So anyone like to write anything and if you do would you mind sharing a work. I'll go first You wake up. you feel sore all over. It is just before dawn as the sky is lighting up. You have some cuts and bruises on your arm but that doesn't matter as you feel sore all over, You are also feeling quite hungry, so you go search for something to eat. You don't remember who you are or what on earth you where doing in the forest. You find some purple berries on a bush. You recognise them but can't seem to remember what they are. You pick some of them and continue to walking. All the time you spent walking you think, who was I? Why am I here? But to your surprise it was already getting dark so you try to find some shelter as you are looking you find a bag. It looked extremely familiar so you decide to open it. It contains a cooking station, some rations, a hatchet, some matches, and most oddly of all a photo of what seemed to be you with people you never seen before. You find a cave it looks likes it hasn't been inhabited for years. You put the bag on the ground in the cave grab the hatchet and go looking for some dry wood. You find some pretty dry wood with some dry grass nearby you grab all that you can carry and head back to the cave. You try to start the fire, you're unsuccessful at first but you start it. A sense of relief as the fire starts to warm the cave. Then you suddenly remember why you're here. It's all clear now.
Hmm. Your style is interesting. Grammatically could use some work but very promising. Here's a sonnet-ish piece that could probably go in the poetry thread too, but it's one I posted before (with a few teensy revisions this time) and I hope it gets some new readers. A tiny well-hid truth exists out there Quiet, swaying in wild pastel fields. While most would distant seek to place their care For those who listen patiently, it yields. The blooms most fresh are ever those most sought Since rare is decoration prettier than life. For their vibrant, supple swirls they're bought, Lent light by dead and dying upon the knife. Yet age may grow a vintner's treasured wine, And just the same it values bright bouquets. The youngest heirs of sunlight still may shine, But spare a look for those limp, withered strays. The tiny truth remaining past the fleetest Is that the dying flower smells the sweetest.
We have a thread devoted to the topic here http://emptyclosets.com/forum/entertainment-media/170981-writers-come-talk-about-writing-24.html
No I don't like to write because I don't like how pencils feel in my hand and the little rubber things are just worse. That is why I am always the first to finish writing things in my classes. (Since I don't like to write I write very fast to get it over with) I might be crazy but just the feeling of writing and the feeling of the pencil makes me a little stressed :/ Of course I love to type though and can type up to 103 WPM
Very, very well done. I just love this part. I'm currently writting a novel (one of the main characters is gender and sexuality fluid) but it's kind of piecemeal to share right now. But here is an assignment I did for my writing group. It was to write the final paragraph for a story. It's just a disembodied paragraph: Insensible Losses Torrid air and sand gusted into the living room as Leona pushed open the sliding glass door, CeeCee in tow. The two girls stood in silence for a few moments in the empty room, surveying the extent of the damage. “They took everything,” Leona exhaled in resolve. Searing tears bubbled to the surface as she remembered the tattered family quilt and her father’s worn leather boots, her red bicycle and homework hanging on the fridge. The General Electric monitor top had been replaced by a tall, dirty shadow that hovered like a ghost in the kitchen. “Everything,” she repeated in a whisper that, along with her tears, evaporated in the oven heat of the Arizona midday. CeeCee brushed stray dark hairs and dust from her olive cheek. “Well, I guess that makes our job a whole lot easier.” Then grasping their brooms, shoulders heavy, they began to sweep away the remnants of their childhood.
