Young Writers discussion
Writing Exercises
>
Freewrite
message 401:
by
Sevania
(new)
Jun 11, 2013 02:33PM
Wait. Taylor, you can't read spoiler tags?
reply
|
flag
Everyone, surround Sam. No sudden movements. *pulls out handgun* Hands where I can see them, Sam.
@SevYup I'm on the mobile app 99% of the time.
Because all this stuff from A to Z about J and Z and stuff is complicated. My love story is so much more simple: Forever alone.
HERE IS WHAT POETRY I CAN WRITE WITH THE TIMER SET FOR 10 MINUTES: I miss being a kid.
Back then, it was so simple. Girls had cooties, and video games had levels.
Now, girls have boobs and video games only have kills.
And instead of power-ups being really hard to get, it's the power naps. Because Mom wants me to drive the car to do errands and Dad wants me to drive the car to be manly and yet both say I can't drive them up the wall.
And the confusion is a little like how I felt when Pong got too fast, and I always wondered where Mario went when he fell off the screen.
Maybe if I fall, people will wonder where I went, and they'll like me as much as Mario.
And they'll want me to come back.
But then they'll keep playing games with me like some toy and I AM NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN UNDER 127.
(Which is how many levels I beat before I was dragged kicked and screaming from childhood.)
And sometimes it feels like I'm crapping eggs like Yoshi.
But Princess Peach doesn't seem to be in this castle because she has already been rescued, and Link got my rupees for rescuing Zelda.
And so I just want to hit the pause button. Or the fast forward button, even though video games don't have that. And I'd play level 127 again and again and again because that was the last time before my childhood was taken away, and I could save Zelda again and again and again.
Just give me back the controller and let me press play. Because that's the button of my childhood.
Play play play.
@SaruI thought it sucked. Too corny. :P What did you like?
Well, I can relate to it so well! Kids always WANT to grow up, but then want to go back. I wish I was kid, I wish people liked me as much as Mario, I wish life would be that simple. Just playing games. :/
I'm glad you like it. I wanna write a poem called "Before You Push Any Buttons," where the voice of the poem lists off things to do before you break up with someone. :D
That sounds interesting! When you're done I want to read it! I wrote a poem too, it's kind of inspired by the name of Maya Angelou's memoir title I know why the caged bird sings wanna read it and tear it to shreds?;)
I would love to read it! I will use it as incentive to clean my room a little. :)
Alright! Well, clean your room and then you can read it! Warning: I think it's cheesy. And preachy. I don't know how to describe it. I wrote it quite a while ago and I'd like to think my writing skills have improved since then.
Okay, post the poem here and I will be back in a bit. :)
My I'm a bird in a cage, set me free.
I must go back to my home in a tree.
It's leaves beckon me with every gust of the wind.
Why can't I go? How have I sinned?
I'm put on display for people to see, why do they stare? What do they see in me?
I don't know why people aspire to be like me,
Perhaps it's because they think they can be free.
Now, please hear what the caged bird sings,
Don't be afraid, go spread your wings.
Go and be a master of your fate.
Dream big, fly high, before it's too late.
Please be in control of your destiny or else you may become like me.
I am a caged bird, hear my song,
Live your life, don't wait too long.
A bit redundant I know:P
I actually really like it! Only question is, why are some couplets on a single line while others are on two?
Hmmmmmmm….Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm….
Huh.
It's a'ight. Not a huge fan of rhyming poetry, but this is decent. If you're considering editing this, maybe you'll want to explore the different aspects of being a caged bird, rather than just the lack of freedom -- maybe cover the pros, like being safe?
I don't rhyme much anymore, I find it childish now. And I'll definitely do that! Thanks Taylor!:)Thanks Sev! I wasnt thinking about organization when I wrote this, i just wrote, so that's why haha:)
message 422:
by
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
(new)
yeah sev please delete it if you don't mind...guys who wants to give me advice now? new update for you ack.
message 424:
by
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
(new)
Saru (Queen of Bookland) wrote: "*raises hand*"i shall inbox you!
message 427:
by
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
(new)
Sevania wrote: "Sorry Sam :("it's fine, don't worry about it!
I think you should inbox me your new update, then.
message 429:
by
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
(new)
it's fine. one of my friends asked me out and i freaked out for a moment lol.
Taylor-Eliza Duo Poem:((Feedback is welcome. She and I would love to hear what your interpretations and favorite lines are.))
Every time I see a girl wearing too much makeup, I wonder who she's trying to impress.
I stand there, feeling my stomach's bile flutter to my throat like butterflies.
And I think, if we threw her in the ocean, the fluttering in her stomach would keep her alive.
My emotions flash in protest underneath the bared line of my mouth, holding any sign of fear back.
I know she's not floating or flying for me, though. She has no reason to descend to stone-cold feet like mine.
A quick application of lipstick and Liz Taylor philosophies, my slow breathing brings me to the present.
Even so, I do my best to look my best even if being my best is not what I am known for. My motto for the women around me is "Stress to Impress."
Stress not only is my middle name, but if I were a Pokémon that would be the only word I would be able to say as I lay drooling in a corner next to PsyDuck
I wonder what interests she has. If maybe she has that tomboy side. Then I take note of the dark streaks of her eyeliner, and think about my own dark streaks.
My composure regained, I walk with strength and confidence. Only by being practically perfect in every way will let me end up in a chalk picture on the arm of a gentleman.
And lemme tell you, the movies have it all wrong. Passing that gorgeous girl isn't some slow-motion experience. Blink. Gone. That hello went to the past. So did this smile. Except somehow her smile manages to linger in my mind.
As I walk towards him, I feel a stare walking up to me and pulling my chin to face it.
Part of me wants to look down at my leaden feet. Part of me wants to look straight on and breathe in the light from her eyes. But my throat feels tight. Who knew that heartstrings could hang?
My feet don't stop walking but they hesitate, ready to escort me where needed. I don't see the stare, but I see its accompanying partner with a weak smile but a strong heartbeat.
I'm getting good at this. The pounding of my heart has shaken it to pieces, and something, like hearts and corpses, can only break down so much.
I walk towards you with that stare still following behind me, but giving me enough space not to feel wary. Your stare greets me, thrusting its icy-eyed handshake through my cheekbones and plunging down my ribcage.
My eyes feel dead, and if looks could kill, I've certainly spent too much time staring at myself in the mirror. My lips are stretched in that rigor mortis of attraction.
I bring my hand to my face, not to cover my blushing freckles, but to hold in the bile-butterflies from escaping.
I'm glad my lips feel stitched shut, because I was about to say something stupid like "I like your cardigan."
I sit next to you, not quite sure if a gulping "Hey there" would suffice or if I could pull a breathless Daisy's "I'm certainly glad to see you again" facade.
I'm not quite sure what just came out. I think they're lightbulbs, because I can see her better and she's glowing.
I cross my ankles and shift them to the right of my chair, I think of a gentleman in a sidewalk chalk painting. Running my hand through my hair, I wait on your reply as a death row convict waits for his last meal, is it the dry bread and water, or a mille-feuille?
I've never been good with words -- my lips are broken shutters on a run-down house with enough ghosts to fill two thousands cursed swine. So I slide a page from my algebra textbook over to her. Maybe I can solve her exes if she can solve my whys.
He hands me a page of resignation? Of love? It is neither but the execrable equations of math. Needless to say, I am positively perplexed though dubiously interested.
My eyes widen. I pull the sheet back because it's missing something. The X's are certainly feeling lonely, even when they're with her, so I put some O's on there for good measure.
I answer back with an arched eyebrow but a sly smile.
Those two new curves are the ones everyone has lost appreciation for but me, because everyone is focused on the others. But these…these are what make her worth more than the millionaire bombshell blonds on TV.
My stare and his have been sufficiently introduced and have occupied the open booth in the corner, yet his mouth remains silent as a catacomb.
I open my mouth, and moths seem to come flying out of my mouth. I miss the days when I could reach into her pockets and pull out the mothballs I stuffed in my cheeks.
He stutters on his tongue but his eyes lighten up his sparrow body with an ernest hope.
The words finally come like resurrected pages from broken spines. "Hi. You look great today."
I choke back a giggle and say, "Thanks. I like your shoes."
That's really cool!My favorite lines:
-Stress not only is my middle name, but if I were a Pokémon that would be the only word I would be able to say as I lay drooling in a corner next to PsyDuck
-Maybe I can solve her exes if she can solve my whys.
message 432:
by
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
(new)
i agree. i love the "Maybe I can solve her exes if she can solve my whys" line.
It's hard to write when your in a car, okay maybe not too hard if u find a good position. But still It annoys me, so I guess then why not just wait till i get to where I'm going then write? Well the thing is I get most inspired on car rides.The things I see on the streets, the faces of people crossing and walking by, the kids on the sidewalks pushing and playing around, the old couple holding hands and crossing in front of me, the car in the next lane with the three kids in the back seat all staring from the same window, or even the store in my view with guy holding the door for the family that he doesn't know or the news paper delivery boy who's trying to get his job done early and falling off his bike. Sometimes it's even the red and green lights or the blue and red lights i see speeding by, sometimes it's the sunny warm weather or the rainy cloudy one. Bottom line it's when I'm riding in a car that I notice and feel and decided to write. Now I carry a note book with ugly and funny looking handwriting all evidence of my in car writings. Sometimes I write using my phone where handwriting isn't really an issue but I like the feel of moving the pencil when I'm thinking. Call me weird or problematic but this is me, and when I notice, see, and feel I want to write and that mostly happens when I'm on car rides. xD
Just something I wrote about writing : )
In which I put lines here in case I lose them elsewhere. From awhile ago:
"It may be hard to see the diamonds on my cheeks, but at least you're keeping away the rubies on my wrists."
And something with humor only Eliza would understand :D :
"When he said, 'I need you to hug me," you and I held suppressed laughter in our cupped palms. When I said it, you placed that palm on my heart and said, 'Okay.'"
Freewrite time o0o0o0oThere's something about words.
Art is different hues and coloration blended all with each other and spread across a canvas. It's a chaotic process, yet something beautiful becomes of it. It's a cacophony of blues and reds, a mess of light and dark. It's a brilliant display of such polar opposites, sad purples with lively greens, capturing a moment of life to be shown forevermore.
Music is the voices of objects carved from wood or bent from metal coming together in harmony. It's loud and triumphant brass, from the piercing trumpets to the booming tubas, mingling with the soft and sweet strings, from the romantic violins to the foreboding basses. Sometimes their rolls switch; other times, the woodwinds steal the show, the percussion supporting them always. It's a handful of different objects and people strewn together to be something so breathtaking that it's utterly indescribable. It's perfection on Earth.
However, there's something about writing. Writing is just little black lines on white. They form characters that seem to be nonsense to those that don't understand. Yet the little black lines can paint pictures of lands never seen and share lives never told. Intangible friends are made, so lifelike one could swear they could almost grasp their fingertips and be pulled in. How silly it is that such simple writing stir emotions in the dark depths of a man's soul, causing him to rise and take action or weep as if he lost his own friends.
Writing is magnificent.
:O O_O WOW. THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL.
That really wasn't that good adlajfklsjfls ew I hate my writing.
It was great! I loved it.
message 439:
by
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
(new)
Emily wrote: "Freewrite time o0o0o0oThere's something about words.
Art is different hues and coloration blended all with each other and spread across a canvas. It's a chaotic process, yet something beautiful..."
O_O i'm obsessed.
http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/3... I havent written much but please still check it out!! Thanks!
message 443:
by
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
(new)
Eva wrote: "http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/3... I havent written much but please still check it out!! Thanks!"Eva, no offense but this isn't the best place to post your story. why don't you make your own thread about the story, based on what genre it is? thanks. :)
Did freewriting with Savannah last night. She gave me four pictures for my prompt…I'd post them here but it's basically impossible from the mobile app. Here is what came out of it, which I'm really proud of since Savannah liked it. --
Sil stood at the top of the tower, breathing in Clorum air like one would swallow rusted nails. The blood on her fingertips was, unfortunately, hers. She was grateful her wings were left undamaged, though she wished Lord Postiff hadn't spotted her. That little glimpse had left her side bubbling with a gaseous substance -- at least three arteries had been torn by the sharp gaze of her former owner.
Sil scanned the streets, silently begging that Postiff wouldn't find her. That gas that foamed from the hard curve between her waist and ribcage was worth as much as this entire abandoned city if she were completely drained.
The bone-lined streets were empty from her perspective…though she still scanned the skies, looking for Postiff's hawk or the winged Lion. Though she did not expect to find the latter -- he was filled with the same gas as she, and would likely rather wait for his quarry to approach him than to risk his own fur.
Sil sat down gently, careful to press her radiant wings against the stone, wishing she had a coat to conceal her identity. Not that it would make it difficult for anyone to spot her -- as the most sought-after creature within two hundred miles, anyone who had been aware of this hunt would know her face, build, gait, and Signature. The Lion had promised to help change her Signature, but she could not risk trusting him. It was rumored among the remaining Glassflights that the flying-obsessed Lion would extract their inheritance, then proceed to bury them until all their Flecks floated to the surface, ready to be sold as expensive artifacts of glorious days long past.
Sil turned around and began to pick at the mortar of the tower. She would get in there one way or another. Part of her was tempted to dig at the stone with a Fleck to diminish her overall value by a village or two, but she knew she needed to guard them well. Since the Lion had took to the skies, the only thing separating her from the world were her actual wings.
She looked down again and almost plummeted from the tower in shock. Below her was a woman who clearly was aware that someone was on the tower. She appeared fantastically regal, though a touch dangerous on her horse, which was a rare thing to see alive in these parts.
The piercing eyes flashed, and Sil was faintly aware of her resolution to trust no one as she fell to the earth. If she could survive this fall, it would likely be her last before she was bound to the earth forever.
--
A few things to explain what was going on in my head.
Sil is a Glassflight, a member of a family that has the valued ability to fly. This is made possible through a gas that fills their veins instead of blood, which is a highly coveted substance. At this point in the story, all but a few of the large, spread-out family have been captured and enslaved, or killed by accident. Only two have been successfully murdered in a controlled environment, and that is the doing of the Lion, a white cat that desires to take to the skies using this gas. He has done this successfully, but because his body cannot manufacture the gas, he now needs more to keep off the ground.
I'll simply run through the story and explain specific phrases and terms.
Clorum -- the birthplace of the first Glassflight, a sort of secret holy place for the family
Lord Postiff -- one of the more successful hunters of Glassflights. He has breathed in some of the gas and as a result, can separate the bond atoms with his gaze. He desires more of the gas for money, and also believes that if he can make lenses from the Flecks (the individual colored segments in a Glassflight's wings), he can more easily control his destructive power.
The gas -- Makes the Glassflights able to fly.
Signature -- Every person has a sort of residual trail that can be occasionally glimpsed by anyone. Glassflights have a very distinct one that is easily seen, and the Lion claims to be able to make it more subtle.
"Inheritance" -- another name for the gas
Flecks -- the individual pieces in a Glassflight's wings. Each one is said to allow access to different planes of existence, though this is merely a rumor. Few of the remaining Glasslights know what the purpose of the Flecks are, though there is one living who believes he has found the answer.
The woman -- Pssssst…a Glasslight who has removed her wings. This should have killed her, but the Lion kept her stable so long as he got to keep the Flecks and her loyalty.
I burst to the surface for air.All around me people are cheering.
For me? No, that can't be. I'm just Jessica.
Jessica who always blends in with other people.. Who lets people cut in front of her in the lunch line.
I can't be winning. That's impossible.
I keep swimming while all of these thoughts linger in my mind. I feel someone next to me, letting the drops of her wild thrashing in the water sprinkle over me. Just two more pumps and I'll be touching that wall, pumping one fist in the air while everyone chants my name.
*Gasp*
I woke up, feeling dazed. Was that real? Did that happen yesterday? Or was it all in my mind?
Looking to my dresser confirmed my suspicions; It was a dream.
Hanging my head, I got up and stumbled down the stairs. I hear bacon sizzling and a few voices in the kitchen. I peer around the corner.
Sitting in the chair, is Jonathan MacAdams, captain of the soccer team and leader of the Student Council. He may not be the most popular guy at school, but he's perfect for me.
But why would he be here at 9:30 in the morning?
A sudden thought occurs to me; I need to get dressed!
I sprint up the stairs, almost tripping half a dozen times, and slam my door shut.
"What to wear, what to wear??" I frantically throw clothes over my shoulder. Hmmm, maybe the yellow camisole? No... Too casual.
"I know!" I run over to my dresser and pull out my black and white polka-dotted lace tank top. I layer in over my hot pink cami. I find some jean shorts and tug them on.
One look in the mirror tells me that I must brush my hair. I pull out a comb and tease it through my bangs.
"Breath mint, breath mint.." I find one and pop it in my mouth.
message 446:
by
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
(new)
Poema (Elizabeth) wrote: "It's been a while since I free write. I'm going to try again. It's a monologue.---
Allie, I have a strange, strange dream. I knew I was dreaming, but I did not care. I could control my actions a..."
*claps*
so good.
I'm feeling really lousy all of a sudden right now, so I'm going to freewrite a poem. (I knew I should have gone to bed twenty minutes ago.)The white picket fence families are all I dreamed of for years.
Then I met you,
and I realized that I wasn't shooting for the stars,
but anthills in my backyard.
I started wanting castles and hidden rooms and spiral staircases and copses of trees
in a five-acre kingdom of my own.
But
I dug in my pocket and pulled out stardust
and tried to pay for the riches that would buy me love in the end.
But nobody will take a loan in chapbooks and chapter books,
So here we are.
You said "yes" and "I do"
and I think we may have made love once.
I just don't know if we ever got the right recipe.
Because now we're in a one-bedroom apartment
with a broken coffee pot
and I get up at 3 AM to work three dysfunctional jobs
so I can make ends meet.
Like the end of your sadness
and the end of my sadness.
I'd like those to meet sometime, and actually work things through.
Instead of fighting over the loans that got us the education
that should have gotten me the job
to make you a queen
even though you never got to be daddy's little princess.
You were never the princess.
I'm sorry for that.
I'm sorry you always played the pea,
sitting under the weight of a hundred beds
that your mom occupied, trying to find
the
right
one.
Like Goldilocks.
But I'm sorry you never found the right one.
I'm sorry I was was too cold.
Too hard.
Too me.
I just want a single
day
when you can hold me and rub the knots out of my coarse ego
that made me think
you'd want an adventure.
So stake me with the picket fence,
my childhood dream,
and make me realize I want it back.
I want a giggling princess.
Not the castle that comes with it.
And God has certainly made clear to me that
because I was not gifted with divine investiture
I can only have one.
message 448:
by
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
(new)
Taylor [Pardon me while I fanboy over you] wrote: "I'm feeling really lousy all of a sudden right now, so I'm going to freewrite a poem. (I knew I should have gone to bed twenty minutes ago.)The white picket fence families are all I dreamed of fo..."
i can't even tell you how much i love this.
Mod
The white picket fence families are all I dreamed of fo..."
This is gorgeous! Like. I cannot even describe the feels.
Can someone please tell me what's good about it? I see, like, two cool things about it. But I totally missed the mark on what I was trying to say and some of my metaphors are really corny (or pea-y, or pissy, or something). :P
Young Writers
Books mentioned in this topic
The Ask and the Answer (other topics)The Princess Bride (other topics)
Flock (other topics)
The 5th Wave (other topics)
Jellicoe Road (other topics)
