Because I really need to get back to writing (I haven't done anything for about a week, and I have all this stuff in my head, and I just can't put it down on paper in words) I figured I might as well carry out some of these exercises. I've only done one so far. I just wrote non-stop for about five minutes, without going back to edit anything, and I'm pretty pleased with what I came up with. This was the exercise I had to do:
Use any of the following to start a piece of fiction or non-fiction. If you’re feeling like a challenge, rather than just choosing the one that appeals most to you, see if you can actually complete a 500 word piece of writing on all of them (they don’t have to be connected - but of course if you can do that ….go you!)
1. It was humid the last time I saw ………
2. Despite the clinical cleanliness of the rest of the room, there was a dark stain spreading out across ………
3. Putting her hands on her hips, Mildred sighed deeply. “Count to 10″ she told herself as she looked at the ………
Here's what I wrote in response to the first prompt:
It was humid the last time I saw my brother decline the offer of pudding. We were in Troyes, France, in early August and the weather had been particularly hot that day. All four of us had beads of sweat forming on our foreheads for the most part of the day, and in the early evening, when we left the cool, air-conditioned safety of the hotel, we stepped out into the street only to be buffeted by the heat wave. We walked down the road to a church, and within minutes, my feet started to burn up. I took off my supermarket-bought pumps and walked along the pavement barefoot. The church cast brilliant shadows; it’s walls were dirty and grotty, but the general shape and composition of the building was magnificent, ancient-looking. It was at least four centuries old. As soon as I stepped out of it’s shadow, however, my feet started to burn on the hot concrete of the pavement. I hopped around, alternating between shadow and bright, red-hot ground surfaces.
We spent at least an hour walking around the town that evening, and it took us a while to settle upon a restaurant at which we would have our evening meal. The road we eventually decided to eat along was busy; many places had tables and chairs outside, so that we all ate in cramped conditions. Even once sitting down, a cool pineapple juice in hand, I felt extremely hot. Shorts and a tank top was all that I was wearing, and yet I could not have felt any different had I been wearing jeans and a ski jacket.
The meal was delicious, I know that much, although I do not recall specifically what it was. My parents got talking to two elderly British women at the table next to ours, and they mentioned Vimy Ridge and Arras, where they had stayed at the start of their own trip; I had been to Vimy Ridge before on a school trip, and at the mention of the place, I felt a sudden urge to visit there again. Once we had all finished our main course, the waiters came around again, and proffered dessert menus. My mum decided upon a chocolate ice-cream of sorts, but when it came to my brother’s turn to choose an item on the menu, he merely let out a groan and shook his head.
“It’s too hot to eat anything else,” he explained.
“Have you gone mad?” I asked him, surprised by his reaction. “When was the last time you turned down food?”
He did not answer. He ran a hand through his hair irritably and looked at my dad. “I just wanna go,” he muttered. “It’s too hot.”
He’ll probably never refuse pudding again. It must have been the weather.
Now that I read over it again, however, I realise that it's really not the most interesting of pieces. I'm pleased with how easy I found it to write, though; it pretty much just poured out, and - heck - at least it'll serve as a diary entry.
I have an idea for the second scenario, too, and that one is less anecdotal; it'll be a more fictional piece, inspired by a particular location in LOST (The Staff, the medical station that originally belonged to the Dharma Institute).
Seriously, though, I've been looking over the entries in this journal and although - admittedly - there really aren't that many, this place does still need a bit of humour injected into it. It's all dull and ... glum like Hull (I've honestly never been there, but I've heard bad things). Of course, the London attacks aren't really the sort of thing you should joke about, so I'm not saying that entry needs improving on, but currently this blog isn't really a reflection of my personality now, is it? It's hard, though, when I don't have an audience. Perhaps I should force some of my friends to join so that they can comment.
Or not.
They'd probably get a bit fed up of me making them creating loads of new online journals all the time.
Fine then.
Whatever.
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