never left her thoughts, sleep never came that night For a whole week, she didn't see Mrs.Jones at all She understood everything when alex returned. ] The exercises that i attempted with this one are 7- the suspense exercise 3- the zipper exercise 2- the secrets 1- the hemingway 6-wird story exercise I really hope i didn't butcher this up too badly
A sea of clover rested beneath the delicate limbs of a cherry tree. Moist earth mingled with the muted scent of mown grass as leaves whispered among themselves. In the distance, a whippoorwill called. But no one answered...there was nothing left to say. Then a tremor, a shiver, as the stars dimmed and petals fell like snow upon the upturned face and empty hands of a wanderer, drifting no more.
Exercise 4: The eagle descended as a wisp of white steam, aiming to take Ayiina’s eyes. It was a davkhar much bigger than the single-headed tzagoi. The wings of this ancient thing covered most of the sun and brought a gust of cold wind. Ayiina’s gaze was fixed on both of its heads. She had never seen one so close before. The beaks were sharper and stronger than she had imagined-deadly weapons, indeed. But the Chondu-raa warrior had her own secret weapon. From her sleeves, she pointed at the beast, and her Moon arrows drilled directly into its flying heart. It snowed with feathers for a while, until the earth was covered by the remains of this national creature.
the apple tree stood alone the soul survivor of the orchard it's friends lead broken in the overgrown grass. golden apples dragging the branches down it's leaves waving wildly in the chilly wined. "did you think we forgot you?" Dominic called running to give the tree a hug. Abby smiled and went to join her little boy they had lost nearly everything but their family the bull calf a few chickens and one lone apple tree but it was so good to be home
Exercise 4: The cat Chloe has been asked to care for this week jumped up onto the coffee table. Chloe, of course, thought nothing of this. She may not have had cats of her own, but she knew what cats were like. Everyone did. But upon hearing the scraping on the table, she looked up and realized that her newest commission was gently but mercilessly being nudged towards the end of the table. “Shit! Oreo, NO!” It was too late. The silky paw gave the final push to the glazed ceramic bowl. It tilted, looking almost unsure of the drop. *Please don't,* Chloe begged helplessly even as her arms raised. But alas, the glowing white and burnished orange hesitated no longer, committing itself to its tragic descent. It tumbled like poor Icarus, punishing Chloe for her arrogance of thinking she could handle watching a cat without any mishaps in a house full of breakable items. In its taunting shine, she could see her tarnished reputation. In its accusing reflection, her irrational anger towards her friend for putting her in this position. In its shadow, she saw her own despair over this failure. Chloe still tried to catch it, still tried to believe that she could avert this disaster. It was only just out of reach, surely! But the indelicate smash of pottery against tile broke her of this illusion. *Note: This is pretty melodramatic and ridiculous, but again, I think it achieves the objective the exercise ultimately. Although I will say this was hard for me. I don't think I managed to make it flow naturally because I usually write in clock time. So definitely room for improvement.
EXERCISE 6 "This Ol Tree Right Here" by Frank M Van Meter Aug 6, 2024 "Aint it somethin how those big ol leaves look like they's wavin goodbye to the wind the way Gramma waves bye to us when we pull away from her place? Only her hands aint so big and green as that. Though Papa says she got a green thumb but I never seen it. Her thumbs always look normal color to me. But they as lumpy and rough as the bark on this big ol sycamore right here. Papa says her hands is like that cause she's had em in the dirt all her life. He oughtta know. His hands is like that too. No wonder they's hands is so rough. Look at these roots right here. In the dirt all they life and they's just as rough as... well... tree bark. This ol tree is about as tall as Papa. Naw, it's way taller but he looks that tall when he's smilin. His eyes kinda glimmer like the way the sun comes through the leaves when the wind blows. This ol tree likes the wind. She always dances in the wind, even in winter when all the leaves are raked up and ice is hangin from her branches. When that north wind howls through here this ol tree dances up a storm. She don't care nothin about the cold when the wind blows. Her top branches sway and swing and reach for the glory of God Almighty. When the wind aint blowin though, she sort of droops. That's why I think she likes the wind. But today it's hot and this is just the place to be. Right here in the shade. Aint it fine? Aint no better shade nowhere on God's green earth. It's kind and gentle of this ol tree to make such glorious shade in the summer. Sometimes I climb up high between the branches to catch a breeze and look out over the fields. But it's best down here. Mama says trees are gifts from God to give us wood for winter warmth, beautiful springtime blossoms, summer shade and fruit in the fall. And Papa says this big ol tree right here is a gift from God to me. When he put up that swing Mama told me the ol tree don't mind a bit about the ropes or the nails. Cause this ol tree knows it's here for me. You see them scars? Yeah, these deep gouges right here. That's where Coy hit it with the tractor. He come around the barn at the end of the day and I was sittin over there playin with my tonka trucks and he smashed into the tree rather than run over me. He jumped off that broken ol tractor and scooped me up and hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe. That's why him and Papa built that there fence before they patched up the tractor. No old tractor gonna smash my tree again. It's good this ol tree survived. Her trunk is so big around now, bigger than Coy's belly. But not much."
A huge thanks to everyone who tried one of these writing exercises! As promised, it's been a month and now I am awarding a free year of access to Bookfox Academy to a randomly selected person who participated.
Very happy to announce that @youareawesome5236 has won a free subscription!
If you didn't win, I'm terribly sorry, but at least you got to try one of these exercises and improve your writing skills! Here the link to check out courses: thejohnfox.com/writing-courses/
@@Bookfox so how do i actually redeem the prize?? I want to do it
@@youareawesome5236 Hi, as I said to your comment below, please email me using the email in my channel description. I'll set you up with the free access.
Or just leave your email here and I'll set you up.
@@youareawesome5236 Hey, just wanted to reach out again. Please email when you get a chance.
Six words exercise :
Beautiful flowers, growing from my wife
I audibly went "oooh🥲"
Please I want to read this story!
Are the flowers growing on her grave?
Damnnn 😢 fantastic btw
Bloody hell. 😳 Punch in the solar plexus.
These seem like so much fun! Wrote them down in my daily journal to try them out later.
Six word attempt: "He didn't put the safety on."
Burnt. Broken. The Tree still stood.
Congrats, I entered the comments in a random number generator and you've won a year's subscription to Bookfox Academy! Reach out using the email in my profile and I'll get you set up with access.
He lied , then smiled ; I shivered.
Six word exercise;
Newly wedded, to the wrong sister.
That’s the story of Jacob from the Bible. He wanted to marry Rachel, but was tricked by his father-in-law into marrying her older sister Leah first.
They're gone. Why can't I cry?
crying is something that is often shamed especially if it's a boy or man crying if society beats that into you if make crying hard to do grieving is hard work you could write letters to the ones you lost or to God get your feeling out don't hold them in if you are afraid someone will find them and read them you could burn them but just write out your hurt
My body is gone. I'm not.
Love “describing the tree.” I feel like it’s so tough to give characters their own internal voice.
I have said this on a number of occasions, but you sir are the consummate teacher. Teachers in classrooms throughout the world would do well to view your videos. Well done.
Thank you so much! I really appreciate it.
Thanks for your videos! Also, I love these exercises. Here are 7, 6, and 1. I have to rewrite 5 (my current draft is in a place they know), and the others are taking more time.
7 - Suspense
Write the paragraph before they discover the dead body.
~~
Merrion stood with the detective at the school's teeter-totter. Her doubts about the supposed witness nagged at her, but her annoyance at the detective grew. Managing his frustration had only made it harder to interpret the young girl's low-verbal communication. She shuddered as her quiet keening replayed in her mind. Whatever that girl thought she saw had been bad. Merrion frowned. Except, she hadn't actually seen it. She'd felt it. Her parents tried to explain her synesthesia, but seeing from touch sounded far-fetched. Still, Merrion avoided getting too close to the playground equipment. The detective ran his hand through his hair and walked toward the woods behind the school. She followed him through the open gate. She paused to touch the cold frame. Did it still screech as loudly now as it had when she'd been young and impressionable? She turned to catch up to the detective, only to freeze as the detective swore. She forced herself forward as he retched.
~~
6 - Description
Describe a tree, showing emotion without naming it
~~
The tree had been planted on her very first day of school. The bark had slowly grown rough, intricate paths leading to the branches stretching outward and upward. The brilliant sunlight filtered through fluttering shades of green. The tiniest beginnings of fruit poked out from under the leaves.
~~
1 - Six word story
Full story in six words.
~~
Embracing life by severing her womb.
~~
Thanks again for these!
Nice work, I'd recommend you practicing "show don't tell"
6-worder - A dark sky made of earth.
Six word exercise:
Number of days without alcohol. Zero.
Hemingway's rolling in his grave in terror after this one.
Plot or subplot of every short story Bukowski wrote
"Liberté! Égalité! Fraternité!" severed heads proclaimed...
Please write the long version..
The 6 word story makes a pretty good secret.
"We were supposed to be forever."
Empty chair. Cold soup. Spinning hubcap.
I like this one!
@@crownprincesslaya2 Thank you.
WOAH THATS ACTUALLY GOOD
@@axelpearl3318 🤭
All of these writing exercises seem like fun! Is there something wrong with me?
same lol
Nothing wrong, quite the opposite! You have a good attitude
The six-word sentence exercise is a bit like the Japanese Haiku form of poetry.
yeah! when I was working on mine, I went to poetry-brain lol
Exercise 1:
Just sleep. Mornings are less disappointing.
My attempt is 1#, the scene before the corpse.
(P.S. Not an English speaker)
When Shiril returned home, he had a good feeling. Do you know those kind of days, when you’re sure everything is going to be fine?
Shiril had one. That is the reason he didn’t notice.
He didn’t notice the silence. Usually, when he went home at four, he could hear the kids fighting, and he could hear Jessica shouting at the kids to stop fighting and clean their room. Today, there was a complete silence. But Shiril didn’t notice. After all, it was a good day.
He didn’t notice the phone. Usually, at four, Jessica would call him, and ask him when he’s returning. Today, he’s phone was silent. But Shiril didn’t notice. After all, it was a good day.
He didn’t notice the front yard. Usually, at four, his kids would be playing outside, and the garden gnomes would all be standing strait. Today, the garden was empty, and the gnomes were scattered all over the place. But Shiril didn’t notice. after all, it was a good day.
When Shiril opened the door, he finally noticed. The living room was empty. The living room was never empty. Maybe it wasn’t a good day.
Exercise 3 - single word of dialogue. That was fun :)
Once upon a time, an evil witch cursed the twins Marry and Barry to say only one word for the rest of their lives. Luckily, the townsfolk knew of a good witch who could undo the spell and told the brother Barry how to find her. He went home and drew a map for his sister Marry.
Marry pinched the edge of the handkerchief, avoiding the charcoal scribbles all over it.
"Right..."
The spiky triangles must've been the Darkgarden Woods, the magical forest supposedly full of strange beasts just outside of town. That made the wavy squiggles running through the Rootwater River, and the little box on its bed the good witch’s hut.
…The greater mystery was how on earth her brother communicated their situation with just a word and gestures, but now wasn’t the time to ponder that.
Barry handed her a silver-copper alloy key. Its end was black with tarnish.
Marry sighed and stood. "Right."
She put on her coat, her brother followed suit--filling his pockets with jerky before they left--and they locked the door behind them.
Barry led the way, being the one who heard the instructions himself. Marry followed behind, comparing her brother's sketchy map to their actual surroundings. At the first crossroads--a dirt path outside town--Barry hesitated, looking back and forth.
"Right." Marry said.
They took the rightward path.
At the second crossroads, a split in the river, Barry looked down the two paths again, then tilted his head left.
"Right?"
"Right."
Marry chuckled as they walked the leftward path.
But on their way to the third crossroads, a giant grey cat leapt out of the woods and pounced onto Barry. He tried to wriggle out of its grip, but the big cat was much stronger and heavier than he was and he couldn't move.
Luckily, all cats act the same regardless of size, so when Marry balled up the handkerchief map and threw it into the woods, the big cat chased after it. The twins ran away before the cat could find them again.
They caught their breath at the third crossroads.
Barry groaned and sprawled out on the ground. Marry laughed.
"Right?"
That just made Barry groan again and Marry laugh even harder. Eventually, she helped him up and they continued their journey.
They finally made it to the little hut in the Darkgarden Woods, the home of the good witch--if the townsfolk were correct--but the front door was locked and there was no other way in.
Marry knocked, and Barry peeked in through the window. He didn't see anyone inside, only a little calico cat yawning in the sun.
"Right!" Marry rummaged through her pockets and fished out the alloy key. She unlocked the door, the twins stepped inside, and the little calico cat stretched and meowed.
She, of course, was the good witch, and more than happy to undo their curse in exchange for scratches and snacks.
---
…The epilogue, or maybe the punchline of the story.
On their way home, it occurred to Marry,
"Oh right."
Barry cringed. Marry made a mental note to never say that word again for the rest of her life.
"How did you explain our situation to the townsfolk?"
Her brother lifted a handkerchief covered with charcoal writing. "I wrote it down."
"What a half-assed curse!"
Exercise 1 - paragraph before dead body.
Technically didn't follow the prompt lmao, but the last line gives it closure.
"Don't mind the smell," Mom says, sitting me down at the kitchen table. "We just deep cleaned the house. I have to take this call, but I'll be back soon, 'kay?"
“Is it Dad?”
“Maybe!”
She smiles and shuts her office door.
I kick my legs and sniff the air and crinkle my nose. It does smell weird. Everything smells like bleach, but if I smell really hard, I can smell the tasty soup too.
She left a pot cooking on the stove. She always says you can’t leave a pot alone.
I push a stool to the stove and scoop out the foamy grey stuff like Mom always does. Then I stir the soup, giggling as the oils sparkle and shine under the yellow stove light. There’s two pieces of meat bumping around in the soup. They’re long, with a thick bone in the middle, and there’s more meat on one side than the other. There’s a bunch of chives too, but no ginger.
I frown. Mom knows I love ginger.
I stand on my toes. The little white bowl on the counter has some garlic, but no ginger.
I open the fridge. The top two shelves are full of meat. There’s even a metal tray under them full of red juice. But I can’t find any ginger.
Then I open the freezer.
"...!"
It's full of weird meat too. Toes, fingers, and-
My dad’s head, staring back at me.
Exercise 2 - show narrator's emotions through tree description
I run through the dense-knit forest and trip upon a malicious root. All at once, the pale birches surround me. They prod and probe with their puffed up catkins and trade conspiratorial whispers beneath the wind.
Their bodies are sturdy towers, covered in black lenticels that stare like a hundred unblinking eyes. Overhead, the branchwork net is thick with twitching leaves, and with every second it draws tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and-
Exercise 4 - one second action paragraph
I exhale, jerking open my laptop on account of our fresh spat.
One careless gesture-
And the dustless glass trinket pitches off the table.
I scramble to catch it, that abstract art thing--a colored glass curve that twists in on itself, smaller than my index, with an uneven bottom so it never stood straight, so light that it couldn’t even qualify as a paperweight.
Truly a useless bauble with no purpose whatsoever. My desk barely has enough space for all the necessary tools as is, yet I saw fit to make space for this.
…Because it was the first thing she made.
And she made it for me.
And even though it did nothing but add clutter to my desk, I kept it there for the five years since she gifted it to me.
I reach for it, but fall short.
The trinket tumbles and for a moment, sunlight flows through the glass and projects the most brilliant pattern of colors onto the plain hardwood--a harmonious shift between green and blue that mixes into teal, my favorite color--before it strikes the floor.
I entertain, just briefly, that it can be fixed. With a good clear glue maybe, if we’re really lucky. But cracks consume the piece whole and it shatters into countless tiny jagged shards beneath my desk.
I’m not a superstitious man--never have been, never will be--but as the shards clink their way down the vents, I know our relationship will meet the same fate.
Exercise 5 - info dump/action juxtaposition
“Do you know about jo-ha-kyu?”
I look up from my taxes with a scowl. “What?”
“Jo-ha-kyu.” My younger brother uncaps a pen and I yank the papers away before he can doodle in the margins. “It’s a Japanese concept of pacing that means to start slow, speed up, and end quickly. Wikipedia translates it as ‘beginning, break, rapid’, but I’ve always found that unwieldy. Can’t you think of a nicer phrase, as a writer?”
“Uh, sure. I don’t know Japanese though.”
“Oh right. Loser.”
“You’re the loser for reading Wikipedia all day!”
“Wage cage slave or pampered parasite, who’s the real loser?”
“You!! Get a job!!!”
“Heh.”
He flicks the pen cap onto the floor.
What is he, a cockatiel?
I ignore him, copying values from my W2 to my state tax forms with another pen. I filed the federal taxes for free online, but the site charges for state taxes, and city taxes are too specialized to be available. Since I had to print and mail city taxes anyway, I said ‘fuck it’ and printed out the state tax forms too.
“Jo-ha-kyu might seem identical to the western three-act structure, but the placement of the story’s climax tends to differ between them. In Noh plays--a medium heavily influenced by jo-ha-kyu principles--the plot’s climax is typically the identity reveal of a mysterious figure, but that event falls into the tension-building ha phase instead of the climatic kyu phase.”
“Huh.”
I wrap up my state tax forms and move onto the city ones, filling out my name, address, and social security number.
“Because in Noh plays, the reveal of the mysterious character is an expected event, not a twist. The emotional climax is the expression of catharsis that follows the reveal, and that’s what occupies the kyu phase.”
I pause my tax returns-ing.
“So there’s a cultural difference in what parts of the story are emphasized?”
“Right!”
I resume copying numbers. “You know, I always felt like Japanese anime and light novels had a different feel to their pacing than equivalent American media, so that makes sense now. But I read Araki’s ‘Manga: In Theory and Practice’, and he mentioned the ki-sho-ten-ketsu plot structure, how does that mesh with jo-ha-kyu?”
He shrugs. “I haven’t read the Wikipedia page on that yet.”
I snort.
“But jo-ha-kyu isn't exclusive to plot. Like I said, it’s a philosophy of motion and pacing. The author of its founding text, the Noh playwright Zeami Motokiyo, observed that even the calls of birds and insects follow the pattern of jo-ha-kyu. In Noh theatre, each gesture of the actors will follow that rhythm, and even the order of plays performed throughout the day. It’s a lot more versatile than the three-act structure, you know?”
“Yeah yeah, I get it.”
I fill out the last box on the city forms and exhale. Then, I go back and read over both tax returns. It’d be a huge pain if I messed up and had to fill them out again.
“...”
I squint.
The state tax returns look right, but on the city taxes…
Instead of my name, Jonathan,
The text I wrote in the name field was-
Jo-ha-kyu.
I fold the messed up tax form into a paper fan and smack my brother.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Deterrence.” I print out a second copy and begin filling it out again.
“...”
At this, my brother snickers, sits on the table with his legs crossed, and grins.
“Hey Jon, do you know about Manzai comedy?”
Exercise 6 - dialogue between two characters with secrets
I’m Pharaoh the talking sphynx cat, but how and why that happened doesn’t matter today.
One summer afternoon, due to some unfortunate circumstances, I had to nap in the kitchen instead of the bathroom. Don’t get me wrong, the cool tile felt nice against my skin, but the cozy curve of the sink is sooooo much better. Something about contained spaces is just so satisfying…
Keys jingle outside.
“/ᐠ.ᆺ.ᐟ\ !”
Ears and tail up, I walk to the front door as my dad steps in.
“Heya Pharaoh, I’m home.”
Water splashes on the ground and I leap back, haunches raised.
“You’re wet!”
He laughs. “Yeah, it rained.”
“How terrible. I’m sorry for you.”
He chuckles and kicks off his shoes, strips off his clothes, and towels off in the laundry room. I follow him, avoiding the trail of water, and hop onto the laundry machine.
“Since you got rained on, you don’t need to shower right?”
“The water outside’s dirty, so I need to wash off.”
“Oh…” I pace around. “Do you really need to shower?”
“Yup.” He dumps wet clothes into the washer. “Humans have sweat and oil glands and go outside most days, we get gross if we don’t wash ourselves regularly.”
“Groom yourself. I can teach you.”
“Humans don’t have the right tongue or enzymes.” He measures out detergent and dumps it in. “You’re more like me than most cats actually. Hairless cats need to be washed regularly or your skin will accumulate oil and grime.”
I crinkle my nose. “I hate baths…”
“Yeah yeah.” He smiles and pets my head. “Every other week I need a new trick. You know, it’s about time and I’m already soaked anyway. What do you say Pharoah? Bath time?”
“Never /ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ”
He chuckles again. I grab his fingers and nip them. For a few minutes, he wiggles his fingers while I chase and bat at them.
Then he asks, “Want a Churu?”
“Churu? Of course I want a Churu! ♡”
He grins and scoops me up. His hands and arms and chest are cold but I still purr. He picks up a Churu tube from the kitchen and cuts it open.
I can smell it. It’s a chicken flavored one, mmmm… Churu…
He stops outside the bathroom’s closed door.
“Huh, why’d you knock the shoebox out?”
…Uh oh.
I wrap my tail around his wrist. “Don’t go inside.”
“Why?”
“ᓚᘏᗢ…”
Wait a minute.
I look up at him. “Why are we going in the bathroom?”
“...You still want a Churu right?”
After seeing all writing exercises, you are right. they are outrageous
my attempt at the tree exercise:
The orange decayed leaves fell lazily to the ground. On the lowest branch were tied two worn ropes. At the bottom the two ropes were linked by an old plank of wood to form a swing. Slightly above the lowest branch inside the trunk is a tree hollow. In the tree hollow laid a wise looking owl.
No. 6, Describing a Tree in a way that reveals a character's emotions:
(loopy tired & doing this one too for fun lol)
Character 1: Rooted, standing tall and straight, with vivid leaves turning out crisp air day in and day out. That branch on the side would be a good place tie the rope swing to, in a year or so. Today, the tree still provided enough shade.
Character 2: Light broke through the leaves she didn't know the names of. Bright, like fire through fractured emeralds. She squinted. Kicking the rough bark did nothing. The tree didn't start screaming. It wasn't a magic tree.
Thank you for the inspiration.
Your videos make me wanna write.
(there's a six word story for you.)
Thank you, it was great fun.
#7 (Dead Body Paragraph)
The house at the end of 6th Avenue -with its pale yellow siding and overgrown lawn peppered by plastic flamingos- had one elderly occupant -a Mrs. Steinbeck- and a trash can that reeked of rotting turkey. The adults that passed by her house on their yappy-dog walks and bare-bellied jogs blamed the odor on the recent power outage, as they all had frozens to discard after being without their fridges for a few days. But Charlotte, who saw Mrs. Steinbeck take out her garbage during her daily Fisher Price wagon commute, didn't think the thing in the old woman's trash looked like a turkey at all.
(Love your content. Thanks for the challenge!)
@@fierybookworm The ending was great :)
@@K.LynnGreyAwww thank you sm!
Six Word exercise:
She anticipated the drafted’s return forever.
imma attempt the rest ig for fun(not now)
Probably going to try each of these
This video is perfect timing! I literally have been working on #2 (The Secret) for my novel. I started last night and am cleaning it up today before adding it to my beta-reader. (She is reading a chapter at a time and giving me great feedback.) I am going to have to rewatch this, and like with so many of your videos, take notes to add to my files. Thank you so much!!
Hi all, I would like to try all the exercises. I would appreciate your input. I noticed people are not posting them in one single post, so, here they are separately:
1. The Suspense Exercise:
She walked in her mother’s home, flowers and a birthday card in hand.
The air took away her smile the moment she walked through the door. Why?
The cars outside did not break the silence inside, not even for a second.
As she walked through the door, that summer day turned into a cold winter night.
Yes, it was warm out, but her soul froze with the coldness of the foreseeable unknown.
One step, and the world got heavier. Two steps, and the world got heavier. Three steps…
There was red in the hardwood floor, there was red in her hands, but at that moment, everything around her had turned black and white, unfortunately forever.
For there is no return to the sight of a farewell.
Hi John,
Thank you for this brilliant exercise. I find it both challenging and interesting. Nevertheless, here is my take.
No.6: THE TREE EXERCISE.
Under the mango tree, a pebble-smooth, pregnant fruit sparkled with quiet admiration; its warm yellow skin shimmered in the April sunlight. Its flirtatious grip was just within reach, teasing in delicate spurts and whirls. A touch of weightless joy brushed against the ruffled, whistling grass beneath. The mango's green, throbbing heart pulsed with serene, righteous adoration-it was that glimmer, that silent allure, that melted the decayed atmosphere. Its towering head bowed a thousand times over, a simpleton in sun-filled dreams, swaying with the blushing leaves and gleeful branches. Its eyes watched, its charm forever dancing. Always a guardian, always beholding, always protecting-always watching! Once more, its warm, leafy universe-shades of greenish yellow-washed over the sad wayside garden in a comforting, blanket-like nostalgia, like the mango’s yellow skin. An airy admiration hovered above him, its soothing shadow swirling softly like a ceiling fan over his supine body. Under the mango tree.
Hi John, yet again, another entertaining assignment. Here are my results. I tried writing all 7 of them, but I'm still working on Exercises 4 and 3.
Exercise 7:
"What do we have here? What do we have here?" Lucas said, ripping open the packages with a satisfying tear, the sound of tape and cardboard echoing through the room.
"Hey Tom, did you ask for extra cheese?"
"Yeah dude, I did. And I grabbed that beer you wanted, too."
Tom took a few steps into the living room, the old wood creaking under his feet. His gaze shifted uneasily from one corner of the room to the next.
"Now that’s what I’m talking about. This cheeseburger smells so…"
"Rotten," Tom interrupted, his nose wrinkling.
"What?"
"Dude, have you even been here before?" Tom asked, his fingers brushed the back of an armchair, then froze mid-air, as if unsure whether to touch anything.
"Yep, I told you-like, a few times. No one’s here. Chill."
"What about this?" Tom finally pointed to something that wasn’t furniture.
“Nope, that definitely wasn’t here last time." Lucas grimaced, and his voice dropped. "Ugh, no more cheeseburgers for me, I guess."
Someone's choking; he found my lunch.
In my opinion, to keep the mystery of "someone" it will work better like this: "Someone's choking; my lunch is found." or "they found my lunch"
Suspense excersize:
There was something in the air.
"Do you smell that?" he said.
She took one sniff and then two and turned to him. Her torchlight flashed him sharp and sudden. Her eyes widened slowly. "Yeah..." she said. "It's the smell of your fucking paranoia. Jesus." She rolled her eyes and swung on her heel.
She walked on. He followed her. The hall was sleek and shimmery in the gaps where torchlight broke the dark, and the black and purple smears every now and again seemed out of place against the sterile walls.
They walked on and their torchlight was shaky. He swore he could smell something. He sniffed, and she heard him and turned and said, "If anything you're breathing in all the dust. It smells like a hospital. Okay?"
"Okay," he said.
They passed a door set ajar and a corkboard with papers dangling from their pins like crucified men at the break of their expiration. A second door was sealed closed. From underneath came a faint moonlight that would've been unnoticeable save for the darkness of the hall.
He stopped and the smell was so strong he couldn't bear to go on.
"What is it? Jesus!" she said, groaning with much drama. Her torch dropped and she wandered in protest back to where he was standing. Then it hit her. Her nostrils flared and she took two sniffs and his stomach dropped. "What is that smell?" she said and her voice was very small.
Dude that's awesome
this is nicee
I love compressing time in my story
Phin sits under a large oak. His back pressed into the sturdy trunk, barked with what seems like armor. He looks up towards the sky, letting sunlight create a kaleidoscope pattern across the field beneath the tree. The thin young sprouts dance freely in the wind, while the branches ground themselves into the trunk. The roots grip the earth, allowing the tree to stand tall and provide shade for Phin.
Thank you for the video. I'll try my hand at a couple of these:
Exercise 1 - The 6-word Story:
1) The doorbell rang. No one answered.
2) The husband died. The wife didn't.
3) Withered roses, memories of another time.
Exercise 4 - Compressed Time:
Emilia Giles had to sleep with that gangster. She just had to. There was no time for her to consider her own feelings. She had to save her husband and children. If only he hadn't gotten involved in that underground business... But, alas, the past was gone, and only her future would remain, in which she would forever regret her actions.
Still, she hesitated to enter his bedroom, even as he urged her to come inside. It felt like a betrayal, that feeling plunging deep into her chest. She would sacrifice her faithfulness and her honour because David didn't know where she was or what she was doing. If he saw her there, her life would be over. Nothing could repair the damage she had done.
It was a deal they had made. Her love for all their lives. She was just about to give him everything he had always wanted, but, in that one moment, she thought many thoughts.
How would she do it? Would she be good enough for him? Would she have the strength to remain there for the night and lie with him in his nest of sin? How would she wake up the following day and bake bacon and eggs for David and the children with a smile on her face like nothing was wrong? It would be forever inside her head, even if she didn't get pregnant. Wait! Pregnancy... He surely wasn't going to use a condom. Why would he care? Why would he care for her wants or needs? No one seemed to care, despite their reassurance. She almost broke down crying and went home.
Finally, after a few seconds, she opened the door, reaching the point of no return.
6 word exercise: Sold a soul. It was yours. This exercise is really difficult because so often even if it looks liek a story, there's more like a prompt to what might happen next and not really unfolding things as clearly as the Hemingway example.
The first thing she noticed was that the kettle wasn't on.
By this point in their relationship, he knew her so well that he could time the whistle to the exact moment she walked in the door.
But it wasn't whistling.
Odd, she thought, but nothing more. But then it got worse. As she looked around their flat, things were not as they should be.
He wouldn't have left without texting her, and sure enough, all of his shoes were in the shoe place by the door. Her eyes drifted in the way a horsefly does, along the floor. Things were broken, tipped over. A pot of sugar whipped across the floor in an arc, sofa cushions flayed and gutted, their hat-stand harpooned into the drywall and stuck out at a near-perfect right angle. Everything was a cacophany of visual noise, but there was no actual noise. Except one. It was a tiny, wet slapping sound.
"Joe?" she called out weakly. She didn't realise it, but she was reflexively gripping her handbag strap. "Joe?" She kind of awkwardly strafed across the room from the front door. The sound was coming from the bathroom.
It can't have been that quick, she told herself. He'd only been off his meds for a day, she had picked them up on her way back from work. Surely, there was no way he'd change so quickly. But the rhythmic wet slapping sound seemed to tell her otherwise in plain English. Slowly, she approached the door to the bathroom, wrapping her fingers around the doorknob. As her fingerrs tightened around the doorknob, invisible fingers tightened around her throat. The door creaked open a crack, and a crack rended her mind in two as she saw it. Saw him.
_a cacophany of visual noise,_
Standing ovation for that phrase!! 👏👏👏👏👏
6 word story. I wish I hadn't done that
Same. But technically you killed her.
@@youareawesome5236 good one
congratulations you found a way to get writers talking funny how few comments writing videos get other then good job or something like that but 6 words seems to come easy for some that would be tricky for me i will come up with something to put up as the challenge
Dad's passed away. I'm finally free.
WHAT
i know people that felt that way having a abusive parent is rough
Dad hanged himself. My chair creaks.
Only six words, and I guess those convey your story's meaning.
He's getting smokes, he'll be back.
The zipper exercise:
"Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?" Ralph was holding the glass of wine with two hands, his head leaning down just enough that he could take a sniff of the red liquid. Just a sniff, then he pulled back and sighed.
"Thou art more lovely and more temperate." His gaze met with the one of his reflection's in an infinate staring competition. He bended over the glass, kissed it and tilted it. The wine slid down his throath. He inhaled the aroma of his breath. Hot. Staggered. A slight smile. A fazed gaze. A dazed gaze. A dead gaze.
"Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines..." A candle flame was only lit. Illuminated the livingroom. Illuminated all the dark-glassed bottles laying on the floor and on the table, dried up. Illuminated the bills for them.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Ralph was asleep.
The barkeep put one hand on the small of Rivet’s back and shoved him ungently through the door to the kitchen. He stumbled a bit, only catching himself by one hand on a counter, which landed in something sticky.
“F*ck,” Rivet said to himself. Then he looked up. Watching him over a steaming tray of macaroni and cheese was Kurt, the man who’d broken Rivet’s heart two months ago by leaving him on his birthday. Kurt, the man who’s entire family lived on a desert planet on the rim-this planet, Rivet guessed.
“F*ck,” Kurt said, and pulled a silver cigarette case out of his pocket.
“F*ck.” Rivet agreed. Kurt tried to light a cigarette, but his hands were shaking too badly and he dropped it on the floor.
“F*ck,” Kurt said again, sounding more defeated than anything. He absently turned and gave a hard shake to one of the pans on the stove behind him. Rivet turned around the flee the kitchen, but the door only opened a couple of inches before being blocked by something Rivet couldn’t move. He reckoned maybe someone had set a chair under the knob.
“F*ck,” Rivet said again.
I loved these challenges! Got time for #1:
"Knobby knees!" School days started early...
Overhead, twisted limbs and jagged branches formed a dark canopy, blocking out any trace of light on the shaded ground below. The roots, gnarled and skeletal, jutted like boney fingers, desperate for a breath of air. Even the leaves seemed to have a razor's edge, warning off anyone who dared to approach. The decrepit truck slumped to one side, its musty bark-like skin cracked and weathered, emitting eerie groans with every sway, as it bore the weight of its own decay.
Missed you!!
The sonogram showed no movement. Again.
Geez, bro. :( 🥺😣😖
@@JhadeSagrav Yeah... in between a few fullterm babies, my wife has had four miscarriages, we found out twice from sonograms. Good news though, she's pregnant again and the baby is healthy and well! 🙂 Let me write part two, a redemption story: Life finds a way. Rainbow baby.
Every day on her walk she notices how the lone tree is isolated from the others in the park. It’s tall and slender enough to hug, but its rugged bark will abrade any attempts of that kind of intimacy. Tufts of branches sucker around the base of the trunk, encasing the avoidant tree and creating another impediment to physical touch. It’ll poke you if you try. The sharp needle leaves high overhead are said to be evergreen, but the yellowing reveals its vulnerability to the scorching sun without shade from any neighbors. Involuntarily resilient, its roots reach deep into the earth, clinging to the hope of finding connection, even if only in the unseen realms.
I felt suffocated reading that. The prose doesn't breathe, it's just laid on too thick.
@@rustneversleeps85 I stand by it but thanks for your feedback. At least I tried!
to be fair i agree with rust, the prose feels empty and it just feels like a tryhard description that ends up conveying absolutely nothing. it doesnt necessarily feel like you’re conveying anything with the character and more just personifying the tree. theres just not enough emotion and the words are meandering aimlessly. also, i couldnt really understand what the description was describing or what it was supposed to bring attention to. i hope that makes sense my feelings about this are hard to pinpoint
First kill. The cost? My soul.
Exercise 6:
The young sprout stood straight and proud in the rich soil covering its yet invisible roots. The trunk was oh-so-slender but flexible and strong, branches swaying easily with the savage wind attempting to rip them away. The leaves were a bit battered and torn, but ultimately held tight.
*Note: I think this is pretty rough and unpolished, but serves the general purposes of the exercise.
Exercise 7:
The house was quiet as Sarah pushed her way inside. No running tackle hugs from Josh, no shouted greeting from Mom. Nothing. “Mom? Josh?” she called, shuffling her bag to the ground. The dull thud of books hitting the wood was shockingly loud. “Did they go out somewhere?” But as she slowly made her way past the living room and into the hallway, she could make out the sound of a steady drip coming from the bathroom, disrupting the silence ever so gently.
*Note: This was one of the easier exercises for me, I think. I think it's pretty alright for the most part, except the paragraph is a bit long and awkward because you specifically mentioned doing a paragraph specifically. I'd definitely line break at least one of the spoken sentences and maybe one other place. Or, more likely, I would've established the norm in an earlier part of the story so I wouldn't have to explain what's different now. It would be automatically apparent.
I think I have the "Compressed Time" Excercise sort ta. Because, in my novel I have a scene where the MC has like 10 seconds to defeat the enemy and the whole time he counts it down in his head while delivering blows to the enemy. There is also another suspense kinda action kinda scene where the enemy like throws weapons towards the MC and like MC tries to dogde it by predicting where the weapons are coming from. Does that count? Idk...but its pretty fun to do. Also I will try the tree excercise too in my novel(if I can properly fit it in). Thanks for the advice!
ohhh dang that sounds like a GREAT SCENE.
2. The Tree Exercise:
After 25 years growing together, the humble tree had finally been acknowledged for what it truly was. Its leaves were not one blurred mountain of green anymore, but individual pieces of moving life, each wanting to be cherished. The trunk had texture that could be seen, not only felt by the touch. Simple glasses made it finally fully admired. And so, for the first time, the tree was watered not by the rain, but by a single tear of joy.
Exercise 5:
“Daaamn!” Claire said approvingly upon seeing a pair of heels Melissa wordlessly held up over shelves in the next row.
Melissa eagerly dropped to the floor to try the heels on, but her fingers kept slipping over the delicate buckle before she finally got the patent leather through the small opening. But just as she pulled it tight…the plastic snapped.
“Damn.”
“Damn?” Claire asked as she approached.
*Note: Pretty sure I achieved the objective, but the setup is pretty awkward considering it was thought up without prior planning. Edit: I feel it was also a bit of a cop out to end the exchange on a questioning tone that has less to do with questioning how the character feels in the moment and more to do with asking for clarification. In other words, it's asking for clarification rather than conveying its own meaning. Maybe if I wanted to do this anyway, it might've been better to add a third person to the group. Make it seem more natural. Or maybe had Claire be closer to check out the problematic shoe without immediately seeing the issue. I dunno. The third one was kind of pushing things a bit without exactly copying the example given in the video. (It felt effectively the same anyway though, so this probably also needs work.) And if pressed for a further continuation, I'd probably really struggle.
Maybe I should done a scene where a couple was taking a walk. One nods towards the pond and says "Duck." "Duck?" The other asks, craning their neck to see. Suddenly a remote-contolled plane veers towards them from behind. "Duck!" someone warns. There, that's slightly more original. Though the "duck" play on words is worn to death at this point. So maybe it's not better at all really.
When will the draw be seen and the winners of this challenge announced?!?!?!?!
Fabulous contest idea! Exercise #2: The Secrets. (I hope this isn't too long.)
June and Nyla sit cross-legged on the floor in June’s bedroom, sweaters tossed on the bed and math textbooks open in their laps.
“Waaaay too much homework,” June says. She flips through her math book, riffling the pages back and forth between her fingers.
“I hate math,” Nyla says.
“Me too, but Mr. Dodd makes it ... fun.”
“You think? I still don’t get this whole algebra thing.” Nyla fishes her math binder and pen out of her bookbag. “Even the first question messes me up.”
June leans back against her bed. “I might just not do these assignments and see what happens.”
“You’ll get a zero.”
“Will I?” June dips her chin and looks at Nyla through her lashes. Nyla looks away, brushes imaginary carpet lint from her paper. June laughs, a breathy giggle.
“Anyway. You don’t want to take that chance, June. You want to graduate, don’t you?”
“What? One stupid assignment won’t kill my whole math grade.”
“Still. I just don’t want to see you mess up this close to the finish line, you know?”
“No worries.” June smiles. “I have my math class all sewn up.” She closes her book and shifts to face Nyla. “Isn’t Mr. Dodd sexy though?”
Nyla frowns. “No?”
“Of course he is! All the girls in our class are in love with him.”
“I never noticed.” Nyla starts to copy an equation into her binder but ends up doodling instead. “He’s not my type.”
“Really? He’s totally my type. He’s got these - anyway.” Another breathy giggle. “What is your type then?”
“Not Mr. Dodd.”
“Who then?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Nyla, you’re blushing. Who do you like so much?”
Six word exercise: Blue pen, used up, never used.
Here's my tree exercise :)
Wow! Her leaves are so green today! Yesterday they were light green, and Monday they were light green, and Sunday they were light light green, but today they're green green. Plus, I can see there's gonna be new baby leaves on the branch I can almost reach. This morning, the tree really looks like she's reaching for the sun, so maybe tomorrow the babies will be born.
Exercise 1: (6 word story)
Shakespeare's sudoku: two, three, or not...
@@quenntisashby two, three.
Love it.
@@K.LynnGrey Thanks. :-)
EXERCISE 7
"Broken Promise" or "This Nightmare Isn't A Dream" by Frank M Van Meter Aug 6, 2024
Did something just go bump in the night or in his dream?
Ander heard Dad's voice in the kitchen. Or dining room? He decided to go see what's up.
His lamp wouldn't light up and the wall switch didn't work. He couldn't find his flashlight in the dark. "Where did I leave that?"
The hall light wouldn't light up. He considered going back to bed and covering his head.
A pale blue glow from outside painted watercolor rectangles on the hallway floor.
"Well the street light works. That's better than nothing."
All the lights were broken or the power was out or something.
Dad coughed in the kitchen, so he hurried in. But the kitchen was empty. Then his foot bumped something and he jumped back. It was Dad on the floor. Ander helped him sit up and the streetlight revealed his bloody disoriented face. Fumbling for a towel or something Ander found a damp washcloth by the sink and tried to stop the bleeding. He also tried to stop thinking about how the streetlight made Dad's face look like a dead man.
"What happened? The lights are all out. Did you fall down? I'll go get Mom."
Dad stiffened. Suddenly on high alert, he gripped Ander's arm and held him down.
"Ssshhh...Stay low."
Dad pulled down a big knife from the counter as they sneaked into the dining room.
A shadow oozed across the kitchen floor, climbed the wall then zipped away.
The boy suddenly felt cold. Shivery cold.
Dad wrapped a reassuring arm around him and whispered "Get under the table stay there and be quiet until I get back." A drop of his blood landed on Ander's hand. He tried to scrub it off on his pajamas.
His terrified little face glanced around the dining room. He'd never seen it from this angle in the dark. All shadows and mystery. He clung to Dad's arm.
Dad pushed him away and he slid between the chairs, sat on the floor, pulled his knees to his chest and hugged the table center post.
The little man began to cry. Quietly. As manly as he could manage.
Ever watching. Ever listening. Ever dreading.
A grunt. A painful moan. Bang. Broken glass. Thud.
All the lights came on at once.
Silence.
As his eyes adjusted, he saw the blood smeared on his hand and pajamas and on the white carpet.
"Mom won't like that." His mind turned to her and longed for her voice. Her touch. "Where is she?"
He began to shiver again.
Years passed in silence as Ander hugged the center post, tears forgotten.
"I need to pee."
He looked around, hoping to see Dad's feet step into the room.
He strained his ears praying to hear Dad's voice.
Silence.
"Oh man, when is he coming back? I really need to pee."
Exercise: “Action in a second” (also, thx for your amazing videos!)-
I sucked my wings deep into my shoulder blades petrified they might pop out.
I had tucked my wings similarly the night before when I’d gone swimming in the Rainbow Galaxy after everyone had fallen asleep. I’d jumped into the unicorn pool feeling the gush of bubbles rush through me; dolphin dove through the illuminated glittery pink water cradled by the rainbow mountains. I arched into a back flip circling through gravity until I rested in a ball at the bottom of the pool-suspended in silence; the whole world gone. I held my breath as long as possible then burst through the surface. The galaxy opened to me filling my lungs with fresh air. I floated on my back watching cascades of rainbow comets crisscross the constellations.
Now, I stood a glassy-eyed porcelain doll, my feet smushed into the tiny high heels the office had forced me to wear when they discovered glitter dust on my own. I’d spent hours trying to scrub away all signs of the Rainbow Galaxy, but my efforts were no match for the office’s ultraviolet scanner.
My manager raised an axe over his head. My horrified eyes blurred against its shiny silver as I lost control of my muscles. My yellow wings popped out of my back still braided with Booker’s pale blue yarn.
As my manager whipped the axe downward, ferocious pain ripped through my body. A silent blood-curdling scream sliced through my stomach. Blood splattered across the walls, bright red with former life.
In the security monitor, I watched my wings fall from my back in one piece into my manager’s arms.
“These really will look perfect on my wall.” He held my wings like a baby, their vibrant yellow now gray and lifeless; their pale blue yarn soaked purple with blood.
Exercise seven in sixty seconds: "More shale, gooey ooze, tailings seaborne." It's not really a sentence, more of a haiku. But you could still sell it as the plot for an environmental thriller.
My character would say: Standing alone and yet so content. You spent your life taking care of others, and got no appreciation in return. These falling leaves are your tears aren't they? It's too late now, but I understand. The pain you've been through developed your flowers. Maybe, the only friend you need is you.
These exercises seem way easier to me than the thing each exercise is supposed to be a reaction to.
I realize that’s insane, particularly if you’re deeply interested in genre fiction.
Thanks for the great video! These writing exercises intrigued me. Here’s my crack at a couple of them.
#1: The 6 word story
New wheelchair: my prison with wings.
#6: The tree exercise, AKA Describe the tree
The oak tree’s branches stretched in every direction, save for one broken bough that had grown too lofty in its effort to be beautiful. Becca ran her hand over the tree’s gnarled, gray bark till she encountered a hole in the trunk. The opening sagged at the corners, edges rolled and puckered like chapped lips. In her best impression of a lion tamer, Becca risked her head inside. A rotten stink made her nose wrinkle. Trash was all that filled the tree’s hollow belly. Black mold was already eating away at its thin walls like cancer. Why would someone do this? How many people added to the heap? Did the first offense give permission for all that followed? Leaning in, Becca strained but the garbage remained out of reach. With a cough, she was forced to retreat for better air.
I tried writing without an e and dashed this off in about a minute. "Forty four low hanging fruit said, 'I am not low hanging. I am high worth'." If what you write must make logical sense it could be a lot harder.
5. The zipper exercise:
“You see? What nobody talks about is what are the basic founding blocks of an opening.” Zach waved around the wooden spoon before setting it down on the kitchen counter and grabbing the knife.
“Why do they always jump right onto the different lines!” He started to cut the green onions, so fast that his apprentice thought he was going to cut his own fingers off. Upset, the knife stopped for a second as he exclaimed: “I don’t care about the lines now, I just want to know the basic foundation!”
He threw the onions into the pot, grabbed some pepper and added it to the soup. “So, what makes London a London? Well. Your d pawn is now on d4, your e pawn is on e3, your c pawn is on c3, and your black bishop is on f4!”
He then grabbed the salt, showed it to his apprentice, and said: “Does the order in which you move your pieces matter? Not really! The essential elements and position is what defines the London system.”
He then grabbed the wooden spoon and started to stir the soup. “Now, if you want to move your knight to f3 first or your white bishop to d3 first is a matter of strategy and following up with the different lines of the game, but the London structure is all about those four pieces.”
He lifted the spoon, dropped some soup into his hand, and tasted it. “And so, that is how you make tomato soup! Salt and pepper, or pepper and salt. Checkmate.”
6. The secrets:
Husband (looking down on his coffee avoiding eye contact): So, how was your night?
Wife (looking out the window): I… couldn’t sleep. I just… too much in my mind.
Husband (looking at the mug, not drinking, not setting it down): Sorry I came home late last night. The office was crazy.
Wife (smiling faintly to herself): Yes… it… was…
Husband: I just wanted you to know that I might be late for dinner again.
Wife (putting down her wedding ring on the kitchen counter): I know… I’ll be in bed.
7. Six-word story exercise:
1. I am a lobster. Use sunscreen.
2. They kissed and walked. Separate ways.
3. Far blue marble! No.. more… fuel.
Good
@@gligurr thank you very much!
@@SNOWT5 No problem, also read your exercises 1-4. Also good
@@gligurr I'm happy that you read it and took your time to reply. Thank you for everything :)
Six-words-challenge, a biography:
Resiliently, Tippi Hedren befriended a bird.
😂
5:
Shawn crossed their arms, a frown on their face. "Good", they said.
Clint furrowed his brows. Honestly, he understood where Shawn came from. The thing was, he would react the same way, had their positions been reversed. He just wished Shawn was a little more considerate. "Good?", he questioned.
Shawn turned away. Their shoulders moved up and down again as they breathed heavily.
Clint felt sorry, but he didn't speak up. He wished he could hug Shawn, but he felt like the situation was too tense, like there were too many unspoken words between them. There was so much weight on the tip on his tongue, but his lips were sealed. He leaned back against the wall. As the seconds passed, he became ever more unsure about the situation. Was Shawn crying? He worried his feet and went a little back and forth. "Good?", he whispered.
He didn't know what else to say. Doing anything seemed too much, doing nothing seemed too little.
He did nothing but watch Shawn's back as they slowly calmed down, their breaths evening out as they stood there, just some feet away yet suddenly unreachable. How had it come to this?
Clint felt like screaming. He wished they'd say something - anything. Why didn't they turn around? Did they hate him now, knowing... ? He couldn't even think about it. He was a freak. He felt like a monster. Maybe he deserved this treatment. He swallowed heavily.
"Good?", he repeated, forcefully, anxiously.
What did this word even mean?
Shawn laughed haughtily. "Good?", they mocked. Their voice was dripping icicles.
Clint lost all of the defenses he had prepared when he heard their laugh. He had never heard something that hollow from the lively fellow before him.
They spun around angrily and formed question marks with their fingers. "Good", they spit, as if their word was acid in their mouth.
Their face was made up of fury.
Clint couldn't do more than watch as they stared at him with a crazed expression before opening their mouth again. He closed his eyes by reflex, as if the darkness would protect him from the things he himself had messed up.
But Shawn said nothing.
The silence dragged on and on, until the only thing Clint could hear was his own breathing. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
A door fell shut.
Exercise 1:
Here lies Lara, male gaze icon.
*Note: Definitely the hardest one for me by far. If you haven't noticed, I'm a rambler. And each other example I tried to think of had at least one extra word and/or was more of a sentence than a whole self-contained story. This still reads a gaming journal's tagline rather than a story, but it was the best I could manage before calling it quits. It doesn't work, because it relies on outside context to give a clue of what happened. And then it's still not a story. Just kind of a suggestion or idea. Definitely something to work on for certain. This is the only exercise I give myself an F on, but I give it decisively.
The derecho flattened the ancient forest.
6 word story
"You were never here, were you."
I would like to try all. I posted them all but only two appeared. So, I will post them in blocks, starting here:
1. Suspense Exercise:
She walked in her mother’s home, flowers and a birthday card in hand.
The air took away her smile the moment she walked through the door. Why?
The cars outside did not break the silence inside, not even for a second.
As she walked through the door, that summer day turned into a cold winter night.
Yes, it was warm out, but her soul froze with the coldness of the foreseeable unknown.
One step, and the world got heavier. Two steps, and the world got heavier. Three steps…
There was red in the hardwood floor, there was red in her hands, but at that moment, everything around her had turned black and white, unfortunately forever.
For there is no return to the sight of a farewell.
2. The tree exercise:
After 25 years growing together, the humble tree had finally been acknowledged for what it truly was. Its leaves were not one blurred mountain of green anymore, but individual pieces of moving life, each wanting to be cherished. The trunk had texture that could be seen, not only felt by the touch. Simple glasses made it finally fully admired. And so, for the first time, the tree was watered not by the rain, but by a single tear of joy.
3. Single word of dialogue:
Lost in the cold mountains, carrying his injured father on his back, George’s legs were almost giving up. There was no more energy, food, and almost no hope. He had lost too much blood and even the slightest touch of the cold breeze was already too painful. Suddenly, a dark cave offered shelter. George looked at dad, and heading towards the entrance, he asked:
“Light?”
His father, who had his arms free, pulled a lighter from his pocket.
“Light,” the father answered by igniting their old improvised torch.
George could not be careful when trying to lower dad onto the floor.
“Light! Light!” Dad whimpered in pain.
George was shaking, a mixture of cold, fear, and anxiety. But his dad was calm. Looking behind his soon as if he was seeing something. Dad reached “it” with his hands, and as the air escaped his lungs, he said:
“Light!”
4. Compressed time:
Exercise: Write a paragraph that takes place in less than a second.
[Five]
[Four]
[Three]
[Two]
And it was then that he had to make the decision of his life. No more time to think. It was now or never. Red, blue, or green wire. One right choice and he would be able to make it to the dinner he had planned with his friends. Tomorrow, laundry, dry cleaning, and maybe a movie with his fiancé afterwards. Of course, the wrong choice would mean nothing else would matter, at least not for him anymore. If he was right, time moved forward. If he was wrong, time would stop. Well, unless his girlfriend was right about “the other side.”
“Ah! Nonsense!” he thought to himself as he closed his eyes and pressed the cutting plier with all of his strength, with all of his hope…
[One]
Tree exercise:
The old woman told me to meet her under the oak tree. “You know the one,” she said, “at the end of the dirt road. The tall one with branches weighed down by the years, tired of sheltering everyone and everything from the elements. Its leaves are now brown and deeply veined. Most of them have fallen on the ground. But its roots run deep, and there is still power in its reach.”
My entry for The Tree Exercise -
His children were asleep as he stood staring out the window of his back door in the twilight hours. The months had made the absence of their mother only slightly easier to deal with while tucking them into bed each night. He gazed upon the massive single oak tree that stood as silent sentinel in the center of his backyard. Towering above its smaller kind, it's roots ran deep creating a foundation that would support the heavy weight this life exerted on it. Every branch jutting forth flourishing with life. Leaves soaking in the sun's precious gifts while shading those beneath it from the harshness these same rays could bring. Sturdy limbs made to support life in the smallest: insects, birds and any number of creatures looking for shelter and a place to call home. They would also support life in its fullness: quiet moments between lovers resting against its trunk. Tree houses and tire swings where memories of giggles and laughter would forever be preserved in the grains running through its core. In the colder months it would lose its leaves but not its stoic presence. Flaring with color in a grand display, even while dying a small bit on the inside, it would drop its leaves to again provide joy to the little ones rolling in the mounds of its loss, giving its all. It would remain, but now, allow the sun to shine through its branches bringing added warmth and comfort to the home below. It would, of course, flourish again and continue to stand against the the storms that waged war against it, trying to uproot its very foundation. For now, though, it would remain standing guard as long as it was allowed to do so, knowing this was what it was made for. Turning away from the tree as the last light of dusk faded, the father took in what lay before him. He wondered if he should change out the last load of laundry before cleaning up the dishes from dinner or pack the school lunches first.
S. Holyoak Hall
holyoakhall@gmail.com
Six words exercise : Beautiful flowers. Growing from my wife
Suspense : He opened the front door. A foul yet hidden odor of rot and garbage entered his nose before his eyes could see the mess of the living room. Dark. Dark was the only synonnym to be said about this dimly lighted and mold encrusted place. He made one step, then another, and another. At every step, the smell violated his poor pure virgin nose. And then, after crossing the messied and saccaged kitchen, where the food smelt exactly as if it was already digested, there laid the staircase. He knew it. He knew his friend's room laid up there. Right after the bathroom and his long lost parent's room. And once again, at every step he took, a disturbance occured. This time in the form of cracks. *clung* *clung* *clung* The wooden floor of the stairs threatenen to crack open and swallow him into hell everytime he moved his feets higher. At the end, the smell was unbearable. He rushed to the toilet. To his disgust, his vomit mixed into the shit and piss rotten into the toilet, stains of grease and sadnesse decayed through the white floor tiles of the walls. After crossing the bathroom door. It hit him. For the last time. Holding his hand to his mouth, he traversed this hell, the smell of unclened dishes and food, hell, no. It wasnt this. It couldnt be. It was too intense. Too putrid. Even dead animals' carcasses smell like roses compared to this. When he finally reached the half opened door, which the interstices were lighted up by the friend’s monitor, he layed his hand into the handle, and opened. He laid there, kneeled to the ground, vomiting. His friend was in the same position he had left him. Him and his chair made into one, with the rot and mold. He was dead. Smiling with his blackened theeths.
Single word Dialogue : They managed it. Without really knowing what they were getting into, they got into It. It is a place made only out of mold. Purple, Green, Orange and Black all melt and shape together this small room. Rachel was the first to speak : What ?, as they were promised their deepest secret to go live and be born. Then came Tony, : What !!?!, He said with exited, as a pure copy of the nude body of Rachel rise from the ground, in a deformed yet seductive form. Then it was Math's turn, What !, He said. As Rachel's boyfriend, knowing his bestfriend's biggest wish was to have what he owned, it was no surprise he was mad. Then, as they're feet sunk into the ground, absorbed by the mold, for having it grant His wish, pain similar to sinking into lava rumbled their flesh and veins. What ???, Did they all scremt into unison. Then a figure arised from the disgusting wall "paper", It was a women. Nothing particular. Nothing but a once again nude women. "You have sinned an unholy request. Thus as your punishment, You shall sacrifice something dear to you, or either sink into my body to the point of no return." And once again, they all said What, but with determination and grit, as well as fear and anger, to which she responded in a calm and serene tone : "One of your friend."
Second Paragraph (second in the time manner, not in the second, after the first) : He held his twisted and cruled knife above her head at this point. It's look which would more fit a replica of a DnD assasin's weapon. Time stopped for him. And hers would too. It had be months since he stalked her. Her whereabouts. Friends. Familly and hobby. And it had be weeks since her got closer to her. Learn literature such as Crime and Punishment, Philosophy, he watched countless anime, he himself coulnt even recount how much. And now, it had been seconds since she entered his house, minutes since he offered to go watch a movie, in another room. Another room which meant that they would be moving. Walking to it. And when they were in the middle of the doorframe, and she was in the middle of saying her favorite movie actually was scooby doo, trusting him that he wouldnt laugh. He took the knife from his pocket. Sweat dribbled on his forehead. It was really an uncomfortable feeling. Like being drenched in water while wearing a furr coat. Yet only this time. Only this time had he felt this feeling. This feeling of discomfort. But it wasnt the only one. He looked at her in his wide opened stare. Almost a tear in his eye. How could he corrupt such an innocence ? A pure angel descended from paradise to help those here, in hell. She was genuielly good. In the little time he got to know her, he noticed she had a quirk for helping people. Yet he was going to render her whole body in red. In her own red. And then do things to her body he wouldnt even dare speak. For a microsecond he though about shoving the knife in his chest instead. Or of simply enjoying Hellraiser with her. He thought maybe hed finally taste love. Real one. Maybe she was honest. And was interested. But in those moments of doubt, he though about all the other girls, who made him wither away for months only to ghost him, whom he tried to show his definition of love, but who cruely rejected him. He wasnt stressed or doubting anymore. He could see their backs. Anger got the better of him. And he plunged his knife deep in her body. Multiple times after the initial strike.
The Secret : "Howdy there, Humperman!" Said the man in the brown trenchcoat. Said it to the trembling man pale and his face ridden with tears. Said it in the mourn and bland room with for only window one that only the inspectors could see. "Alright, Lets make both of our job easier, why you've done it ? Thirst for blood ? Tired of this crazy bitch ? Was it simply because you couldnt feel anything else ?" "I-I-I-I di-Didnt !" "Paul... We've been neighbours for five years now... I want to help you !" Said the brown man laying his hand to the man in a gesture reminiscning of giving a gift. "Let's just make my job easier, and your sentence shorter ! Friend's deal !". The grey man started breathing heavily, even to the point of not doing it at cycles. "It w-wa-wa- It was my wife ! My cherished one ! How could i Have done it !!!!" Said the grey man, with an impressive anger and grit. "Look... Paul, your dna, your fingerprints, the bloody steak knife you used and nothing else on the crime scene could have said it wasnt you, so if you have a better idea of who it is, and please if you do, tell me ! Once again, im here to help you !" "B-b-but..." "C'mon Paul, I've heard, and even Nicole heard the sreamings you were frequently throwing at each others ! Little Lucy even told me about how you would both hit eachothers !" "Oh God !!! Oh God, not Lucy !! Not Lucy everything but Lucy, I beg you,,,, Has Lucy heard of it, why did it happen !!! Why God, why !!!" "Now tell me Paul, would you rather let Lucy know you killed her mother, or would you rather let her know that you killed her mother yet where so deep into your drugs and twisted psycology that you denied ever doing wrong by killing that stupid brainless whore ?" "W-what ?" "Yes, after all she did always tell me about how you were always rambling about how womens are satan's work to ruin man, while you sniffed your "weird flour". Tell me Paul. Oh and nobody's hearing us." Said the brown man pointing at the one sided window. "Deputies trust me enough not to have any supervision... We truly live in a flawed world... But yes. I've been sherif here in this little county for decades Paul. And bizarrely a new commer suddenly kills his wife, his pretty... pretty and perfect wife.... Yes, once again a victim of drugs and sex deprivation. And worst part of it all, is that the trusted sherif actually putted his heart out to protect that little girl from trauma... Trying always to get her out of this hellhole of a familly.... Him and his... perfect familly..." The brown man said with disgust on his face, looking once and finally out of the eyes of the grey man, at the ground. Before having a slight laugh and continuing "Im trusted and crooked enough to make out of you the new Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul ! Like seriously ! Who has their ways with their dead wife's body while their little girl is watching !" The brown man took out of his pocket a cigarette and putted it to his mouth and took out a retro lighter and lighten it. Took a good puff before continuing and looked at the broken man, still in total disbelief. "Look Paul, you either get life in prison serving as the butt slave of a big buff man named Dequille, serve 15 as a butt slave to a big buff man named Sheron, or shove the pen i layed accidently on the table, deep into your throat, realizing youll never be happy anymore, while the sherif go gets some coffee. Anyways. Here's the confession paper. If it aint signed when i come back, well you can already imagine what's gonna happen." The brown man took one last puff of his cigarette and crushed all of the ashes at it's mouth in the astray. "Oh ! Bloody me, Almost forgot the pen, here you go ! Gonna go get some coffee now !" As the brown man tossed the pencil towards the grey man, he left the room with two empty cups in his hands. As he walked through the door, ignoring the choice of the grey man, he pulled out the bloody steak knife and took one good and long lick at it, swiping clean all of the guts and blood out of it.
The Secret : "Howdy there, Humperman!" Said the man in the brown trenchcoat. Said it to the trembling man pale and his face ridden with tears. Said it in the mourn and bland room with for only window one that only the inspectors could see. "Alright, Lets make both of our job easier, why you've done it ? Thirst for blood ? Tired of this crazy bitch ? Was it simply because you couldnt feel anything else ?" "I-I-I-I di-Didnt !" "Paul... We've been neighbours for five years now... I want to help you !" Said the brown man laying his hand to the man in a gesture reminiscning of giving a gift. "Let's just make my job easier, and your sentence shorter ! Friend's deal !". The grey man started breathing heavily, even to the point of not doing it at cycles. "It w-wa-wa- It was my wife ! My cherished one ! How could i Have done it !!!!" Said the grey man, with an impressive anger and grit. "Look... Paul, your dna, your fingerprints, the bloody steak knife you used and nothing else on the crime scene could have said it wasnt you, so if you have a better idea of who it is, and please if you do, tell me ! Once again, im here to help you !" "B-b-but..." "C'mon Paul, I've heard, and even Nicole heard the sreamings you were frequently throwing at each others ! Little Lucy even told me about how you would both hit eachothers !" "Oh God !!! Oh God, not Lucy !! Not Lucy everything but Lucy, I beg you,,,, Has Lucy heard of it, why did it happen !!! Why God, why !!!" "Now tell me Paul, would you rather let Lucy know you killed her mother, or would you rather let her know that you killed her mother yet where so deep into your drugs and twisted psycology that you denied ever doing wrong by killing that stupid brainless whore ?" "W-what ?" "Yes, after all she did always tell me about how you were always rambling about how womens are satan's work to ruin man, while you sniffed your "weird flour". Tell me Paul. Oh and nobody's hearing us." Said the brown man pointing at the one sided window. "Deputies trust me enough not to have any supervision... We truly live in a flawed world... But yes. I've been sherif here in this little county for decades Paul. And bizarrely a new commer suddenly kills his wife, his pretty... pretty and perfect wife.... Yes, once again a victim of drugs and sex deprivation. And worst part of it all, is that the trusted sherif actually putted his heart out to protect that little girl from trauma... Trying always to get her out of this hellhole of a familly.... Him and his... perfect familly..." The brown man said with disgust on his face, looking once and finally out of the eyes of the grey man, at the ground. Before having a slight laugh and continuing "Im trusted and crooked enough to make out of you the new Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul ! Like seriously ! Who has their ways with their dead wife's body while their little girl is watching !" The brown man took out of his pocket a cigarette and putted it to his mouth and took out a retro lighter and lighten it. Took a good puff before continuing and looked at the broken man, still in total disbelief. "Look Paul, you either get life in prison serving as the butt slave of a big buff man named Dequille, serve 15 as a butt slave to a big buff man named Sheron, or shove the pen i layed accidently on the table, deep into your throat, realizing youll never be happy anymore, while the sherif go gets some coffee. Anyways. Here's the confession paper. If it aint signed when i come back, well you can already imagine what's gonna happen." The brown man took one last puff of his cigarette and crushed all of the ashes at it's mouth in the astray. "Oh ! Bloody me, Almost forgot the pen, here you go ! Gonna go get some coffee now !" As the brown man tossed the pencil towards the grey man, he left the room with two empty cups in his hands. As he walked through the door, ignoring the choice of the grey man, he pulled out the bloody steak knife and took one good and long lick at it, swiping clean all of the guts and blood out of it. Six words exercise : Wanted to rest. Took 23 sleeping pills (sorry... yeah this one aint my best, so much so that it aint even 6 words)
The Secret : "Howdy there, Humperman!" Said the man in the brown trenchcoat. Said it to the trembling man pale and his face ridden with tears. Said it in the mourn and bland room with for only window one that only the inspectors could see. "Alright, Lets make both of our job easier, why you've done it ? Thirst for blood ? Tired of this crazy bitch ? Was it simply because you couldnt feel anything else ?" "I-I-I-I di-Didnt !" "Paul... We've been neighbours for five years now... I want to help you !" Said the brown man laying his hand to the man in a gesture reminiscning of giving a gift. "Let's just make my job easier, and your sentence shorter ! Friend's deal !". The grey man started breathing heavily, even to the point of not doing it at cycles. "It w-wa-wa- It was my wife ! My cherished one ! How could i Have done it !!!!" Said the grey man, with an impressive anger and grit. "Look... Paul, your dna, your fingerprints, the bloody steak knife you used and nothing else on the crime scene could have said it wasnt you, so if you have a better idea of who it is, and please if you do, tell me ! Once again, im here to help you !" "B-b-but..." "C'mon Paul, I've heard, and even Nicole heard the sreamings you were frequently throwing at each others ! Little Lucy even told me about how you would both hit eachothers !" "Oh God !!! Oh God, not Lucy !! Not Lucy everything but Lucy, I beg you,,,, Has Lucy heard of it, why did it happen !!! Why God, why !!!" "Now tell me Paul, would you rather let Lucy know you killed her mother, or would you rather let her know that you killed her mother yet where so deep into your drugs and twisted psycology that you denied ever doing wrong by killing that stupid brainless whore ?" "W-what ?" "Yes, after all she did always tell me about how you were always rambling about how womens are satan's work to ruin man, while you sniffed your "weird flour". Tell me Paul. Oh and nobody's hearing us." Said the brown man pointing at the one sided window. "Deputies trust me enough not to have any supervision... We truly live in a flawed world... But yes. I've been sherif here in this little county for decades Paul. And bizarrely a new commer suddenly kills his wife, his pretty... pretty and perfect wife.... Yes, once again a victim of drugs and sex deprivation. And worst part of it all, is that the trusted sherif actually putted his heart out to protect that little girl from trauma... Trying always to get her out of this hellhole of a familly.... Him and his... perfect familly..." The brown man said with disgust on his face, looking once and finally out of the eyes of the grey man, at the ground. Before having a slight laugh and continuing "Im trusted and crooked enough to make out of you the new Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul ! Like seriously ! Who has their ways with their dead wife's body while their little girl is watching !" The brown man took out of his pocket a cigarette and putted it to his mouth and took out a retro lighter and lighten it. Took a good puff before continuing and looked at the broken man, still in total disbelief. "Look Paul, you either get life in prison serving as the butt slave of a big buff man named Dequille, serve 15 as a butt slave to a big buff man named Sheron, or shove the pen i layed accidently on the table, deep into your throat, realizing youll never be happy anymore, while the sherif go gets some coffee. Anyways. Here's the confession paper. If it aint signed when i come back, well you can already imagine what's gonna happen." The brown man took one last puff of his cigarette and crushed all of the ashes at it's mouth in the astray. "Oh ! Bloody me, Almost forgot the pen, here you go ! Gonna go get some coffee now !" As the brown man tossed the pencil towards the grey man, he left the room with two empty cups in his hands. As he walked through the door, ignoring the choice of the grey man, he pulled out the bloody steak knife and took one good and long lick at it, swiping clean all of the guts and blood out of it.
Six words exercise : Beautiful flowers, growing from my wife.
The Secret : "Howdy there, Humperman!" Said the man in the brown trenchcoat. Said it to the trembling man pale and his face ridden with tears. Said it in the mourn and bland room with for only window one that only the inspectors could see. "Alright, Lets make both of our job easier, why you've done it ? Thirst for blood ? Tired of this crazy bitch ? Was it simply because you couldnt feel anything else ?" "I-I-I-I di-Didnt !" "Paul... We've been neighbours for five years now... I want to help you !" Said the brown man laying his hand to the man in a gesture reminiscning of giving a gift. "Let's just make my job easier, and your sentence shorter ! Friend's deal !". The grey man started breathing heavily, even to the point of not doing it at cycles. "It w-wa-wa- It was my wife ! My cherished one ! How could i Have done it !!!!" Said the grey man, with an impressive anger and grit. "Look... Paul, your dna, your fingerprints, the bloody steak knife you used and nothing else on the crime scene could have said it wasnt you, so if you have a better idea of who it is, and please if you do, tell me ! Once again, im here to help you !" "B-b-but..." "C'mon Paul, I've heard, and even Nicole heard the sreamings you were frequently throwing at each others ! Little Lucy even told me about how you would both hit eachothers !" "Oh God !!! Oh God, not Lucy !! Not Lucy everything but Lucy, I beg you,,,, Has Lucy heard of it, why did it happen !!! Why God, why !!!" "Now tell me Paul, would you rather let Lucy know you killed her mother, or would you rather let her know that you killed her mother yet where so deep into your drugs and twisted psycology that you denied ever doing wrong by killing that stupid brainless whore ?" "W-what ?" "Yes, after all she did always tell me about how you were always rambling about how womens are satan's work to ruin man, while you sniffed your "weird flour". Tell me Paul. Oh and nobody's hearing us." Said the brown man pointing at the one sided window. "Deputies trust me enough not to have any supervision... We truly live in a flawed world... But yes. I've been sherif here in this little county for decades Paul. And bizarrely a new commer suddenly kills his wife, his pretty... pretty and perfect wife.... Yes, once again a victim of drugs and sex deprivation. And worst part of it all, is that the trusted sherif actually putted his heart out to protect that little girl from trauma... Trying always to get her out of this hellhole of a familly.... Him and his... perfect familly..." The brown man said with disgust on his face, looking once and finally out of the eyes of the grey man, at the ground. Before having a slight laugh and continuing "Im trusted and crooked enough to make out of you the new Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul ! Like seriously ! Who has their ways with their dead wife's body while their little girl is watching !" The brown man took out of his pocket a cigarette and putted it to his mouth and took out a retro lighter and lighten it. Took a good puff before continuing and looked at the broken man, still in total disbelief. "Look Paul, you either get life in prison serving as the butt slave of a big buff man named Dequille, serve 15 as a butt slave to a big buff man named Sheron, or shove the pen i layed accidently on the table, deep into your throat, realizing youll never be happy anymore, while the sherif go gets some coffee. Anyways. Here's the confession paper. If it aint signed when i come back, well you can already imagine what's gonna happen." The brown man took one last puff of his cigarette and crushed all of the ashes at it's mouth in the astray. "Oh ! Bloody me, Almost forgot the pen, here you go ! Gonna go get some coffee now !" As the brown man tossed the pencil towards the grey man, he left the room with two empty cups in his hands. As he walked through the door, ignoring the choice of the grey man, he pulled out the bloody steak knife and took one good and long lick at it, swiping clean all of the guts and blood out of it. Six words exercise : Beautiful flowers. Growing from my wife
Tree : Ahhhhh, the jolly and happy tree. It's log so happy to be. Leaves wriggling around like worms trying to feed off dead carcasses. And every one of its branches a fact of how even the one who do nothing will succeed. Living his life in bliss and beauty. Never to stop and think about all the problems. Who cares if someone loves him. Or if he'll get a promotion. He doesnt care. Why should I ? And why should it ? Doesnt matter if he has talent in life, or if he'll ever accomplish something. Ahhhhh, Arent all trees overgrown tumors from the ground ? Their roots encrusted into dirt, whom they never asked if they could be there, sucking every mineral from the ground. Yet he flourish. With bright and purple colors, from the end of his flowers. Even if he withers away and parts of him tumbled to the ground, It doesnt matter ! As they'll go back in the soil and come back as nutrients ! Even at what he fails, he'll still get a discount comeback ! Such an happy go lucky tree.
#7. Suspense: Write the paragraph before your characters find a dead body.
#6. Tree: Describe a tree in a way that tells you how the character feels.
#5. Single word dialogue: create a scene where the characters use a single word repeatedly in multiple ways to communicate what is happening.
#4. Compressed time: entire scene happens in one second of time.
#3. Zipper: character recites something while completely unrelated scene happens. (Forrest Gump: Bubba talking about shrimp recipes.)
#2. Secrets: tell me your characters' secrets without telling me your character has secrets.
#1. 6-Word Challenge: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."
Find love this way. Toll ahead.
Climb ladder to success. I'm Ces.
Guarantee this will never make sense
5. The Zipper:
“You see? What nobody talks about is what are the basic founding blocks of an opening.” Zach waved around the wooden spoon before setting it down on the kitchen counter and grabbing the knife.
“Why do they always jump right onto the different lines!” He started to cut the green onions, so fast that Maggie thought he was going to cut his own fingers off. Upset, the knife stopped for a second as he exclaimed: “I don’t care about the lines now! I just want to know the basic foundation!”
He threw the onions into the pot, grabbed some pepper and added it to the soup. “So, what makes London a London? Well. Your d pawn is now on d4, your e pawn is on e3, your c pawn is on c3, and your black bishop is on f4!”
He then grabbed the salt, showed it to Maggie, and said: “Does the order in which you move your pieces matter? Not really! The essential elements and position is what defines the London system.”
He then grabbed the wooden spoon and started to stir the soup. “Now, if you want to move your knight to f3 first or your white bishop to d3 first is a matter of strategy and following up with the different lines of the game, but the London structure is all about those four pieces. Nothing else. Right?”
He lifted the spoon, dropped some soup into his hand, and tasted it. “That is how you make tomato soup! Salt and pepper, or pepper and salt. It doesn’t matter! Right?
As Maggie looked at him, he asked: “Checkmate?”
Swan, made. Final drop & Option. Love
If you upload just few hours earlier, I would've enjoyed this on my way back from work. Oh well.
I remember when the cherry tree first caught blight. It was spring, and the disease crept in like a secret about to be whispered-a few spots here, a lesion there. Unseen but multiplying rapidly. By summer, the green canopy was patched with yellow, and there, the fruit was shriveled. We cut away those branches, hoping to stop it. But by next summer, it had spread. More years, more wilting, more cutting. The leaves began to die. They fell first from the top, then downward. Further, further, until it was a bald stranger I saw. Where once had been a healthy, robust tree-full of life shade and birds and blossoms and fruit-now only stands a frail skeleton, barely clinging to the little life that remains. I don’t think it has long.
Exercise 6
The branches creaked under the strain, bending slowly at first, then deeper, then a little more, but then it stopped. The wind rustled through the leaves. And then, it came the unmistakable sound: crack!
Exercise 5
The best man burst into the chapel, swinging one door open, then another, and finally he opened the right door.
“Ring?” The groom turned from the window, his eyes widening.
“Ring?” The best man rummaged through his lower pockets.
“Ring...” the groom extended his hand further, his voice tightening.
“Ring, ring, ring!” The best man searched frantically through his jacket, his face flush with panic.
Finally, he stopped, defeated.
“Ring...” The groom touched his forehead, then turned slowly back to the window, his shoulders slumping.
Single word dialogue. Hearing someone enter her room, Mary opens her eyes. “John!” (surprised). She sits up. Her eyes widen as she sees he is holding a knife. “John?” (Confused). “John!” She grasps the bedcovers around her. She hears a crash from out in the hallway, John turns towards the door as another man enters, raises a handgun and shoots John, who falls to the floor. “John!” She nods in confirmation to the second man. “John.” 😊
are we supposed to comment back on this one or others and are you wanting the exercise typed out there or just what kind you did
Here is my attempt at this, but i will put which exercises i used at the end of this
[ **March 20th 2019, I finally moved into the new house at last, the neighborhood is beautiful and pretty calm, the neighbors have been very welcoming and kind, the house has been cleaned and fixed, but it still needs some more work, but despite that it still feels warm, even if it gets a bit chilly at night, might be the windows, but i think i will manage. - Alice p. Danes**
She put her diary down before getting up and off to bed, it was pretty late after all, and she still had a lot to do in the morning
The next morning came far too soon, and alice was awake and about before her alarm even went off, she hated how uneasy she felt whenever she changed anything, her location and new home no exception, sleep has evaded her all night, she sighed as she stretched, no big deal, she WILL get used to the change soon
A few hours later, alice stepped out of the house only to be greeted by the morning sunlight, seems to be another bright day
"Oh! Good morning Ms.Danes!" alice looked over to the fence where Mrs.Jones was standing with a genial smile, Mrs.Jones was her next door neighbor, an elderly widow with an only son, alex, who lives in the city, she was especially welcoming of Alice when she started moving in
"Good morning Mrs.Jones, tending to the flower beds today too?" Alice asked as she walked closer to see the old lady's mud covered hands
"Ah, yes, someone has to take care of these beauties after all" she said referring to the bed of golden flowers, alice could identify daisys, but she couldn't recognize the rest, the flower bed was pretty big too, but she could only see three types as far as she can tell
"Are you alright dear?" Alice snapped her attention to Mrs.Jones, she didn't even realize that she was staring emptily at the flower bed
"I'm fine, just trying to figure out what flowers you are growing exactly, I'm not much into gardening so i don't know much" she said calmly, even if her heart raced as if in a marathon, why? Alice couldn't figure out, for the life of her, why she felt off
"Ah! Well that's alright! You could have just asked, well these are daisys, daffodils and marigolds, beautiful, aren't they?" Mrs.Jones said with a smile "robert loved the color of gold, so i planted all the golden variants for him here"
Alice noticed the new name, but didn't question it 'it is probably her late husband's name' she thought to herself
"Did you know, daffodils symbolize change and rebirth? To start over if you will, and daisys symbolize innocence and playfulness, so simple, yet holding sweet meanings, but my favorite must be the marigold flowers!" Mrs Jones said as she tended to the flowers, taking out the weeds from the soil with a gentle tug "i believe they symbolize courage and hope in northern Europe, but I've also heard they symbolize envy and hate in Greece because of it's relation with the goddess of magic in old mythology, interesting, isn't it?" She looked up at alice at the end
Alice couldn't help but feel that something was a little off, but she nodded and smiled at the old lady anyway "it is interesting"
"But i personally like it's meaning and use in Latin America, it symbolizes death and destruction, such a beauty, symbolizing such things, it really makes me wonder how humans think sometimes" Mrs.Jones said as she put her tools in the old rusted bucket "but I've also heard that they use these flower to help guid the dead to get back home, it's said that the dead love its smell, that it is special"
Alice felt a shiver run up her entire body, a chill suddenly engulfed her, she stayed silent for a moment "i didn't know that..." Was all she said
Mrs.Jones chuckled as she got up and looked at Alice "not everyone does, so don't think about it much" she said "anyway, i need to head inside, i still need to clean up and get everything ready"
Alice perked up at that "oh! You are expecting visitors?"
"You could say so" she said with a weird smile, one that brought that uneasy feeling back to alice "an old friend is coming over"
Something about the way she said that, made alice feel uneasy, she had a feeling that she wouldn't like meeting with her neighbor's old friend
That night, alice couldn't ignore the unusual and unmistakable tingles of anxiousness, and the chill that ran up her body, the peculiar conversation about the flowers from the morning never left her thoughts, sleep never came that night
For a whole week, she didn't see Mrs.Jones at all
She understood everything when alex returned. ]
The exercises that i attempted with this one are
7- the suspense exercise
3- the zipper exercise
2- the secrets
1- the hemingway 6-wird story exercise
I really hope i didn't butcher this up too badly
Six word exercise:
Never died. Never lived. Already dead.
A sea of clover rested beneath the delicate limbs of a cherry tree. Moist earth mingled with the muted scent of mown grass as leaves whispered among themselves. In the distance, a whippoorwill called. But no one answered...there was nothing left to say. Then a tremor, a shiver, as the stars dimmed and petals fell like snow upon the upturned face and empty hands of a wanderer, drifting no more.
Exercise 4:
The eagle descended as a wisp of white steam, aiming to take Ayiina’s eyes. It was a davkhar much bigger than the single-headed tzagoi. The wings of this ancient thing covered most of the sun and brought a gust of cold wind. Ayiina’s gaze was fixed on both of its heads. She had never seen one so close before. The beaks were sharper and stronger than she had imagined-deadly weapons, indeed. But the Chondu-raa warrior had her own secret weapon. From her sleeves, she pointed at the beast, and her Moon arrows drilled directly into its flying heart. It snowed with feathers for a while, until the earth was covered by the remains of this national creature.
6 word exercise:
They can't tell I'm secretly edging.
Six word exercise :
She's like Shakespeare
She loves heartbreaks.
Axe swings tree falls childhood breaks
the apple tree stood alone the soul survivor of the orchard it's friends lead broken in the overgrown grass. golden apples dragging the branches down it's leaves waving wildly in the chilly wined.
"did you think we forgot you?" Dominic called running to give the tree a hug.
Abby smiled and went to join her little boy they had lost nearly everything but their family the bull calf a few chickens and one lone apple tree but it was so good to be home
Exercise 4:
The cat Chloe has been asked to care for this week jumped up onto the coffee table. Chloe, of course, thought nothing of this. She may not have had cats of her own, but she knew what cats were like. Everyone did.
But upon hearing the scraping on the table, she looked up and realized that her newest commission was gently but mercilessly being nudged towards the end of the table. “Shit! Oreo, NO!”
It was too late. The silky paw gave the final push to the glazed ceramic bowl. It tilted, looking almost unsure of the drop. *Please don't,* Chloe begged helplessly even as her arms raised. But alas, the glowing white and burnished orange hesitated no longer, committing itself to its tragic descent. It tumbled like poor Icarus, punishing Chloe for her arrogance of thinking she could handle watching a cat without any mishaps in a house full of breakable items. In its taunting shine, she could see her tarnished reputation. In its accusing reflection, her irrational anger towards her friend for putting her in this position. In its shadow, she saw her own despair over this failure.
Chloe still tried to catch it, still tried to believe that she could avert this disaster. It was only just out of reach, surely! But the indelicate smash of pottery against tile broke her of this illusion.
*Note: This is pretty melodramatic and ridiculous, but again, I think it achieves the objective the exercise ultimately. Although I will say this was hard for me. I don't think I managed to make it flow naturally because I usually write in clock time. So definitely room for improvement.
i cried, he crew, we crode.....
I can’t remember the last year.
The fox pounced. The quail flew.
EXERCISE 6
"This Ol Tree Right Here" by Frank M Van Meter Aug 6, 2024
"Aint it somethin how those big ol leaves look like they's wavin goodbye to the wind the way Gramma waves bye to us when we pull away from her place? Only her hands aint so big and green as that. Though Papa says she got a green thumb but I never seen it. Her thumbs always look normal color to me. But they as lumpy and rough as the bark on this big ol sycamore right here. Papa says her hands is like that cause she's had em in the dirt all her life. He oughtta know. His hands is like that too. No wonder they's hands is so rough. Look at these roots right here. In the dirt all they life and they's just as rough as... well... tree bark.
This ol tree is about as tall as Papa. Naw, it's way taller but he looks that tall when he's smilin. His eyes kinda glimmer like the way the sun comes through the leaves when the wind blows.
This ol tree likes the wind. She always dances in the wind, even in winter when all the leaves are raked up and ice is hangin from her branches. When that north wind howls through here this ol tree dances up a storm. She don't care nothin about the cold when the wind blows. Her top branches sway and swing and reach for the glory of God Almighty.
When the wind aint blowin though, she sort of droops. That's why I think she likes the wind.
But today it's hot and this is just the place to be. Right here in the shade. Aint it fine?
Aint no better shade nowhere on God's green earth.
It's kind and gentle of this ol tree to make such glorious shade in the summer. Sometimes I climb up high between the branches to catch a breeze and look out over the fields. But it's best down here.
Mama says trees are gifts from God to give us wood for winter warmth, beautiful springtime blossoms, summer shade and fruit in the fall. And Papa says this big ol tree right here is a gift from God to me. When he put up that swing Mama told me the ol tree don't mind a bit about the ropes or the nails. Cause this ol tree knows it's here for me.
You see them scars? Yeah, these deep gouges right here. That's where Coy hit it with the tractor. He come around the barn at the end of the day and I was sittin over there playin with my tonka trucks and he smashed into the tree rather than run over me. He jumped off that broken ol tractor and scooped me up and hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe. That's why him and Papa built that there fence before they patched up the tractor. No old tractor gonna smash my tree again.
It's good this ol tree survived.
Her trunk is so big around now, bigger than Coy's belly. But not much."