Writing Exercises

Two Halves of A Whole

The next exercise is the same as the previous. Describe the events of a picture within a certain time limit. This section, however, is an example of how the description can vary depending on the person writing and what they look at.

As my friend and I were binge-writing, we became a little confused. On one round, we both wrote for the same picture of a beautifully painted violin. The picture of course is included with this part. It was only after the full five minutes had passed that we realized the mistake, but after re-reading we realized that it was ok- we wrote completely different things. What a difference they have, too. Here is my version, with my text in normal style and my friend @Hatsunation 's writing in italics.

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words

She had always loved painting. It was something she could do for hours, sitting with an object and drawing her life, her emotions, her passion using only a brush and some colors.

For this session, she had decided on a violin. She wasn’t entirely sure why she picked a violin of all string instruments- a viola was practically the same thing, and a cello would provide an even bigger canvas. But there was something about it that called to her.

She remembered moments ago, picking over the objects lying before her, discarding a pretty green rock and many other little things before heading straight to the instruments. The painter figured that the violin called to her because it was the instrument her sister had played, something which she had loved to manipulate. She had spent hours on the thing, playing from her soul.

Now the painter picked up her brush, thinking of what to paint. A few moments passed with her mind empty. Finally it settled on one scene- one of the last times they had spent together. They had been on vacation, and they had seated themselves on the grass to watch the beautiful sunset.

It was that moment she wanted to capture on this violin, in remembrance of her beautiful smiles on that day, and how gorgeous the red sky had looked.

With a soft smile and a tear, she picked up the brush and got to work.

She started with the sky. She blended sweeping strokes of orange through the still wet paint. Her mind searched the memory and began to create the trees that looked like silhouettes against the moon. The more and more she painted, the more she felt she could see she and her sister there again enjoying the evening air.

A tear threatened to spill from her eye and onto her masterpiece. With a quick swipe, she rubbed it away, feeling more melancholic than before. Realizing that she had foolishly gotten paint onto her cheeks, she began to look around furiously for a handkerchief to clean her face.

‘You’re so silly.’

She looked up and saw her sister standing there looking just as she did on that day. She tried to speak but the girl shook her head.

‘No more tears,’ she said, dabbing the sought after handkerchief on her cheek,  ‘You’ll ruin your paintings that way.’

Here is what @Hatsunation started with:

Terrors of the Night

Although it was spring, the sky blazed like an autumn sky. She couldn’t help but feel slightly trepidatious with all the crows neatly perched on their spindly tree branches, eyes glittering as they watched her shuffle along the icy sidewalk. The moon seemed like it was rising quicker than usual. With a glance at her watch it her observation was confirmed. It was indeed only 5 o’clock.

She shivered from a nonexistent chill, steps subconsciously quickening. Why did she feel like something bad was about to happen? Yes, there was a rather absurd amount of birds flitting around but birds did what birds do. Perhaps they were just migrating northward with winter now in the past.

But these were no ordinary birds. One flew close to her, and she was given the horrifying close-up of a black crow. Horrifying, because from its wings dropped maggots and other squirming insects. Its empty eyes stared at her as it swooped even closer. THIS bird was not as it was supposed to be.

She squeaked in alarm as something broke behind her. Turning to look, she saw nothing. When she looked back around, she frowned. The shadows seemed to have lengthened as she turned away, becoming pointed, sharp, and filled with evil intent. The girl panicked, mind filled with the overwhelming urge to run from these obscene creatures and get to some sort of safety.

She looked back at the sky, watching as the yellow was slowly overtaken by red. Her pace quickened, and her walk turned into a light jog as she realized the sudden, pressing urgency to return home.

The girl’s heart pumped faster as she noticed the path take a sharp turn. With the dark shadows and looming trees, she couldn’t see past that turn.

With a deep breath, she upped the pace to a run and broke into the darkness at full speed. At the break between light and dark, what little warmth from the open air disappeared.

From far away in the distance, all you could hear was a loud, blood curdling scream.

In my piece, I decided to write about the painter of the violin and the origins of the picture. Hatsunation decided to write about the picture itself. My personality made me see a beautiful sunset over a marshy land, perhaps during summer. Hatsunation, as you will find she normally does, wrote about the painting seen in a more desolate, creepy, forboding light. Two completely different ideas from the same picture. It's all about interpretation, people!

I hope you enjoyed reading this. I'll start on different prompts soon. No promises of course, because I'm starting a NaNoWriMo and probably won't be writing for this story. I might just slowly post the rest of what I wrote with this prompt-idea for now until I can start on something else. Thanks to all of my new followers! You're all awesome. :)