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Post by Hinata on Feb 19, 2005 22:23:28 GMT -5
So this is an assignment my professor in Creative Writing gave that I found rather interesting. Write a description about a lake as seen through the eyes of a person who had just committed a murder. You cannot mention the murder or the person murdered and you have to write it in the third person. And then Write a description about a barn as seen through the eyes of someone who has just lost their child in war. You cannot mention war or the child and it must be written in the third person. When I did this, I found myself focusing on details I normally wouldn't pay attention to. . .but I'll explain that after ya'll do the exercises  |
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amodman
Mabinog
[M:395]
The Nightcrawler
Posts: 226
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Post by amodman on Feb 20, 2005 5:56:13 GMT -5
I'll take a stab -
His eyes focused on the great behemoth before him. The great blue beast, it seemed. He could feel it's breath upon him, the breeze drifting from it's shores...and it felt good. He was mesmerized by the movements of the water, the waves lapping against the cold earth, the ripples of evey movement about it. This was his place, this basin. It was his refuge.
She gazed upon the old, browning barn. She could almost feel it's mourning for it's former, glorious red. The roof was in shambles, many spots needing patched. But for all practical purposes, it was still functional, and no matter what, it would go on.
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Post by dgan on Feb 20, 2005 8:44:14 GMT -5
Very well done. I am most likely foolish to attempt following that. However, as you described the emotions through the objects, I will describe the objects as seen through the emotions. Clouded, or perhaps altered, if you will.
Blood pumped hot through his temples, blurring his vision as he found a place to collapse near the water. The lake, fluid and graceful, rippled its unbearably clear waves and the sound thundered in his ears. The peaceful wind carried balmy air into his face, threatening to choke him with its repugnant perfume. He could see majestic trees, innumerably lined along the flat shores of this pathetic lake, rising taller, mocking him with their bold appearance. His soul felt the penetration of sun's evil warmth, as it shined through a cloudless sky refusing to leave anything or anyone hidden. The entire scene was suffocating him. Rather, it was stalking him.
***
He stood in the door, the barn directly before him. It was a large barn with a huge, arching roof of the kind his own father would have seen in abundance as a child. Though he had looked out at the barn countless times from this very spot, it was no longer the barn he knew. He saw only rusty gates and sagging doors where there used to be entrances to spaceships and never explored caves. The foundation no longer crumbled from giants or young feats of strength, but was simply broken. The well-worn paths winding around the building, which on moonlit nights used to be a guide into someone's soul, would only muddy boots from now on. Mostly, he just saw red. The fading red of hopelessness and despair gripped him as he walked sobbing from the house to the barn to speak the words that will wholly break a mother's heart.
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Post by twyrch on Feb 20, 2005 11:45:58 GMT -5
Wow... Both of you did really well. I'm not in a very creative mood right now, but I'll give it a shot...
He stumbled down the hill, splashing haphazardly into the stagnant pond before him... His bloodied arms sunk elbow deep in the mirky mire that made up the lake bottom. Looking out across the pond, the small ripples slowly grew ever expanding across the dark expanse. He thought of how his own actions would soon expand past anything he could now control. The black waters reflected a mirror his haggard visage. Disgusting and putrid was the smell of this foul pond, giving him a momentary glempse into the evil of his own soul. Dark and forboding... Unforgiving to the very end....
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She opened the doors to the old barn warily... Cobwebs now hung in shadows where children had once played. The sunlight streamed into the barn, illuminating the sorrowful decay of that which had once been alive and beautiful to behold. In it's former glory, this had been the center of activity for young and old alike. But now, it had passed on into memory... as life tends to make all things in this world. She closed the door to the memories which flooded her mind. This place was a tomb to her past and could not be revisited without enduring it's painful embrace....
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Post by Child of Immanuel on Feb 20, 2005 16:42:40 GMT -5
[pedanticicity]Twrch, the possessive of it is its. It's is only used as a contraction of it is.[/pedanticity] Sorry, little things like that bug me. Another thing that really bugs me is saying "have got", as in "I've got a....". It SHOULD be "I have a...".
lol, sorry. I just had to say that. Ignore the latter half of that paragraph.
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Post by Child of Immanuel on Feb 20, 2005 16:48:48 GMT -5
The lake: it hides secrets forever. He stared at it through the blood pounding in his ears. What other foul deeds had it witnessed? What other slimy things lay in its depths? He shuddered and turned away from it, both his savior and his accuser.
~*~*~*~
It once held cows, chickens, pigs. It fed the family and provided that bit left over. Now, its roof showed the grey, cold sky and weeds grew through the cracks in the rotted wood floor. It was dead as what it contained.
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Post by CynanMachae on Feb 20, 2005 17:07:29 GMT -5
well here goes... Oblivious to all about him, the man crashed through the woods, breaking free to find himself at the edge of a crystal lake. The water was as smooth as glass, with hardly a ripple to be seen. Trees bordered the lake on three sides, and on the fourth hills rose to sloping mountains on the horizon. Where others would pause to gather the landscapes beauty, he only stumbled to the edge and bent to get a drink. I cant stop for long, he thought, they'll be here soon. as he lowered his face to the refreshing liquid, he saw staring back at him not his features, but anothers, bloody and beaten. The man gave a shout and sprang back. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Leaves swirled and insects hummed as another man knelt by an old wheelbarrow, staring through clouded eyes at his old barn, clutching a picture in one hand and his reliable, though no longer trusted shotgun in the other. In his mind he saw hay being thrown down from the loft, the smiling image of a boy framed by the wooden beams. Tears flowed openly down his sqaure jaw, the autumn wind tossing his hair around his eyes. man, that was terrible. but now im thinking i have an idea for a book. |
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Post by twyrch on Feb 20, 2005 17:08:20 GMT -5
[pedanticicity]Twrch, the possessive of it is its. It's is only used as a contraction of it is.[/pedanticity] Sorry, little things like that bug me. Another thing that really bugs me is saying "have got", as in "I've got a....". It SHOULD be "I have a...". lol, sorry. I just had to say that. Ignore the latter half of that paragraph. COI, Twyrch is spelled with a "Y"... Sorry... little things like that just bug me.  LOL, sorry. I just had to say that too. ;D |
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Post by Child of Immanuel on Feb 20, 2005 17:12:32 GMT -5
OUCH... I stand corrected.
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Post by twyrch on Feb 20, 2005 17:19:18 GMT -5
OUCH... I stand corrected. LOL... It's alright... I just couldn't resist. |
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Post by Hinata on Feb 20, 2005 18:14:15 GMT -5
Okay. . .Mine is going to be longer since it was obviously a writing assignment. . .
He watches the waved from the lake lap over the beach. His heart begins to align itself with the slow, steady water. He is much calmer now, earlier he would have thought that his deed would have made him go crazy.
His eye catches sight of a sea gull. It is flying toward the small island that blocks the view of the other side. The sea gull flies over the island and dips down. He loses sight of the bird.
Yes, be free. He sighs quietly to himself. The blue has calmed the red.
(I was going to do more with it. . .but I forget what it was. . .I wrote it in class. . .)
________________________________________________
She walked slowly to the red barn. The last of her tears seemed to have disappeared and the path was becoming clearer. She slipped past the large pine woods that stood as sentries to the path that would led her straight to the barn. The faded red paint looked more vibrant today than it had in the past. The paint was something she had never noticed before and she remembered when they used to have chicks running around the barn. The mother hens would be around just clucking idly but constantly keeping an eye on their chicks. Those chicks were no longer here, having died several years prior. She didn't know why they didn't tear the barn down. It had no purpose other than as a storage facility for her husband's toys.
As she neared the barn, she noticed a small amount of blood on the barn's door; blood that had long since dried. To the untrained eye it would be passed off as merely red paint that had crossed on to the large white cross which covered both doors.
The barn seemed to be a traditional barn. It was probably built in the early twentieth century an dif they fixed it up correctly it might become an antique, but she had never desired to fix up the barn since they never did anything with it. She moved past her husband's snow mobiles and his numerous rifles that he never used anymore. As she walked pass the metal box where they had raised the baby chicks, her eyes passed over the lights that had incubated the small eggs. She paused for a moment to reach out and touch the box. The tears came again and she began to cry with the memories that flooded her.
There had been one chick which she had come attached to since it looked like he would not make it through his first night. However, he had made it and while he only lived for a few more weeks, the chick had a determination not to give up even when the others would push him away from the water and food that was placed out for them. The chick had been a source of strength to her then. It had seemed like her marriage was falling apart, but the chick had reminded her of the important parts of life and they had worked through their problems. Now another problem faced them and there was no chick to comfort her.
She moved on, trying to push her pain away with the metal box and went into where the chickens had stayed. If she looked carefully she could find a feather or two that had not been carried off by the wind, but there was no trace of any chickens besides the chicken wire that surrounded the corner of the barn.
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Post by Child of Immanuel on Feb 20, 2005 18:38:36 GMT -5
HA!!!!! You are the one in the wrong after all!  It is spelled Twrch in both books.... without a y and with a capital T. |
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Post by twyrch on Feb 20, 2005 23:32:54 GMT -5
HA!!!!! You are the one in the wrong after all! It is spelled Twrch in both books.... without a y and with a capital T. LOL! Capitals mean nothing in a username... I always use lower case... And as an FYI.... Lawhead got it wrong in his books... River Twyrch |
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Post by Child of Immanuel on Feb 21, 2005 10:31:20 GMT -5
As far as I'm concerned, Lawhead's way is always best. lol. |
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Post by twyrch on Feb 21, 2005 13:56:46 GMT -5
As far as I'm concerned, Lawhead's way is always best. lol. Even if it's misspelled? *Is shocked* |
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Twyrch /|\
It is spelled Twrch in both books.... without a y and with a capital T.