The Electricity of a Touch (W.E. 10)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so. 

Exercise 10:

A character observes another character's skin. This might be a lover's skin, or the wounded bare feet of a homeless man in a subway. What can you learn about the person by looking at their skin? What can you learn about yourself?

The Electricity of a Touch

                Her skin wasn’t like the perfect skin of the windup in The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi.  It was imperfection, yet at the same time seemed so perfect.  It wasn’t rough like any adults skin I’d ever felt.  It was soft like a newborn baby’s skin.  It was as if she’d been born just yesterday. 

She was a ripe 20 years of age and yet, her skin felt so brand new.  I wondered if it was some kind of lotion she’d used, or if she were an alien from another planet. 

Where she had scratched just moments ago, her skin turned red like the flushing of skin during arousal.  It seemed to me that her skin was really sensitive.  I wondered how it felt for her to be bitten by a flea or a mosquito.  I could only imagine how sensitive it must feel to her.

I found myself unable to keep my hand away from her skin.  I was so fascinated by it.  My fingertips lightly trailed down her arm as if it were the first time I’d ever touched her.  It felt smooth to the touch. 

Her skin was covered in small moles, but it was as if they weren’t even there.  It was like a table with grains underneath that you could see but were unable to touch.  It was like her skin was laminated by a thin soft substance.

My curiosity got the best of me.  Where she’d scratched her chest, it reddened.  I wondered if that patch of skin felt the same as her arm.  “You must have scratched yourself right there.”  I reached out and found my fingers trailing over her collarbone.  My fingertips brushed over the redness of her chest, and it felt just as smooth as her arm. My fingers grazed across her skin so light and feathery.   “Yeah.” She replied, looking down as I touched her skin so gently.

Touching her skin made me feel so warm inside.  It was something different that I’d never felt before.  It was intriguing.  Was I attracted to the way her skin felt?  What an odd notion.

At that moment I hadn’t realized how close I’d come to her.   The gesture, I knew, could only be an intimate touch.  Why was I so fascinated by her skin to not even realize I was being so intimate?  We were just friends.

Now I wondered what it might feel like to her, for someone to touch her in such a place.  I wondered if her skin was sensitive enough to send shivers throughout her body at just the simplest touch.  I wondered if I might have invaded her personal space, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

Did her collarbone feel as sensitive as my own did, or was it greater in sensitivity?  I knew there was no way to measure our different levels of skin sensitivity. 

Maybe I was over thinking it. Maybe I felt more than she did.  Was it the touch of her skin, or was it the thoughts driven by the touch that made me feel like I’d just done something I shouldn’t have?  Did I want her to feel the touch as if it were an intimate act?  I couldn’t tell. I was now trapped in my own thoughts.

I felt myself afraid to touch her, and afraid to speak to her.  I wanted to talk to her.  I wanted to ask her what she felt, if anything at all.  But how could I ask her without showing my true desires?  I’d have to say nothing.  This friendship meant more to me than the answers she could give me.  Perhaps I was afraid she’d say she felt nothing at all. 

No electricity.  Only I felt the electricity.  The electricity caused by her perfectly imperfect peachy skin covered in puffy red marks from scratching.  The most wonderful skin I’d ever felt, and may ever feel.

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Author's Notes:

I found this an interesting thing to write about.  I thought, how might someone feel to touch such soft skin?  What reactions might this stir up?

I have no idea what you can tell by looking at someones skin to be quite honest.  I guess if they like tatoos, that's a sign they aren't afraid of pain?  In the case of this story, could the woman with the soft skin be a sensitive person?  Then comes the question, is she sensitive physically only, or emotionally too?  Tell me what you think in the comments. ;)

What did I learn about myself?  That I pay more attention to the way things feel than they way they look.  Not just physical touch, but also the feelings a person obtains from touching things.  I'm starting to think I'm more about feeling than seeing.  I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, being a writer and all.  I need to learn to open my eyes and see things visually as opposed to just by touch.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the read and give this skin describing exercise a shot!

The Conflict (W.E. 09)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so. 


Exercise 09:

One of the important things in good prose writing is to have more than one thing happening at once. In this exercise, describe a kiss, taking your time and trying to visualize the action clearly and precisely. However-- have something else going on at the same time.  Maybe one person is thinking of a different boyfriend, or perhaps someone's leg is falling asleep, or maybe one person is worried about the garlic pizza he had for dinner.....

The Conflict

Her lips were so unexpectedly upon mine. The last thing I wanted was to be kissing my best friend right now. Her lips, soft and warm in a way that I couldn’t have ever imagined, it wasn’t repulsing. It wasn’t something I ever thought of until this very moment. But here she was kissing me right at this very moment. My lips respond back to hers and I’m unsure why. Perhaps it’s from the idea that I don’t want to make her feel rejected knowing damn well how much it hurts to be rejected.

My mind screams at me to stop this madness. A woman kissing another woman is revolting. It’s against all that god has written in the bible. Man shall not lay with man for Christ sake; does that not include a woman kissing another woman in such an intimate manner?

I could feel her hand upon my cheek holding me there as she intensified the kiss. I felt my face beginning to flush, and my mind became a little hazy. Was I enjoying this?

I knew that if I kept up this crazy charade that I would find myself in the depths of hell burning for all eternity. I cared about my afterlife, so why couldn’t I stop kissing her back? I cared about her feelings and knew that if I shoved her away as roughly as I wanted to, that she would feel great pain. Not the pain of physical punch, but the pain of a broken heart. I was having conflicting desires between what was right and what was wrong.

I found my right hand gripping the collar of her t-shirt, keeping her in place. I felt my lips responding. I felt my entire body, my entire being responding to her. Her sins were tempting me down a road from which it’s too late to turn away from.

I want so badly to shove her away, for her to stop responding to me. I wanted her to vanish from this very place and time for making me unable to resist her in such sinful ways. But she just wouldn’t stop.

I found her pushing me on the bed, and my mind was screaming no but my body was screaming oh yes.

Then in an instant it was over. Her lips were no longer on mine and she was looking down at me. Her face seemed expressionless. She didn’t seem pleased, nor did she seem unhappy. She seemed simply empty. A word wouldn’t escape my lips, and she seemed to have nothing to say either.

Why did you stop kissing me? What did I do wrong? Are you angry with me? Are you sad with me? What’s going on? I thought and I couldn’t stop wondering as she just stared at me. Then it occurred to me that I was enjoying such a sinful act and I started to feel sick to my stomach.

Then she got up without a word and walked out. I just lay there on my bed for a few moments wondering if she would return, and then I heard the sound of her car starting up and I knew she was leaving. I got up quickly and rushed to the window just in time to see her driving off. On a normal day I wouldn’t have noticed. I would have never rushed to the window to see her pulling away. But something in me changed.

What the hell just happened?

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Authors Notes:

I just went with the idea of a religious woman being repulsed by the concept of homosexuality due to belief. But obviously she learns something about herself that leaves her entirely confused about her friendship and possibly what she really believes in. If anyone wants to continue this one, feel free to. I thought it would be best left in confusion. 

It's a representation of the confusion we all feel inside of us about this or that. Sometimes the world seems so clear to us, but then something unexpected happens and throws our world off balance. I hope you can in some way find this as something you can relate to.

This exercise was quite fun. It led me in a very unexpected direction. I don't know where the idea came from. Sometimes I just read exercises and certain ideas become triggered.  I guess I'd call these exercises catalysts.

Some of the best things in writing can be conflicting thoughts, feelings and emotions. This short story is a quick representation of this.

By the way if anyone knows of any other really cool ideas for writing exercises tweet them to me @lylathewicked

Opposites Attracted (W.E. 08)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so. 

Exercise 08:

Write a character sketch, starting with someone you have once noticed and observed.
     1. Begin with a physical description. Try to include more senses than just the visual--how the person sounds, smells, the texture of their hair and skin, etc.
     2. Next, write a little about what you can't observe about the person from the outside. This can be facts--job, where the person lives, favorite movie, type of music, etc.
     3. Finally, drilling deeper, write some secret or dream of the person--something that perhaps no one knows.

Opposites Attract

Physical Description:

Her hair is dyed blond, almost white and you can see the undercoat of dark brown peeking through the bright openings. Her eyes are brown like almonds, yet so bright and shiney. Her smile is warming like a tender yet comical story. Her make-up is very subtle, just to accentuate her features. Her skin isn’t quite white, but slightly peachy. It feels soft like touching baby’s skin. She’s about 5’2” tall. She’s not wide, nor slender. I would consider her of average healthy appearance. Her arms and chest are covered with tiny little moles that you could only see if you were right next to her. She smells like a warm, windy and calming day. She normally wears a red belt around her midsection made of faux leather. It’s some kind of fashion sense, and underneath the belt is a dark black shirt with sleeves tyed with knots near the beginnings of her shoulders from the end of her arms. Upon her shirt is some kind of streaks of gold, splattered like far away spray paint. Her pants are usually simple jeans. I never noticed her shoes in great detail. On her left hand is a promise ring, and on her other hand many other scattered rings of less significance.

Her Home:

Her porch is probably old and rotting away. Upon the back portion of the porch is a ton of mostly smoked roaches. The outside of the house seems to be deteriorating as well, but could be in worse shape. Inside the house smells rank like it hasn’t been aired out since people have been living in it. The air is stale and smells almost molding. The rooms, even during the day seem so dark and lacking in color. It’s not a very welcoming abode. It feels as if you’re walking into a dungeon. Within the fridge is expired food, something her grandfather seems to collect. Her room is organized yet slightly messy with a few clothes lying around in particular spots. It’s still too clean to be considered a mess. It seems very organized. Upon her dresser, a lighter and some weed.

Is it true love?

I’m not going to claim this is true, because it’s probably not but I’d like to point this out. She’s written some poetry before that shines her in a sad light. Though she claims it was written not with the intent of sadness, but out of randomness. I don’t buy it. I recognized the feeling she wrote into that poem to be something that only someone feeling that great sadness could describe.

Though she talks of her boyfriend frequently as of late, and has the promise upon her finger, a part of me believes that she’s looking for something more. Though she seems happy on the outside, nobody is truly that happy are they? Perhaps they are, and I just can’t comprehend this idea.

Of course she loves him. Though when he’s around and she’s trying to hint to him about things, he doesn’t seem to get her. It’s as if they are from two different worlds. With older couples you see more understanding of each others personalities. That to me is love.

She and her promise guy have been together for 3 years, and known each other their whole lives. They practically lived next door to each other. But I think deep down, if she had the choice to love with all of her heart, and that someone loved her just as much back, that she would in no way hesitate to leave him. Another part of me wonders that if she truly loves him, what if he doesn’t truly love her?

 Though their relationship may seem like roses, maybe they argue behind closed doors. If she met someone who just got her on that deeper level, maybe then she’d see that what she’s feeling now, isn’t true love. Everybody deserves true love. For all I know she already has it, but from what I can see is, they aren’t even on the same page of this book. Opposites attract.

Trixie (W.E. 07)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so. 

Exercise 07

Imagine that you are lying in a hammock, gazing up the trunk of tree that holds the hammock. You are profoundly relaxed; summer is almost over. Your mind drifts with the slow rocking of the hammock. Your spirit soars toward the top of the great white pine. Suddenly....

Trixie

Suddenly a downpour erupts. The day that seemed so bright is no longer full of delight. I try to get up too quickly and find myself face planted in the mud forming beneath the hammock. Great, now I’d need a shower.

I make my way inside my humble abode, dripping wet with mud and rainfall. It really hits me now, summer is over. I thought I’d have had a few more days of freedom before the rains came, but nope, they always have to ruin the fun.

I climb into my shower and feel the hot clean water cascading down my body followed by soap suds. I was cleansing myself not only of the rainfall and the mud, but also of the entire summer. It was so chaotic.

My summer started off easily enough, as summers usually do. I spent the first days of summer by the pool, but then Tammy called. I knew my summer would pick up now that Tammy was in the mix. She’d finally flown in from Florida. She visited me in California almost every summer since she moved about 4 years ago. We were best friends since we were 5.

Tammy and I use to date ages ago. We were 16 at the time, and everyone thought we were the cutest couple. I had a spikey boy band haircut.  She had cheerleading spunk.  Or as I noticed, double D's.

When she arrived this summer she decided it was time to get me out there, playing the field as it were. I’d been single for so long that I couldn’t even count the times I’d jerked myself to climax.

 So we ended up at a club. I always thought clubs were where people who wanted to hook up went, not people who were looking for long term like I was.
I know I don't really seem the type, but I'd rather be having sex with a woman I was planning to spend the rest of my life with.  I was never one of those guys up for one night stands and all that crap. I want one woman. Just one who wanted to be mine.

Then I saw her. She was standing next to a guy with bright orange hair. I think that was what drew my eyes in the direction I found her in.  Bright orange was undeniably the most bright I’d ever seen hair. I couldn’t tell if it was a wig or if it were his real hair, dyed.

She had long blond hair. It cascaded down her shoulders to about maybe 4 inches down her back give or take. Then her eyes met mine. I couldn’t tell the color of them because of all the flashing strobe lights in my eyes from her direction. At first as she walked toward me I thought maybe she had seen a friend she was trying to meet up with. All this time Tammy is yapping in my ear and I can’t hear a word she’s saying because of the loud voices and loud music surrounding us.

She steps up close to me.  I have to lean forward to hear her.  She stood about 5’4” to my 6’0”. She spoke into my ear and it sounded like a whisper.  She wanted to go outside and then get a drink. I couldn’t hardly hear her.  Needless to say I followed her as she made a pathway out of the building.  Tammy must have gotten lost in the crowd, or realized I was following a lady out of the building.
As we stood outside in the cool night air, she extended her hand which I gently shook.

“I’m Trixie. What’s your name handsome?” She pulled a box of smokes from her pocket, offering me one. I shook my head and she put one to her lips as she leaned against the wall. She lit it with ease and took a long drag.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I said.

“Whys that? Is it some weird name like Penis or Jack Mehoff?” She asked curiously and slightly sarcastically.

“No it’s nothing like that. Leopard.” I responded and she looked at me with a smirk.

“Leopard? Your names Leopard?” She asked as if she didn’t believe me. She started to laugh, rubbing her eye with her thumb of the hand now holding her cigarette pressed between her pointer and middle fingers.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” I said with a grin.

“Alright Leopard, how about we get ourselves a little drink? I know a great place just up the street.” She started to walk before I could respond. I don’t know what made me follow her. Everywhere she went I seemed to follow. I saw her put out the cigarette and stuck it back into its box.

I found my phone in my pocket and I texted Tammy. I told her I went to go get a drink with this hot blond I met. I’d tell her more back at my place later.

As we went into the dark bar, we ordered a few drinks and found ourselves headed toward a booth in the corner. It was very secluded.

“So, got a girlfriend Leopard?” She asked with a smile, taking a drink of her beer.

“Nah, I’m a single cat.” I said, using the play on words.  I thought it went well with her insistence on using my name so frequently.

“Rawr.” She started, then continued “So, do you go to Club Seks a lot?” She lit her cigarette once more, and took a drag. She flicked the ashes into the ash tray on the table.

After a few drinks we ended up back at her place. At first we were just going to watch a movie. I can’t even remember the name of it now, but that’s not important. The important part is that we never made it to watching the movie. We ended up in her bed, naked.

The next thing I remember is waking up to a tent made from the hard wood between my legs. She’d walked into the room just then and laughed, seeing my makeshift tent.

“I didn’t know we were going camping.” She said sarcastically with a laugh and a smirk.

“Yeah…Morning wood, gotta love it.” I said as I stood up and headed toward the bathroom. I wasn’t at all embarrassed about her seeing me this way. I mean, she must have seen me plenty last night. If only I could remember more of it. Why didn’t I remember it?

“So, you gotta get out before my boyfriend gets back.” She called toward the bathroom.  My mind must have assumed she was single.  I thought she meant she was single based on the fact that she asked me if I was.  Great job brain, you forgot to ask.

“Seriously? You got a boyfriend?” I asked feeling disappointed. I’d had such an amazing night, and I wasn’t looking for just a one night stand.  I pulled my pants on followed by my shirt. “Can I see you again?”

“Sure stud, next time I want to go camping.” She laughed and teased me. “I’ll call you.” She noted.

“Well…alright.” We swapped cellphone numbers. I kissed her on my way out, telling her she was beautiful.  I thanked her for what was an amazing night without a doubt, regardless of my lack of remembering it detail for detail. She only smiled.

“Any time Tiger…whoops, I mean Leopard.” We both laughed at the continuous play on words.  Nobody had ever played such an interesting name game with me.  I don't think another woman could make it feel as entertaining.

Then I was driving back to my place, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her. That blond hair, those blue eyes, and the boyfriend I’d just found out existed only a few moments ago. She was taken. What was I thinking asking her to call me?

I went into my apartment and found Tammy on the couch watching tv. “Hey, where you been all night?” She asked, and she looked over and saw my awful sex unkempt hair. “Uh oh…did you find a lady to once?” She asked me with a raised eyebrow.  It was her way of asking if I'd had a one night stand.

“I hope not just once. The problem is…” I said as I headed into the kitchen to get a beer. I opened the fridge and continued as I opened my beer bottle. “She’s got a boyfriend.” I took a big gulp.

“That sounds like some crazy stuff. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life or anything…But are you sure that’s something you should be getting involved with?” She asked out of concern.

“No. The problem is I’m starting to fall for her.  I think.” I took another drink and plopped myself down on the couch.

“How? You just met last night!” Tammy exclaimed.

“I knew after I saw her for the first time. She’s so great Tam.” I stated.

“Boy, you’re all kinds of crazy for this woman. Alright, I support you. But if she breaks your heart, I’ll cut her like a bitch.” She slices at the air with an imaginary knife.

I went for 3 weeks without a call from Trixie. Still, she was all I could think about. I started to get depressed thinking she wasn’t going to call. Tammy tried everything to get me to go out with her again, but I continued to resist.

Finally my phone rang, and it was Trixie. “Hey, Trixie.” I said nervously.

“Hey Leopard, wanna come shag a bitch in heat?” She asked.

“I’m down.” I said, meaning I was feeling sad, and not so much about the being interested in having sex with her again. If she noticed, she didn’t show it.

“Then get your ass over here because I want your dick inside me.” She said seductively, yet sarcastically.  I could hear that she was smiling.  I remembered her smile like it was yesterday.

I made it back to her place where she invited me inside. Again she insisted we watch a movie, but the second she got out the vodka and whiskey we were gone.  Again I ended up in her bed naked. This time I wasn’t so lucky.

I was one with her when a man started shouting and throwing things at me.

“What the fuck is going on Trixie?  You god damned slut.  Is this what you do when I’m not home? Huh? Is it?” He shouted.  He appeared to be older, maybe in his 40’s.

“You better get out of here.” She whispered into my ear and I nodded.  I quickly wanted to get out of there and yet at the same time wanted to stay and protect her.  Something told me this was a battle she could handle on her own, probably one of many she’d fought.  She was no damsel.
Somehow, half ass drunk I managed to make it home safely.  Part of me wasn't thankful.  I felt like shit for fucking some other guys woman.  I wanted her all to myself, if only we'd met first.  One too many ifs.

I didn’t hear from her again for the entire summer, other than a text to let me know she couldn’t see me again, but that it had been great.  It ended with, “Maybe we’ll meet again in another life and the sex will be just as mind blowing.”  I heard her sarcastic tone as I read the text and I was crushed.

I spent a majority of the rest of the summer getting drunk in my pj’s on the couch and being depressed.  It felt like the world was ending.  I couldn’t even figure out why.  Tammy warned me.  Despite all logic, I'd fooled myself into thinking Trixie was good for me.
It took some convincing by Tammy and my inner self, that it wasn’t a loss. She was just a summer fling, that was all. But I know deep down a part of me will always be in love with that girl I met in the club: Trixie.

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Authors Note:

Okay well I hope you enjoyed reading this short story as much as I enjoyed writing it. It just seemed to flow from my fingertips. This wasn't the first thing I wrote tonight, but it was definitely the most satisfying. This is so far the longest story I've created from the use of one of these nifty little exercises. It is also my favorite so far.
By the way if anyone knows of any other really cool ideas for writing exercises tweet them to me @lylathewicked

Desiderius Erasmus(W.E. 06)

"Desiderius Erasmus, a sixteenth-century humanist whose many interests included developing methods for instruction in language and writing, recommended that writers have at their disposal a plentiful supply of words. In his colloquy on copiousness (abundance), De Duplici Colpia Verborum et Rerum (1512), he encourages writers to invent different ways of saying the same thing. Such an exercise stimulates a writer's creativity; also, as his examples show, each variation creates a slightly different meaning. Erasmus chose to begin with the banal sentence "Your letter pleased me very much"; he then wrote 150 variations. Try this yourself. Take his sentence and recreate it at least 5 different ways."  (The Literary Experience(compact edition) - Bruce Beiderwell & Jeffery M. Wheeler [Chapter 11])

(1) Your letter warmed my heart.

(2) I was pleased by your letter.


(3) I enjoyed your letter very much.

(4) Your letter made me feel delighted.

(5) I was enchanted by your letter.


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Authors Notes:
I hope you guys make an effort to try this relatively short exercise. It shouldn't take more than 30 minutes, less if your creativity is sparked. I actually did another one of these in my English 201 class. I didn't fare much better. I can't seem to be very eloquent lately.

By the way if anyone knows of any other really cool ideas for writing exercises tweet them to me @lylathewicked

Cheddar Cheese/Molding Cheddar (W.E. 05)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so.

Exercise 05
Describe a food, using all your senses. Observe it visually, of course, but also include texture, smell and taste. Describe it again, but in a way that makes it disgusting: how a big juice steak, for example, must appear to a vegetarian.

Cheddar Cheese

                Orange tang colored surface of a rectangular shape. It shined in the light coming from the refrigerator door.  It was cold yet smooth to the touch. Running my warm fingers over more roughly appeared to bruise and taint it. I bruised it without changing the color. There was however, a change in texture that made it feel as if it would crumble like dough with too much flour. It was slightly dry, and yet not dry. Nor did it feel overly moist. Half covered in plastic that kept it safely encased to hold in freshness. The smell was an unpleasant pungent aroma that reminded me of dirty socks. The taste however was much more appealing. It wasn’t sweet, bitter, or spicey. The taste was savory, rich and succulent. My mouth moistened at the delightful taste, slightly sharp. The quality was earthy. 

 Molding Cheddar

                It was an orange-green molding cheese. The mold underneath the wrapper made the concept unappealing to even touch the encasing surrounding it. It was a fear that it would contaminate a hand like the blob. Some mold is good, but as this cheese has turned green it has become apparent it is beyond help. If one were to touch the mold they would find it fuzzy to the touch. The exposed end of the cheese was dry and hardened. It was darker and discolored, yet felt smooth like the surface of glass. The smell was an overpowering smell that reminded me of a rotting corpse of a cat I once found in my backyard. I almost vomited right then. I had to turn away and hold my breath as I threw it in the trash. Nobody should ever taste cheese covered in penicillin, especially if allergic.

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Authors Note:

You might be curious as to why I made this fiction and nonfiction. Parts if it are truth, and obviously the dead cat corpse part is fictional, but I felt it was a good way to describe the stench of molding cheese. Anyone whose smelled road kill knows that it's a completely awful smelling rotting flesh. Why did I pick this topic out of all of the things I could have written about? I've eaten a lot of cheese, and found a lot of moldy cheese in my disaster of a fridge. It's a shared fridge. I hardly use it myself. Though occasionally I open it up and take a look. Why describe a food? Because it's a very difficult task at times. I struggled with this one. How does one describe the stench of cheese? All cheeses have a foul stench, whether fresh or severely greening. Anyways, I hope this was an interesting read and that you guys give this exercise a shot, you may be surprised at how difficult it is to describe a food you eat so often.

By the way if anyone knows of any other really cool ideas for writing exercises tweet them to me @lylathewicked

Doctors Office (W.E. 04)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so.

Exercise 04
You are in a waiting room (doctor's office, job interview, etc.). People are sitting more or less in a circle. Describe several of them -- focusing only on their feet! Type of shoes, cleanliness and condition of shoes, toes if they show, how they let their feet rest. Are they quiet or do the feet move? What can you tell about the person from the feet?

Doctors Office

                We all sat in a circle. We were all there for possibly different reasons. I heard some coughing, but I was too shy to look up from the floor. The one thing I spent most of my time doing was staring at people’s feet.

Next to me on my left sat a little boy. This is just an assumption because of the shoes he was wearing and the size of his feet. Though, I myself can’t deny having wanted my own pair of spider-man shoes regardless of gender stereotypes. His feet were dangling from his slender yet pudgy legs, and his feet couldn’t reach the floor. His left shoelace was untied. The lace lay on the floor about a half an inch folded over. His shoes were covered in dirt like he’d been running through the mud and it had dried out like the cracks of a dried up creek bed. Even underneath his feet I could see small dirt clumps that had fallen to the floor. The laces of his right shoe looked torn as if he’d been running and caught it in a fence wire and tugged too hard to get it free. About a half an inch, up from the bottom of his shoes were clear sections. When he kicked his feet together they lit up with red LED’s. He made more dirt fall from his shoes every time his feet met. He was clearly doing it on purpose to entertain himself.

Next to him, on his own left was his mother. I was only assuming again because of the pink and white vans sneakers she wore.  Her shoe type clearly marked her age range. She was a young mother with a young child. Her shoes were tied neatly with white laces. They looked relatively clean despite what looked to be a permanent marker stain in the shape of a pigs curled tail. It looked as if she’d tried to wash it off but hardly managed. I could imagine her being angry with him. It made me sad to think of him being yelled at for his unknowingly bad deed. “Stop it,” She said to him, to interrupt his fun of messing the floor with dirt. Her feet weren’t flat on the ground, but slanted from the toe upward toward the heels that rested on the legs of the chair she was sitting in.  She coughed. I now knew where the previous cough originated.

On the young mother’s left sat what I can only assume was an older man. His pants didn’t reach his shoes. I could clearly see his gray socks with black filled in diamonds and outlined diamonds in black. It was a repeating pattern around his ankles. He wore black leather penny loafers, minus the penny. His feet were flat on the floor. He was not in the least bit fidgety. He seemed very relaxed.

On his left sat his wife or so I assume. She wore tan Birkenstock’s with white socks. Her socks seemed slightly yellowed from the normal white. They weren’t at all grimey. Her feet were pointed just slightly inward, and every now and then she’d pull her feet back and readjust. Occasionally she’d slip her feet partway out of her shoes, and leave just her toes touching the middle section right behind the second strip of leather that normally secured her feet in place as she wore them. She seemed nervous and bored. I don’t think she liked doctor’s visits very much. I wasn’t sure if the appointment was for her or for him.

A male nurse came out, and I could only see his green scrub pants and what appeared to be running sneakers. They had a small bloodstain on the front upper end near the tongue. I wondered where the blood came from.

One by one the room began to clear until it was only I. My eyes kept to the floor.  We went into a room, the tile looked clean, but I wouldn’t have trusted it enough to eat off it. I hate doctor’s offices.

The Gift of Giving (W.E. 03)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so.

Exercise 03

Someone gives you or a character a gift. You or the character don't want this gift. Maybe the giver is someone you love, but the gift is old fashioned or inappropriate. Or, maybe, the gift is exactly what you want, but you don't like the giver or the way it is given. Describe the circumstances, then tell what happens.

The Gift of Giving

                My mother gave me this pink and brown scarf for Christmas this year and it has got to be the trashiest looking scarf I have seen in all of space and time. It’s made of this weird silky polyester shit that makes it feel cheap. I don’t doubt this, knowing damn well the way my mother shops. It appears as if someone somehow managed to vomit up some Pepto-Bismol and refried beans, all over it. I can’t even believe she’d even allow herself to be seen buying such crap, and for what cost? Oh! I can only imagine how many holos she forked out. I know it couldn’t be worth more than maybe 10 to 15 at the most. That itself is far too pricey for something that belongs in the garbage behind Super Nova. It would also work possibly as a decoration in the house of your spastic neighbor who believes that the stars will fall one day and burn us into oblivion unless we all “turn back to god.” You know damn well the only thing coming from space is extraterrestrials and our very own space warriors against them; we now refer to those warriors as Ezt Necal, meaning “blood battle.” I can honestly say I don’t want this fucking scarf, but loving my mother as much as I do, how can I refuse, regardless of her inept ability to comprehend the new trends of my generation are holo-bands and LED-Fash? I will not be caught dead wearing this anywhere, god forbid she ever makes me wear it in public. I’ll have to go out with it on. Then I'd come back to slit my wrists the proper way: down the strips, not horizontal to them. Let us hope it never comes to this!

~Amara Asha (Eternal Wish)

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Okay, so a little commentary for this one. It was also written a while ago, but I just re-edited it to post. Holos are currency, if that's not obvious, and Super Nova could be any hip together place of the future. I wrote this a bit like a journal entry of a diary. I hope it suits your interests.