[Jacquin]

Welcome to the new and improved, now with added stain remover, exercises.

We're going to start with a nice easy one, but before we do I'm going to ramble on for slightly too long about something that is only vaguely connected whilst potentially talking about you all as if you are one person.

I'm sat on the floor next to the dog and I'm balancing a Laptop on my legs trying to decide what format this exercise will take. I'm torn beween using one of the old exercises and one of the newer ideas I've come up with. I don't want to put you off and all of the newer ideas involve a little more effort, so I think I'll stay with the old faithful ones for now. The question is which one? It's a toss up between viewpoint and idea generation. The ideas exercise is always popular, but I think viewpoint is actually more useful.

I wonder which you'd prefer.

Though when I come to think about it we're going to do both so it doesn't really matter too much.

We'll go with viewpoint. How's that for decisiveness? If I went back and deleted the majority of this post it'd look really efficient, but as one of the goals for this is to get my fingers typing again I'm not going to, so you'll have to put up with me for now.

I will however cut to the chase.

Write a scene.

Simple eh?

Oh, you want more details.

Ok, you have a word limit of 400, in fact the closer you get the better. Anyone more than 10% off will be openly and repeatedly mocked. It has to be written in first person perspective and it has to be obviously spec-fic. When you're done post it up with the word count and we'll get onto part two.

Ah yes, one more thing. I want first drafts. I don't want any polished scenes drawn from existing works. This isn't about judging, it isn't critiquing, it is looking at the way the viewpoint affects the feel of the writing.

Now fly my pretty minions, fly!

[Jacquin]

400 words exactly.

I’m too hot, the sweat is running down my face and the itching is driving me mad. I can’t reach to wipe it, I’m tempted to take my helmet off but I know it’s a bad idea. I rest my elbows on the battlements and try to catch my breath. I look to my left and the man next to me smiles. I can’t remember his name, I think he’s a farmer but I could be wrong. I reach inside my gambeson to fetch my flask and offer it to him, but an arrow slices through his throat and he staggers backwards. His blood sprays across my face and the itching stops. It’s a relief.

I look down, worried that the arrow signals the start of a new assault, but it was just a one off. A stroke of bad luck. Jareth, that was his name. I don’t know how I could have forgotten. He used to sing when he was drunk. A nice guy. Now just one more corpse. I take him by the ankles and try to drag him towards the wall. I can’t lift him though. I call to a man in a maile shirt to give me a hand, he grabs Jareth’s hands and between us we swing him over the wall. Together we slump down to the ground and he passes me a small flask. I take a mouthful. It burns my mouth and the warmth spreads through my body. I pass it back.

“Good stuff. Thanks,”

He grins, two of his teeth are missing and I can’t help but smile back. Then I hear the horns. Will they ever stop? I stand and look down at the army below, they are coming again. The ladders are at the front and the arrow storm is beginning. I reckon we’ve got about a minute before they reach the foot of the walls so I duck back behind the stone ramparts. My new friend passes me the flask again.

“Might as well finish it,” he lisps. He leaves the rest unspoken. I take another swig and pass it back with a wry smile. He tosses the empty flask backwards over the walls and holds out his calloused hand. I grasp it and as we stand I remember Jareth had a gold hilted knife in his belt. I’d had my eye on it for days. Just my luck.

[SuperFede]

400 words exactly.... what is the second part now? show we critique each other?

so much for flying.... Oh and a title. I need a title: "The fall"

I felt it. It began in my right eye. I forced it to stay open but it was very hard. It became watery and made my vision blurry. The tears built until a drop escaped through the side of my eye. It fell, following my cheek until it found the contour of my mouth wetting my lips. I tasted it unwillingly and sensed the salt in it .

‘I have to do it. I can do it!’ I said to myself hoping that if I repeated it enough times I would believe my own lie.

I had never seen a vampire fly, but knew they could. I was assured that they could. And I was a vampire, the one that could not. And that is the reason I now stood on the balcony of this twentieth floor.

Another tear fell from my eye and followed the path of the previous one. I wept for I would be an outcast until I could fly. I needed to earn my respect, but my earlier attempts were so very painful.

The time for thinking and wining was through. I took a step forward. And then another. There was no longer floor beneath me. I didn’t know how to fly so I just willed my body to do so. But will wasn’t enough. I began my journey down. Uncontrolled. I was unable to stop it. The warm summer breeze hit my face and blew the rest of my tears away.

I gave up. Frustration invaded me again and mixed horribly with shame. My trip down was not a long one. The floor came to me horribly fast. And then it was over. My body crashed into the pavement and broke the floor beneath me. There was pain, much pain, but not death. I hoped to die, but I knew I would not. I just stayed there on the sidewalk, with my eyes closed, trying to feel how many bones had fractured this time.

I heard steps coming my way and stop just beside me. I heard the person kneel beside me and begin laughing. This only deepened my feeling of frustration and self hatred. I recognized that laugh. It was the one I heard after every attempt. The vampire sent to make sure whether I could or could not.

“Nice try.” The vampire whispered into my ear. “Better luck next time, outcast. Until then.”

[Jacquin]

400 words exactly.... what is the second part now? show we critique each other?

Whoah there! It's good to see some enthusiasm but critiquing isn't really warranted just yet. I'll post part two up once we have some more entries, or at least we've waited a day or two. If you want crits we can do them later but the point of this is more about the difference between part 1 and part 2, not how well we did part 1.

Fall my pretty minion fall! :D

[Taramoc]

Here's mine.

Cheers,

Taramoc

Ps. Jacquin, thanks for reminding me to put the word count. It's now 407 (trimmed the last two).

I looked up and there it was. A ghost, semitransparent body, white glow and all. His features seemed oddly familiar, and then it hit me. It was my ghost, younger and with the goatee that I wore during my twenties, but unquestionably me.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked the medium.
‘Ghosts can travel through time. Actually, time has no meaning for them.’
‘It looks young.’
‘Ghosts can decide their appearance as well, picking from every period of their lives.’

The ghost got closer, I think that is when he recognized me. His eyes widened in surprise.
You, me! The words popped up in my head.
‘Yes!, It’s me… you!’ I said.
The medium shook his head, ‘he can’t hear you, just think those words and he will understand.’
‘You mean he can read my mind?’
‘Yes he can.’

I’m not sure I liked that, my mind can go in very weird and scary places at times. But then, I realized, so can his.
It’s me, yes… you! I thought. He smiled, and opened his arms, like he wanted to hug me.
Then he remembered he was insubstantial, and that embarrassed expression I always hated on myself showed on his face.
How old are you? he asked.
Fifty-five.
Oh, just before…
His eyes seemed suddenly sad. A chill went down my spine.
Before what?
Can’t tell you, sorry. It’s against the rules.

I don’t really remember the rest of our conversation. Just before what? My mind kept going back to that what.
When the ghost finally disappeared, I turned to the medium.
‘What did he mean? Before what?’
‘Sorry can’t help you, but I wouldn’t worry about it. Ghosts say all sort of things, most of them not true. People forget that ghosts were persons, just like me and you. As they lied when they were alive, they can still lie from the other side. Just keep on living your life and don’t worry. You’ll know soon enough.’
His answer didn’t really satisfied me.
‘Why do you do this? Why do you put in contact people and ghosts then? ‘ I asked, ‘I have more doubts now that when I came in.’
‘The money, what else?’ he replied, pocketing the two hundred dollars I had put on the table before our session begun.

I turned to look at the door of his office, only barrier between me and the rest of the world, where the what was waiting.

[Jacquin]

Wonderful, 409 words!

Keep 'em coming...

[Dazzlinkat]

Well, here goes my attempt. 400 words, yayy

I looked down at the burning lake, fearing the heat but knowing I had to get to its molten shore. Flying down through the stone and firmament of the world with the ease a bird soars the skies, I tired from giving this trek my greatest speed. But, I couldn’t stop now, the shore was so near.

Held taught to my chest the book fought the leather belts I had used to bind it closed. It knew what fate I planned for it and it fought hard to open. Within it pages, the things that longed to cross into the world, lusting for escape from their damnation, added their strength against the bindings. Twice within this downward flight I had to tighten the belts as somehow the buckles would loosen.

I will not fail, I kept saying. I cannot fail. The book must never open again and they must never escape. The deepening flight drained my of energy, but I dare not stop to rest. The book fights on, they grow in numbers to add to its struggle. They will not get free. Only within the Lake of Fire, the Bed of the Sun, will destroy the book and seal off this means of their escape.

There the glow awaits, its vastness humbling. Even this far away I can feel its scorching heat. So does the book. It is taking more and more strength to hold it still as it thrashes against my hold. A buckle slips. I try to tighten it but too late. It breaks free. Only one belt left now and it steams in the heat.

There, a patch of darkness. A place to stand and toss the book into the lake. Feet away, I slow to land. The belt breaks. The book stretches against my arms to open is covers, but I refuse to let it go. My feet touch the dark stone. Even here, the heat rises up through my boots. My clothes begin to smoke as my feet smolder in their boots.

I throw the book into the lake. My eyes burn too much in the brightness and the heat to see its end, but I hear its screams, and theirs. As it ends, flames breakout along my clothes and I dive into the earth to snuff the flames and being the weary journey home. Despite the burning pain, I revel in my victory.

[MrJims]

400 words, a joy to write. Thanks.

Someone was in my house.

I don’t know many people, and like even less so unexpected guests generally make me uneasy. The door was closed and didn’t look suspicious, but I knew. If I told you how, then you’d know too, wouldn’t you.

Certain spots of the stairs onto my porch don’t creak, a certain window was never locked and it’s hinges were oiled everyday. So into the house I went, through the window, noisy as a speck of dust. Shopping for breakfast wasn’t an armed event, unlike this one. So I reached under the table where I kept my serrated knife. Or at least where I’d normally find it, today must have been it’s day off, cause it was absent.

Missing eight-inch serrated blades was bad news, but I had back-up plans. A long lung punching needle hidden behind a picture frame, gone. Spiked knuckles in the potted plant, else where. Cane sword resting with the walking sticks, new resting place. Fine, walking stick it is. Or today, bashing stick.

Two minutes in and I should get out. Even if my guest came empty handed, they were ready for party games now. Screw them, I don’t run. Once, a man lost his ear in a dispute over his wife. He ran, and cried, it looked pretty funny in a pathetic sort of way. I’m not funny, and I sure as hell ain’t pathetic, so it’s off to the kitchen. Who knows, maybe I’ll find a fork.

Tip-toe, tip-toe, into the kitchen I go. On the table are my toys, except for the lung puncher. It’s in my old flames hand. She’s rubbing it in a suggestive manner while giving me the arched eyebrow.

“This one’s new.” She purred from her stool behind the table.

“Scream free. What do you want X” Get it, ex. I lied earlier, I’m really quite funny.

“I need your help Nathan.” Pouty, I always liked that voice.

“You want a baby.” Kapow, I should be on stage.

“Nothing so messy as that.”

“Some body need to die?” I could have started with the obvious, but life is about the little joys.

Xandria put her feet up on the table, crossed at the ankles and deliciously white. I could only see up to mid thigh, but I got a good memory.

“I’ve missed you Nathan.”

Well dip my balls in oil, trouble has come knocking.

[Jacquin]

Wonderful stuff! We've got quite a few now so I'll post up part two later today. Don't think this means you can't join in if you haven't yet though...

J

[Jacquin]

And so onto Part 2...

Simplicity itself. Just re-write the same piece, but this time, instead of first person perspective, make it third person perspective.