Use this thread to post your creative writing for the first week of the Literary Workshop. You can find the details in that thread. The theme for this week is the color blue.
[CWW] Blue
- Thread starter Stardust
- Start date
Sweet. Already got one.
What I'm pissed off is that all my stories have death... I'm doing a fresh premise next time.
What I'm pissed off is that all my stories have death... I'm doing a fresh premise next time.
I liked this girl.
I: Wanting to, But not.
I wanted to ask her out,
But I never got the courage to.
I was scared of her rejection,
Scared that this time was just like last time.
So, when we talked, I kept a straight face.
So, when we passed, I said hi, and that was it.
I never showed interest in her, hoping to keep it all to myself.
Later, there would always be more girls.
There would be more crushes, there would be someone else to kiss.
I'm just a hormone induced teenage male.
Nothing special.
Nothing new.
II: I won't, Even if I will.
I won't ever stare in her direction and sigh.
I won't ever try and catch the new hint of perfume that she wore.
I won't ever ask around about her.
I am by myself with these thoughts,
Maybe a bit lonely.
I will fantasize,
Imagine that I know her,
Know more of her, know more about her,
I will fantasize,
Imagine us laughing, imagine us playing,
Imagine us being more than this.
I want to,
but I won't.
III: A Chance, A Hope
We are both in a club after school.
Honestly, I joined because she did,
Even though I told myself that I won't.
The hypocrit I am.
Because of this, we don't ride the bus home.
We wait for the cars,
Our parents,
To pick us up.
I want a car so bad.
Four columns of marble stood at front,
And I stood at one,
She the other.
We waited, and I said nothing.
When her ride came, she started away.
I didn't say bye.
IV: Bad news, Although not for me.
I was just talking to my friends,
When I entered 1st period.
She isn't there.
I continue on with my classes.
There was nothing different about me,
Or so I believe.
My act the same,
My laugh as normal.
I wondered about where she was.
One of her friends says that she was in a car crash last night.
Which makes think, "No way."
Which makes me say, "Shit."
She was dying.
V: I don't visit her, Nor do I cry.
I tell my parents that someone I know was in a car crash.
Critical condition.
They are shocked,
But no actual caring is there.
She's just a stranger.
They ask me if she was a friend.
I say no.
I finish up, I wash up, I take a bath,
I call my friends, I play some games, I stay in the house.
I don't really do anything.
Not really.
Not at all.
Cause she was dying.
VI: The Reason Why, My crush so meaningless.
One time,
I was smoking outside,
Because I'm addicted to it.
Don't hate me.
A girl came up to our group.
She told me that the administrator was coming,
And we better hide.
The guy didn't like smokers.
We split up,
And the girl told me that I better hurry.
I did, and when I didn't see any of my friends,
I decided to follow the girl.
Just for fun, you know?
She told me her name was Azura,
Which meant blue, although she didn't know what it was based off from.
I smiled, and told her
"I'm Red.
That's my real name, not a joke.
Like... the Red in redneck."
She laughed,
and said her name complimented mine.
VII: There's nothing left, Just a small stanza
We were both in the same club.
I joined because she joined,
Even though I said I won't.
I didn't want to get close,
Because I was scared.
Am I a wimp?
Yes.
Am I like her?
Yes.
Did she die out of no fault of mine?
Yes.
Still, though...
It doesn't make it any less painful.
I look at the sky,
And it's raining.
It's not a blue sky.
I: Wanting to, But not.
I wanted to ask her out,
But I never got the courage to.
I was scared of her rejection,
Scared that this time was just like last time.
So, when we talked, I kept a straight face.
So, when we passed, I said hi, and that was it.
I never showed interest in her, hoping to keep it all to myself.
Later, there would always be more girls.
There would be more crushes, there would be someone else to kiss.
I'm just a hormone induced teenage male.
Nothing special.
Nothing new.
II: I won't, Even if I will.
I won't ever stare in her direction and sigh.
I won't ever try and catch the new hint of perfume that she wore.
I won't ever ask around about her.
I am by myself with these thoughts,
Maybe a bit lonely.
I will fantasize,
Imagine that I know her,
Know more of her, know more about her,
I will fantasize,
Imagine us laughing, imagine us playing,
Imagine us being more than this.
I want to,
but I won't.
III: A Chance, A Hope
We are both in a club after school.
Honestly, I joined because she did,
Even though I told myself that I won't.
The hypocrit I am.
Because of this, we don't ride the bus home.
We wait for the cars,
Our parents,
To pick us up.
I want a car so bad.
Four columns of marble stood at front,
And I stood at one,
She the other.
We waited, and I said nothing.
When her ride came, she started away.
I didn't say bye.
IV: Bad news, Although not for me.
I was just talking to my friends,
When I entered 1st period.
She isn't there.
I continue on with my classes.
There was nothing different about me,
Or so I believe.
My act the same,
My laugh as normal.
I wondered about where she was.
One of her friends says that she was in a car crash last night.
Which makes think, "No way."
Which makes me say, "Shit."
She was dying.
V: I don't visit her, Nor do I cry.
I tell my parents that someone I know was in a car crash.
Critical condition.
They are shocked,
But no actual caring is there.
She's just a stranger.
They ask me if she was a friend.
I say no.
I finish up, I wash up, I take a bath,
I call my friends, I play some games, I stay in the house.
I don't really do anything.
Not really.
Not at all.
Cause she was dying.
VI: The Reason Why, My crush so meaningless.
One time,
I was smoking outside,
Because I'm addicted to it.
Don't hate me.
A girl came up to our group.
She told me that the administrator was coming,
And we better hide.
The guy didn't like smokers.
We split up,
And the girl told me that I better hurry.
I did, and when I didn't see any of my friends,
I decided to follow the girl.
Just for fun, you know?
She told me her name was Azura,
Which meant blue, although she didn't know what it was based off from.
I smiled, and told her
"I'm Red.
That's my real name, not a joke.
Like... the Red in redneck."
She laughed,
and said her name complimented mine.
VII: There's nothing left, Just a small stanza
We were both in the same club.
I joined because she joined,
Even though I said I won't.
I didn't want to get close,
Because I was scared.
Am I a wimp?
Yes.
Am I like her?
Yes.
Did she die out of no fault of mine?
Yes.
Still, though...
It doesn't make it any less painful.
I look at the sky,
And it's raining.
It's not a blue sky.
Lol at me almost forgetting about this. :X
Daxis, as usual I thought it was excellent. I feel bad not giving you much critique, but it all seemed good to me. Maybe this:
I tried to do something small that focused on imagery. I noticed that a lot of my stories are action and dialogue - not much focus on the surroundings or feelings. So I wrote this. I felt like it was adjective/adverb heavy, but I dunno. Let me know what you think! :D
The grass brushed against her feet like waves, each in unison with the gentle breeze that slid around her body. She was a rock in a stream, standing against the current. An onlooker bathed in the sun's rays and a bright blue sky. The smell of ocean water lingered as it crashed against the hillside below. Her hair danced with the wind in a brilliant ballet. With a push she freed herself of the solid ground, letting the air surround her. Sprays of water splashed her face before she was plunged into the deep blue.
Sunlight broke through a window, making the girl throw an arm over her face.
Daxis, as usual I thought it was excellent. I feel bad not giving you much critique, but it all seemed good to me. Maybe this:
could be split into two lines? That's really the only thing I thought could be changed to make it better. Also, I want to see you take a different direction if you do another one of these! You should experiment with different types of stories. That's what this workshop is all about. ^_^
I tried to do something small that focused on imagery. I noticed that a lot of my stories are action and dialogue - not much focus on the surroundings or feelings. So I wrote this. I felt like it was adjective/adverb heavy, but I dunno. Let me know what you think! :D
The grass brushed against her feet like waves, each in unison with the gentle breeze that slid around her body. She was a rock in a stream, standing against the current. An onlooker bathed in the sun's rays and a bright blue sky. The smell of ocean water lingered as it crashed against the hillside below. Her hair danced with the wind in a brilliant ballet. With a push she freed herself of the solid ground, letting the air surround her. Sprays of water splashed her face before she was plunged into the deep blue.
Sunlight broke through a window, making the girl throw an arm over her face.
dadevvtsvre
Sponsor
Yeah, definitely lay off the adjectives a bit. It's kind of incoherent, but I guess there's not much there to lead us to any sort of significant idea of what's going on.Guardian":vddsxjxd said:
I started the thing like I usually do when I see a blank page, just write the most cliched and classic thing that comes to mind, which was "I wanted to ask her out." Between deciding to write a paragraph or poem, I went to the next line and started, and then the rest just came out. When I thought it would be boring reading nothing but line after line, I broke them up into different parts, to which I could just jump around however I want. I doubt I'll be able to do something like this again, as it would probably feel forced, but I'll have to try it again sometime.
The actual content, though... next time I'm doing a different story. I want to make this one romance, but again, death creeped in, ugh. I'm one of that people that immediately rhymes "trains" with "brains"
Your little bit of prose was a over-descriptive, as you probably know. Not ALL of it, but sometimes there would be two or three extra words in a sentence that seemed as if it wasn't needed. Hell, the line after the paragrah could have easily turned into a purple prose paragraph itself. They contrasted, although I'm not good enough of a critic to say if it's good or bad.
The actual content, though... next time I'm doing a different story. I want to make this one romance, but again, death creeped in, ugh. I'm one of that people that immediately rhymes "trains" with "brains"
Your little bit of prose was a over-descriptive, as you probably know. Not ALL of it, but sometimes there would be two or three extra words in a sentence that seemed as if it wasn't needed. Hell, the line after the paragrah could have easily turned into a purple prose paragraph itself. They contrasted, although I'm not good enough of a critic to say if it's good or bad.
Alright this is taking me a while due to all my work. But just to show I'm working on it:
the tie to the color blue hasn't been declared yet but the place these people occupy is called "The Blue Betty". And there'll be more refs to blue obv. etc.
.... though the more i think about it the more i want to write something with zombies in it :V
A svelte lick of smoke escaped through his moustache-tanned lips and he stared at me, wearily hostile. In the wash of the noon-bright day, he stood with his inimical silhouette framing the entrance. His hunched shoulders seemed to prop up the jamb in the ancient doorway, and his shadow cut a lanky crevasse to my shoes. His hair, an oily, peppery grey, made him appear as if he were one with the building we occupied, as if they had been borne of the same womb and aged at a pace faster than the world around them.
"Here he is, sugar." The woman to my left said, and hesitated for a moment. Her breath escaped in rattling bursts. Her muscles jostled beneath her loose skin and she stared up at me, dawdling as if she had more to say. Whatever it was was eventually tampened down and she huffed to the looming figure: "Here's that fella from the paper, Scotty."
"Yeah." The shadow barked back. I was startled by the rasping speech: a part of me had just assumed he was a fixture, making a trick of the eye by resembling a man.
The woman wavered through another electric pause, mumbled something about fetching some tea, and then scuttled back to the hall in countless clacking steps. As I was left alone in the parlor with this stranger, I realized a pang of regret that the woman (who had told me her name was "Dotti") had to go. She reeked of dimestore perfume and dressed as if she were trying to reclaim some shred of youth long, long passed--but she was harmless and untimidating, the perfect company at the present.
"Harvey … Scott?" My words seemed to hover just beyond my mouth in the musty room.
He stared in acknowledgement.
Mustering down an embarrassed blush, I stammered, "I'm … Mr. Ivies, I spoke to your wife on the phone about an interview with you? I realize I'm a bit early. I hope I'm not intruding."
In the darkened haze beneath his frazzled locks, a grin appeared, arcing out sidewise and glowing pallid yellow. It had probably not lasted a second, but the image was burned into my memory. He was the Cheshire Cat, an assortment of floating features in a shadowy bough.
"Pah! My wife!" He laughed. "Right, sure, whatever you'll call her is fine with me."
I hovered and ground my heel into the floor. Another pause in the staleness of the room. And finally I broke, "Would you like to have a seat so I can set up the recorder?"
"Won't sit near no one that feeds me formalities, son." That previous laugh had now obviously flapped its derisive wings and flown the coop. "A man greets another man with their first name where I come from."
I had grown up in Tucson, which wasn't too far from Safford. I couldn't imagine that the customs would be all that different between two Arizonans. But, of course, the man wasn't referring to his city, he was referring to his station.
"My apologies. It's Tom."
As if fed a password, the old man lurched forward from the jamb and ambled over to a cheap divan in the corner, puffing smoke along the way like a steam engine. The plastic cover rubbed and belched under him as he sat. In the light of the window over it, a profusion of dust swirled up and sparkled.
"Have a sit then, Tom. Had a buddy named Tom. Actually, two. Pretty common name I s'pose."
Without the illusory effect of his silhouette in the doorway, as the sun shone down on him in a more placid fashion, I saw him for what he was. A man probably not pushing sixty, but looked a hundred, with cloudy eyes and tobacco-tinged edges. His shirt looked like it had seen a thousand spin cycles and a thousand more sloppily-guided steam irons. His hair was the same as his voice: a crackly bush of pallid nettles.
"Here he is, sugar." The woman to my left said, and hesitated for a moment. Her breath escaped in rattling bursts. Her muscles jostled beneath her loose skin and she stared up at me, dawdling as if she had more to say. Whatever it was was eventually tampened down and she huffed to the looming figure: "Here's that fella from the paper, Scotty."
"Yeah." The shadow barked back. I was startled by the rasping speech: a part of me had just assumed he was a fixture, making a trick of the eye by resembling a man.
The woman wavered through another electric pause, mumbled something about fetching some tea, and then scuttled back to the hall in countless clacking steps. As I was left alone in the parlor with this stranger, I realized a pang of regret that the woman (who had told me her name was "Dotti") had to go. She reeked of dimestore perfume and dressed as if she were trying to reclaim some shred of youth long, long passed--but she was harmless and untimidating, the perfect company at the present.
"Harvey … Scott?" My words seemed to hover just beyond my mouth in the musty room.
He stared in acknowledgement.
Mustering down an embarrassed blush, I stammered, "I'm … Mr. Ivies, I spoke to your wife on the phone about an interview with you? I realize I'm a bit early. I hope I'm not intruding."
In the darkened haze beneath his frazzled locks, a grin appeared, arcing out sidewise and glowing pallid yellow. It had probably not lasted a second, but the image was burned into my memory. He was the Cheshire Cat, an assortment of floating features in a shadowy bough.
"Pah! My wife!" He laughed. "Right, sure, whatever you'll call her is fine with me."
I hovered and ground my heel into the floor. Another pause in the staleness of the room. And finally I broke, "Would you like to have a seat so I can set up the recorder?"
"Won't sit near no one that feeds me formalities, son." That previous laugh had now obviously flapped its derisive wings and flown the coop. "A man greets another man with their first name where I come from."
I had grown up in Tucson, which wasn't too far from Safford. I couldn't imagine that the customs would be all that different between two Arizonans. But, of course, the man wasn't referring to his city, he was referring to his station.
"My apologies. It's Tom."
As if fed a password, the old man lurched forward from the jamb and ambled over to a cheap divan in the corner, puffing smoke along the way like a steam engine. The plastic cover rubbed and belched under him as he sat. In the light of the window over it, a profusion of dust swirled up and sparkled.
"Have a sit then, Tom. Had a buddy named Tom. Actually, two. Pretty common name I s'pose."
Without the illusory effect of his silhouette in the doorway, as the sun shone down on him in a more placid fashion, I saw him for what he was. A man probably not pushing sixty, but looked a hundred, with cloudy eyes and tobacco-tinged edges. His shirt looked like it had seen a thousand spin cycles and a thousand more sloppily-guided steam irons. His hair was the same as his voice: a crackly bush of pallid nettles.
the tie to the color blue hasn't been declared yet but the place these people occupy is called "The Blue Betty". And there'll be more refs to blue obv. etc.
.... though the more i think about it the more i want to write something with zombies in it :V