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Apr. 13th, 2008

wuie

wolvzor

Exercise 4 - wolvzor

The first time I heard "Sour Girl" by The Stone Temple Pilots, it was only a lyric or two until the familiar slap of the snooze button muted the wakeup call. If it was any other day, the all-too persistent ring from her cell phone would have coaxed us out of our Saturday slumber. Those days she would groggily wipe the sleep from her eyes and stumble over to the dresser, picking up the call and convincing her husband that "Yes, I am safe," and "Yes, I know I shouldn't sleep so late." That phone call was absent that morning, replaced by the words that echoed through my mind.

What would you do
What would you do if I followed you
What would you do if I followed?


I rolled over to my side, pressing myself against her half-asleep form. My hands ran over her creamy skin, starting at her shoulders and following the curves and crevices of her back until resting on her hips. Our forms were identical, with my breasts pushing up against her back as I pulled her closer into an embrace. My hot breath glided across her neck, to which I was rewarded a sigh of contentment and a murmur of pleasure. Her head rolled towards mine, I became captivated by the glimmer of her necklace and the gleam of her forest green eyes. With a gentle hand, she guided my lips to hers, sharing a sensual morning kiss as the sun's rays started peeking through the shades.

It was always the next moments that would become innate animal behavior, where I could see what truly lies beneath her daily facade. Her instincts would take over, greedily sucking at my lips and tongue as she pushed me on my back. Vulnerability would settle in as her entire weight pinned me down, with nibbles and licks and the occasional brutal bite that would sap my willpower and summon groans hidden deep within. I'd always release myself to this sultry surrender, for it's where I found salvation and the true core to her being. I imagined being drawn into her hidden inner sanctum, one that no one in this universe could see except myself. No one else saw what she tried so hard to hide, but I could lure out so easily. Each lick on my ear and deep bite on my neck proved it, and waves rushed over as she would swirl her initials inside me.

It was always afterwards that was the most painful. Drained, I rested in her arms, beads of sweat resting on the skin. This was really her, but in a moment's time, it would retreat into the shadows, just as it always has. In the heights of passion, I was totally hers, and she was loyally mine. Adrenaline and sweat and the musk of lovemaking would eventually settle, and so would these bonds that held us together, loosening and flying with the wind as her grip would relinquish me. In the outside world, this wasn't her. Out that door, she had a family and a husband and one kid and two dogs and the white picket fence. It was too much built, too much to give up. Out there, I wasn't totally hers, and wasn't loyally mine. We had checked our morals at the threshold, only salvaging them as we salvaged our clothes from the floor.

She told me once that it had never been a decision between him and me based on personality, love or attraction. It had been a practical choice, made in practical times. It was the age of the war machine in Iraq, the sub-prime mortgage crisis, the stock market battering. Americans bunkered behind The Patriot Act and No Child Left Behind and wiretapping as if their very lives depended on it, frightened by the prospect of that one small window of weakening would sunder their perfect little American Dreams apart. I wasn't an American Dream at that point, and we couldn't have been an American Dream in her eyes. I tried to remind her that the Emancipation Proclamation, women's suffrage, and civil rights weren't the American Dream at one point, that it took those that had strong convictions about their idea of the American Dream to stand up and defy the mainstream that so readily defined the societal morality code.

We could have been the new American Dream, I insisted. I eventually found out that it wasn't hers. Blanketed by doubt and showered by tears, she wouldn't have told me unless her decisions were rushed. Other American Dreams tend to do that. She wanted to cut me loose, set me free into the mystical land where I could have found someone that I could have built my American Dream with, but I stayed right next to the severed leash, refusing to depart. She implored me to leave, to search for that which I needed, since she couldn't provide it here. I had found it though. I found it in her wandering eyes, in secret smiles and casual touches. I found it in inside jokes and frequent messages and the national forests that reflected her eyes. I found it in my dreams upon awaking, and in my desires each night. I finally found it in our flings, the ones that she didn't want our relationship to dissolve into, but I'd rather have her once every couple months than to have another person every night.

I watched her as she checked her purse for all of its contents before flashing me that smile, that smirk that's reserved only for me. I leaned on the door frame as I gazed out into the morning air, with her getting into her dew-drenched car. It was always in those moments that I wondered what she would have done if only I had followed her.

Apr. 9th, 2008


superfrail

Exercise 3 - superfrail

I meant to complete this exercise long ago, but was inspired to flesh out a completely different idea. I would like to continue this further at some point. I had the notion of these already-overpowering beings existing as simple earthly avatars for, well, sentient quasars.

Critique:

• Use of "afterward" in first paragraph
• "aidon" as mythobabble - open to alternates
• Punctuation, colons and hyphens in particular

---
If I were to go there a second time, I would not see them again. The Great Old Ones had passed from this world just as the aidon had passed from the seas. But the sting of acid still hung in the air over the hilltop, and certainly nothing that breathed ever made its home there afterward.

I could not close my eyes without seeing them: four tall, angular pillars of roughly-hewn rock, sentient and powerful. The eyes of their all-too-human faces stared toward the horizon where the ocean met the sky. I could not sleep without sensing them: four dark holes in the fabric of reality. They pierced me. And I looked to the night sky, when Polymor hung low in the constellation Auriga, unable to shake the sudden rush of vertigo.

The living pyramids had crested the hilltop slowly, rumbling and grating like giant chess pieces. As I became aware of their attention, I lost the ability to stand. On my knees I observed them, magnificent and otherworldly. Here were the gods whose counsel I had crossed an ocean to acquire, whose presence I dared believe I was capable of enduring.

My reasons for coming were meaningless, I realized, as the foremost pillar began to speak.

Mar. 25th, 2008

wuie

wolvzor

Exercise 3 - wolvzor

“Where were you last night” is a question that's never asked anymore. Staring out into the ubiquitous darkness, Karen realized that she never heard the question posed to her after The Collision. There was no 'last night' anymore, and there would never be a 'good morning'. Karen sighed as she looked at the rippling reflection of Luna off the water, the only sure sign that Sol still existed, a sun that she would never see if she was lucky.

The only ships that habited the sunlit side of Earth were the hydroponics bays upon the remnant aircraft carriers of the nations of yesteryear. Indentured servants and prison mates tended to the crops, stuck in the never-ending morning heat of Sol. Reprieves were few: The steel of the decks would grow glowing hot and smoldering, and the carriers would speed up to catch the bitter cold of waters untouched by Sol for days – if the words had meaning anymore.

Karen's ship remained on the opposite side of Earth at all times, keeping the temperature at a bearable level for human survival. It was a constant temperature, only wavering slightly while moving closer to the poles. The early evening air wafted cool and salty onto Karen's lips, and she licked the tang off as she glanced at the shore of the California Crater. Ground Zero of The Collision: the asteroid that struck Earth at just the wrong angle to stop ninety percent of all rotation.

Sol cooked the soil, while night froze the living. It became apparent that life among cities and land was a foolish proposition, and the only way of survival was to take to the sea. Karen's finger twitched, her hand's memory of the Desert Eagle she held on Day One, protecting her ship from the flood of humanity pouring onto the piers. She wasn't proud of her bullets streaking through the air, finding their mark into naked flesh, but the small fishing boat couldn't handle the weight of them all.

No ship could.

---

(I may do the other sentences tomorrow if I have the time :D)

Mar. 13th, 2008


superfrail

Exercise 2 - superfrail

Tried a little second person POV action since I never actually see it done, and it helped me stretch my imagination a little. I still feel like I trainwrecked a couple of these, but they are only sketches.

With a Generalization

Everyone felt the same, and for a while we were united despite our diversity: three hundred and twenty billion souls in search of a home.

With a Description of a Person
When she cried, she looked just like a spring flower after a cold rain.

With Narrative Summary
The average time it took to build a colony ship was five years, three months, and eleven days. This estimate was widely-known in the last years, as the deadline for the end of the world drew near.

With Dialogue
"I'm staying here, Em," he told her as the transport's engines began to whine. "There's nothing for me out there."

With Several Characters but no Dialogue
The solitary woman by the tensile glass window—she looked like a nun, but she wasn't—crossed and recrossed her legs in the time it took for Kaya and I to make it to the far side of the terminal. The window was enormous, bigger than most houses, and we could see the Earth suspended in the inky sky above. Several other passengers shifted nervously on the benches. A weathered old man with calloused fingers and his pretty, white-haired wife. A family of four. A young couple cradling each other further down the line. No one said a thing.

With a Setting and Only One Character
The Baron stood on a low rise covered with dry scrub grass overlooking the desert, dunes like waves, while the bronze evening sun neared the horizon behind him.

With a Reminiscent Narrator
It was being pulled away from home that killed me, being locked in a tin can hurtling through the stars. I'd drift like a ghost down the halls, sifting through my memories. The crash of waves. The smell of earth. I realized how much I truly missed her then.

With a Child Narrator
I wanted to watch the liftoff with the rest of them, but there wasn't room, so I waited outside the observatory. I saw the glow of the rockets on the floor by my feet, though, and that made it so much harder.

By Establishing Point of View - First Person
I spent the evening in the pool inside one of the conservatories—CN-3, I think—since the experience of being in the water came closer to memories of home than any other activity I had participated in. For that short time in the artificial twilight of the Ark, I was light years away, the homeworlds were safe, and there had never been a mass exodus to the stars.

Second Person
The thing you remember most about that day was the sensation of falling, your stomach leaping up to your ribcage as the convoy entered the cocoon of hyperspace. You'd watched through the porthole the glistening gunmetal of a dozen spaceborne colonies performing their slow dance in orbit around Solohexi (you could no longer see your homeworld), twin suns glinting off their prows as the diligent tugs eased them into formation. You remember your hands shaking and sweaty. You remember the crackle of the intercom and the looks on the faces of those around you, most of whom, like you, had never traveled faster than light. But it was the jump, the sudden hollow tensing of fields, the instant black (devoid of stars and sister ships) that enveloped your Ark - this you will never forget.

Third Person
His gnarled fingers whitened around the handle of the garden rake while Annie read the edict aloud, her voice shaking. His bare feet dug into the sun-warmed soil, while birds rode thermals high over the flatland and the dust-coloured shack, their home of thirty-five long years. He looked past the graves of his children, looked across the well-cultivated fields to the slow rise of the forested foothills on the far horizon. He leaned into the old rake, resting his head in his arms, as if he no longer had the strength to stand, while Annie brushed a wisp of white hair from her face and read the final lines of the document,

"Done at Pbasus, seat of the United Planetary Alliance, this 30th of Septens, 20662."

Mar. 10th, 2008

wuie

wolvzor

Exercise 2 - wolvzor

(I think whenever I see these posted, I immediately start working on them. It's now 12:15 on a work night. Eesh. I need sleep.)

(Note: For the 'establishing a point of view', I went ahead and incorporated both first and third person perspectives into the other ways of leading a story off. I'm trying to kill two birds with one stone, and hopefully it worked. And yes, these are all for the same story. :D)

With a Generalization

Sharks only live in the water, or so I was led to believe. The chalk marks on the ground indicated otherwise, brilliantly shining with the early spring sun and trod upon by my footsteps. The sweat on my brow reminded me of his bike ride a day ago, the wetness on my fingertips resembled his hands bypassing my jeans just hours before. “Not all sharks live in the water”.

With a Description of a Person

He peered across the desk, momentarily meeting my gaze before returning to the laptop. Deep blue eyes reflected the smallest of images, and the close cut of his goatee reflected his meticulousness. The muscles in his forearms twitched as he typed on his computer, with a sense of urgency that could only be measured by the lurid sensual words that appeared upon my screen.

With Narrative Summary

Caitlin had always grasped onto her iron-clad sexual orientation, her identified label that protected her from uncertainty and self-deception. Only small pebbles and the occasional stone dented her armor until the day that his cannonball sexuality launched into her.

With Dialogue

“Why are we doing this” she typed into the computer screen, trying to regain her composure and relax her breathing from the pleasure his touch inflicted moments before.

With Several Characters but no Dialogue

It was Happy Hour Friday, and the company party had started just moments before my arrival. I smiled and glanced at all the relieved and relaxed faces that were tense hours before, cradling pints of beer instead of agendas. The only intense look was when I briefly glanced in his direction, and I had to still myself upon the bar stool from the sudden excitement shocking its way up my spine.

With a Setting and only One Character

The room looked much different when she stood here without him, surveying the view. She had never been in this room before by herself: she had never focused on the dust on the furniture and the broken hinges on the door, showing signs of disuse. They didn't need furniture for the affairs that happen here.

With a Reminiscent Narrator

I told my friends that it would take an truly exceptional, intriguing and passionate man to catch this lesbian's eye; I guess I should have been more careful for what I wished for.

With a Child Narrator

I looked up at The Lady and gave her one of my cookies. She smiled briefly. I saw The Lady start to cry. I asked if she didn't like cookies. She smiled again, wiping away tears. The Lady said that the cookie was fine, taking a bite. She looked back to the computer screen, more tears coming. I didn't know who could have made her so sad, but I hope the cookie helped. It always did for me.

Mar. 7th, 2008


superfrail

Excercise 1 - superfrail

1. It was hard to hear anything over the roar of the tornado.

2. I ached somewhere deep inside as I felt the ground crumble away from where I stood.

3. Down from the moonbeam she came, stepping lightly onto the soft night grass.

4. In the evening the mountain's peak cast a purple shadow across the whole of that doomed land.

[above includes 1 previous SCT]

Mar. 4th, 2008

wuie

wolvzor

Exercise 1 - wolvzor

The cigarette was nearly extinguished by the time she walked back to her ex-fiance's wedding reception.

She couldn't quite explain the strong foreign rush of lust as his hands settled between her thighs; she blamed the overwhelming cologne wafting from his neck and her notorious streak in Lesboland.

She was all long blond hair and curves, with a quirky smile that dared me into speeding faster through the Nine's territory, her guns blazing into the starless night.

I never knew how much force the human ribcage could withstand until the full grown brown bear barreled its way into my chest.

He opens his eyes, only to be confronted by a milky cloud of film blurring his vision.

The chill from the cold stone bench shivers her burning thighs as she watches her lover exit the hedge maze.

She cringes in pain as the thick syrupy coat of medicine seeps down her throat, stinging each sore and crack on its way down to her stomach.

The steel-gilded doors crash open as Oriana Koral sweeps into the main hall of the royal castle.

“Do you have any regrets,” she asked me as her intense green eyes pierced through the casual conversation just seconds before.

She gasped and screamed as the last weld on the balcony railing snapped, tumbling her flailing body ten stories down before splattering through the length of the alley.
astriel, key

somaliris

Exercise 1

So here it is! The first exercise. This one may seem basic, but I know I for one have not been doing much fiction writing recently, and feel rusty, and figured that it would be good to start at the beginning and build up.

I'm scanning these in from my "What If?" book - it's a pretty straightforward writing exercise book but I think it is an excellent one. As I find other sources, I'll pull from them as well, and if any of you come across something you think would be suitable, let me know and I will post it.

I think we need to decide on a time frame for these. They for the most part fairly easy to complete in a short amount of time. Some may take longer. Some you may not want to do. So my ideas were thus:
We propose a 3 day period for exercises. If I post on a Tuesday, then we all have Wednesday, Thursday and Friday to respond. The next one should be posted on Saturday, and then so on from there. If, by some chance (especially since there are only 3 of us currently), we all finish ahead of time, I will post the next exercise early. If you can't finish the exercise in the allotted time for some reason, but still want to participate in it, you can post it after the next exercise is posted at any time. If you guys think a longer default period, like 5 days, is better, just let me know.
Exercise responses should be a new post with this title:
Exercise 1 - somaliris (obviously your name here)
This will keep them organized and separate from other types of posts, such as news posts, works in progress posts, calls for brainstorming, etc.
All posts which contain original writing should have either "critique" or "non-critique" in the tags. This will allow others to know if you want the work critiqued. As always, critiques should be constructive and respectful (not that I expect otherwise from y'all :P ).

I think that is all!

Here it is:
Exercise 1

Have fun! Post any questions here!
<3