- Joined
- Jan 4, 2013
- Messages
- 786
- Reaction score
- 1,563
- First Language
- English
- Primarily Uses
- N/A
Vexed's Year of Creative Writing 2015!
Introduction
So, as a part of one of my New Years Resolutions I've decided to try and be less crap at writing. If that last sentence is anything to go by, this is going to be an uphill battle.
To help me on this journey I've picked up some awesome books chock full of creative writing exercises and have tasked myself with completing at least one every two days. If I run out of exercises I may end up asking for suggestions or just buying more books. This topic is going to serve as my wordy scrap-book. A place where selected completed exercises will live on forever for the amusement and possible ridicule of all you lovely people.
Now, that's not to say I'm going to spam this place with every exercise I complete. Some are pretty boring and weird like listing 10 words to do with toast or giving my furniture a back-story and personal tragedy. Well, the former example there is an exaggeration. The latter - somewhat worryingly - is not.
Without further ado [i love that word. Ado. Such fun] I'm gonna jump in with an exercise I completed overnight.
The Wordy Things - Part 1
This exercise was to take two randomly selected words from a pre-made list of 12 [big thanks to Ms Littlefish for being my human random number generator!] and then write something with those words as it's title. The words I ended up with were Premature and Song. And after deciding to throw away the rules and add an "A" to the beginning of the title, I came up with this... please, let me know what you think
Or not. You know, totally up to you. But either way, I hope you enjoy!A Premature Song
She stared up at the light falling through the dancing canopy of branches above her. Shafts of gold that lit up the dust and bugs and spores, eddying stars against the rich red leaves.
She couldn't move her head anymore, but she was thankful at least to be staring at something beautiful and no longer the glassy eyed corpse that was still partially slumped across her legs. The heavy plate armour she wore, pitted and stained with battle, dug into her hips and shoulders and compressed her chest making deep breaths impossible. Her feet ached still from the tight leather of un-worn boots and her neck, craned as it was so awkwardly throbbed and pulsed at the base. Odd, she found it that the wound in her gut was the thing that troubled her least. The burning torrent of pain she felt as the Thrall withdrew its blade had settled into a soft hum - tepid and almost pleasant.
It was strangely peaceful, now that everyone was either dead or dying. She'd heard Kindarr breathe his last about an hour ago, all wet spluttering and wheezing as he coughed up what little blood he had left. He was a good man - a fine soldier. She was glad his suffering was now past.
They'd come from the ground as dark things often do. Bursting through the dried leaves all loose skin and savage blades as her party reached the centre of the small clearing not a day and a half from the city. So close. There was no one to blame, none who could have predicted the attack though Jalen had spent his last moments cursing her name and begging the Gods to spare him. All his shouting and posturing had been rewarded with a blade to his throat by the Thrall that now lay beside her. It had thought to end her misery too, but made the fatal mistake of staying its blade - leaning down to grip her thigh and force a kiss with its thin, rubbery lips, giving her time to bury her off-hand dagger in its blue-grey scalp.
The light was starting to dim, though it was only late morning. An approaching storm or the tug of the grave she wondered. Panic rose in her body, reawakening every wound and bruise as it slithered from her open gut, outward to her toes and to her eyelids. She pushed the thought away and wondered instead of the messenger the party had sent ahead.
On horse she would have reached the city a day ago or more, had she survived. Perhaps the girl's bones and blood lay among the leaves too. No, she thought. She would have taken the plains past Nall and up the stream. There was no thoroughfare for horses through the Red Forest.
She thought about the girl reaching the city, bringing word of the Queen and her White Guard’s glorious victory against the Thrall Prince. She thought of her dear husband's tense face, probably pale with worry and mottled with stubble since she'd left, sink with relief at the thought of his Queen returning home. She thought of her daughter Caly, innocently grinning at the news without fully understanding - bouncing impatiently for more wooden sword-play and carefully worded tales of the danger and romance of her Mother’s battles beyond the walls.
She imagined the streets, lined with cheering folk in their best dress; the parties and the wine and the songs of victory. Oh, how they would sing and dance and sing again and drink and fall down and praise her name in slurred mumbles and with the crashing of flagons.
It would be days, a week perhaps, before their mood was soured and their celebrations halted. When they finally realised that the warrior Queen they worshipped and adored would never again return home.
She thought then of other songs. Songs of loss and grief. A dirge of heavy voices calling out into the wilds in reverence and howling desire.
[SIZE=11pt]But not today, she thought, the last of the golden rays fading to deepest blue. They would soon mourn for their Queen but not today. Today she would sleep, and they would rejoice.[/SIZE]
*
Last edited by a moderator:
