I still haven’t attempted that Day School exercise yet, but I do have something in connection with my module’s first tutorial to post about for the time being.
My tutor put up a post in the Tutorial 1 sub-forum this morning and I checked it out as soon as I woke up. For the tutorial we’ve to choose a random word using a generator provided (no cheating!) and then write 100 words using that word. We’ve to polish it to the best of our ability and then post it on the forum along with a 200 word reflection on how we came to choose the words, sentences, structures, etc. that we did.
I haven’t attempted this yet (although I assume that I will in the next couple of days – whether before or after the Day School activities will be another question). In the meantime, I thought I would share some 100 word stories I attempted in 2012. At that time, I had planned on attempting one a day, but I only managed to do three consecutive days before giving up. They’re not the greatest works of fiction, but I do struggle to write cohesively within small word counts.
The first little flake of white twirled from its cloudy home, free falling towards the ground. Littered below it, a maze of orange dots lighting the way. Growing bigger by the second, silhouettes of buildings loom before the little flake. Swerving to avoid the closest chimney, floating in the night breeze along with several others now. Dancing with a partner or two, they swirl through the lamp-lit street with a blanket of white below them. A crowd of people stand in their path ahead, a little girl reaches out her hand. Nestled in a glow, the little flake fades.
Hands shaking. Heart racing. Head adrift without a brain. Hollow inside, freezing outside. Stomach churning. Head aching. Looking around to worried faces. Reach for a chair, sink into it slowly. Fingers have gone cold. Run hands through hair. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Closed eyes. Try to relax. Shaking still. Stand again. Fight back tears. Wonder why. Press fingers to forehead. Soothing coldness. Instant relief. Heart still racing. Hands still shaking. Try to speak. Voice catches in throat. Don’t want to cry. Run hands through hair. Sit back in chair. More deeps breaths. Panic washing over me. Just another day.
In a dome, brightly lit, two people party in the corner. Doors leading off to strange, unknown lands. The doors are locked, the inhabitants within are not allowed to mix with other rooms. A monkey sits atop the dome, picking at the ticks trying to get inside. There’s a skeleton in the corner, chained round the ankle with a sign beside it saying ‘Do not release during November’. The two people stop partying suddenly. Picking up suitcases and heading for the door. An empty pen sits across the room, no plot bunnies within. This is my brain, during Writer’s Block.
Hope you enjoyed them.