Tag Archives: writing exercise

Writing Prompt Wednesday


Your prompt today is to use these words in a short story or poem – octopus, surrender, bright

Have fun! My story is below.

octopus

Tentacle Encounter

With a deep breath, I plunged into the bright blue ocean. The water felt cool against my skin, refreshing after the heat of the Caribbean sun. Goggles and snorkel tightly strapped to my head, I gazed at the beautiful corral and brightly coloured fish swimming in all directions away from me. Careful to swim slowly and keep the top of my snorkel above the water, I rounded an outcrop of rock to find a steep drop ahead. The pale seawater around me descended into a dark hole dropping into unknown depths. What lay within those dark waters? I had promised to keep to the shallows but the temptation was too much. Just a quick look would be all right, surely?

I surfaced to look toward the beach and locate my parents. They were lying on beach loungers, enjoying cocktails under the palm trees. Too busy to notice their son swimming beyond the corral reef, identified as his limit. Breathing in and out several times, I filled my lungs to bursting, having no idea how long I would have to swim downwards. Using strong strokes I descended quickly into the gloom. Shimmering lines of light highlighted more brightly adored fish and corral at first then it became darker and colder.

My lungs were beginning to complain when I saw a long tentacle grab a small fish. An octopus! Wow, now I did have to keep going. What if I could catch it? As I turned, an undulating mass rose from the rock ahead of me. It was changing colour from deep brown to pinkish beige as it swam upwards. Following closely, I anticipated its direction and quickly held three of its tentacles, swimming to the surface in a rush as my head was becoming dizzy. Gasping for air while holding my captive tightly, I did not have enough breath to call out to my Dad.

A tentacle wrapped around my arm while another found my throat and began to squeeze. That’s not good. I slid a hand between a couple of suckers and my neck and pushed with all my strength. For a small animal it sure was strong. I needed to grab all the tentacles then it would surely surrender. I only wanted to show Dad then I would let it go.

A couple of tentacles wrapped around my right thigh making treading water difficult. I just needed to get to the shallows then I could walk and shout to my Mum and Dad. A mouthful of water made me cough and swallow more. Spots burst in front of my eyes. I was sinking. Kicking as furiously as I could with my left leg I surfaced for a moment and gasped for air. I had to get this thing off me or I would be the one surrendering.

“All right, lad?”

It was a strangers voice behind me. I turned my head as far as I could to plead for help. The tentacle around my throat was too tight for me to speak now.

“Let’s get him off you, shall we?”

A slight nod from me was enough for the man to pull at the octopus and release my neck from its grip. Next he wrestled the tentacles around my leg and then I was free. The last I saw of that octopus was its tentacles flying through the air before plunging into the depths.

“Thank you so much. Thought I would drown.”

“Have to be careful out here, young man. Keep to the shallows and you should be all right.”

I held out my hand to the stranger. He smiled and gave it a firm shake.

“Lesson learned?”

“You bet. Thanks again.”

I didn’t relay my story to my parents until a few days later when we were on the flight home. I knew they would have forbidden me to go in the ocean otherwise. Although, I did heed the stranger’s advice and kept to the shallows for the rest of our stay.

I would love to read your story/poem – why not share in the comments?

 

Wednesday Writing Prompt


Apologies – I forgot to schedule this post.

The prompt today is ‘ a glimpse out of a window’. What do you see?

window

Here’s my effort.

It started with a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. A movement passing the opened window but when she turned there was nothing there. Dismissing it as possibly a bird or a butterfly floating in the warmth of summer sunshine, she turned back to her work.
Just one more chapter and then she would treat herself to a walk to ease and stretch her aching muscles. Janice had woken bursting with inspiration at five o’clock, now six hours later a major part of the novel was complete. With a flourish she hit the keypad and straightens up. There in front of her was a beautiful face peering through the window. Instinct makes her jump and involuntary utter a gasp.
“Hello, who are you?”
The lady smiles but does not answer just reaches out her hand to beckon Janice outside. Her dark shape and long ebony locks float as if in water, it is surreal. Fascinated Janice opens the patio door and enters the warmth of the day time sun.
“Come follow – you will find.”
“Find what, where are we going?”
Without waiting the lady turns toward the rose garden, the oldest part of the cottage garden. The floral scent permanents the air as they approach the blooms. The dark lady stops in the centre of the path and points. Janice’s eyes follow her fingers direction – there blooms an ebony rose so dark it gleams.
“Write its story, Janice and release me.”
“Release you – I don’t understand?”
“My spirit resides within the bloom I am relying on your gift of words to free me forever.”
“What shall I write? Tell me what to write.”
“You know my story it is deep within you.”
Janice’s mouth opens to ask another question but the dark lady has disappeared. Was she dreaming? Everything seemed so real, so tangible – the warmth on her skin, the grass beneath her feet. Janice returns to her desk, puzzling thoughts race through her mind. There she finds a dark rose petal lying upon the laptop keys. It was real?
A blank page faces her and her fingers begin to type – a story unfolds.
Esmeralda’s roses were well renowned even as far away as London. Each bloom was perfection itself due wholly to her unwavering commitment to their care. After years of trial and error with combinations of manure, egg shells and herbs, Esmeralda had found her ‘secret’ formula. Each season demanded another ritual before the first buds appeared in April. With careful attendance each bud was nurtured to its full potential. Every flower show saw Esmeralda take first place much to the dismay of her rival, Vanity. The competition between the two women was fierce.
During the sixth annual London show Esmeralda was summoned by the Duke of Suffolk. He commissioned her to produce a truly black rose – something never achieved before. With a deep bow Esmeralda had thanked him for his obvious confidence in her abilities but felt she would not succeed. The Duke took her hands and solemnly stated that if anyone could succeed it was indeed the Rose Queen herself.
Upon her return home Esmeralda began researching the deepest and darkest strains of rose. Using grafting techniques and cross pollination she grew several young plants. As they grew and flourished she waited patiently for the first blooms. She achieved deep burgundy and the darkest crimson but never ebony. Three long years past each new bloom took her a step closer to her goal but never close enough. Then in the fourth year a tiny shoot grafted to the main plant produced a bud unlike any Esmeralda had ever seen. It was the darkest green she had ever seen. She tended to this special bud as with all her charges and waited in anticipation for it to blossom.
Sunday 14th April would be a date Esmeralda would never forget – for that morning she witnessed the darkest most beautiful ebony bloom gleaming in the sunlight. She would send word to the Duke that she has succeeded in making his wish come true. However, Esmeralda died that day at the hands of her arch rival, Vanity. It was a dagger to her heart as she breathed sweet words to her special bloom. Vanity took the plant and professed it was her own creation. She became famous over night and reveled in the adulation.
As for Esmeralda her body was buried beneath her rose garden- a place she had loved above all others. Her spirit lived on in the multitude of blooms until one day it rose up and made its presence known. She was the Rose Queen and the ebony bloom her creation.
The words flowed so quickly Janice could not read them quickly enough. At last her fingers ceased their frantic tapping and she realized who her visitor had been. Janice would make sure the real creator was acknowledged for her Black Rose.

Why not share yours in the comments?

Is It Really Cold Outside – It’s All Relative…


clipart-weather

No matter where you live low temperatures are unpleasant, however ‘low’ is relative. Low in a normally tropical location maybe a summer’s day heat in others or a dry cold can be ‘warmer’ than a ‘damp’ cold. I spent the majority of my life living in England – the green and pleasant land. However, the ‘green’ was derived from a great deal of rain. I was used to it and never took much notice of the overcast days – it was normal. When I came to live in Canada, however my first ‘surprise’ was the almost constant sunshine. I was not used to it but really loved it. Such a simple change impacted on how I saw the weather as a whole. Now we can have -30 (and yes its cold) but we also have bright blue sky and sunshine at the same time. So the perception is a glorious day until you step outside!

This is our current 10 day trend:

Nov weather

As the global weather patterns change more of us are experiencing unusual weather. This can be warmer winters, colder summers and everything in between. So how do we reflect this kind of change when we are writing a story set in a particular location, where the ‘normal’ view is tropical, arctic or temperate? Do we continue to use the stereo-type perceptions of the location or utilize other ‘clues’ to the region with flora and fauna, style of buildings and accents?

It is a ‘new’ problem for writers, for sure, but with creativity we can overcome.

Have you come across this particular problem in a recent narrative you are writing?

Quotes:

Give me books, fruit, french wine and fine weather and a little music out of doors, played by somebody I do not know.

John Keats

We welcome all enquiries about the UK climate after all, we have more weather available in this country than anywhere else.

Sir Sydney Samuelson

Prompt logo

Prompt

Set your scene in a preconceived location then change it up…

What do you Exude..?


Exude – definition: to secrete or produce a liquid or odor; to display conspicuously or to send out

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I can share a piece I wrote for Friday Fictioneers:

If you want to join in, here is the link and rules. http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/tag/friday-fictioneers/  This prompt was a photograph of a bike leaning against a tree.

“Whose bike is that anyway? It’s been there for days.”

 “No idea. Did you manage to get hold of the exterminator? The smell from the cellar is getting worse, bound to be something dead down there.”

 The rats nibbled at fingers and toes. The body squeezed behind the large deep freeze oozed dark fluid.

 “Good morning, Dan the Exterminator at your service. Where’s this smell then?”

 Police tape surrounded the café a couple of hours later. The bicycle’s owner found at last.

salamander_logo

As some of you may know, I love prompts and even set a prompt every Saturday on my writing circle’s website : http://www.wfscsherwoodpark.com/  Click on the calendar and choose from any Saturday. Have a go!

As writers we like to evoke a reaction from our readers and how better than making them go Yuk…! Alright maybe that’s just me then.

The second definition reminded me that we also exude enthusiasm for our craft, our stories or poems and our fellow writers. We display ourselves and our written word to whomever will take a look. Are we shameless exhibitionists? Well, actually yes we are, in order to share our words, thoughts and delight in this wonderful craft.

Photo: Devil’s Tooth Fungus…gross but fascinating.

Friday Fictioneers..


anelephantcant

Copyright photo: Anelephantcant

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count.

Here’s the link if you would like a go…http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/07/17/19-july-2013/

“Whose bike is that anyway? It’s been there for days.”

 “No idea. Did you manage to get hold of the exterminator? The smell from the cellar is getting worse, bound to be something dead down there.”

 The rats nibbled at fingers and toes. The body squeezed behind the large deep freeze oozed dark fluid.

 “Good morning, Dan the Exterminator at your service. Where’s this smell then?”

 Police tape surrounded the café a couple of hours later. The bicycle’s owner found at last.

I enjoyed this exercise – now the characters are in my head I’ll expand the story.