Friday, May 27, 2011

Writing Games

Today the Politick and I were hanging out and we decided to play a couple writing games that she has agreed to let me post here.

The first was a story that we wrote line by line, only knowing the last word of the line before. (It's technically called Exquisite Corpse, but we only figured that out later.) I'll indicate the lines with B for Bookbird or W for Wordgirl (because both Pica and The Politick start with P).

B: The stars twinkled with a faraway light as the girl lay on the
W: majestic moose was yawning at the moon, and bored because
B: as everyone knows, all animals are much friskier at the beginning
W: the long stroll - for it was a stroll - back to his broomstick, so that 
B: he could reach the top shelf. It was much too high for him to
W: know how many bats were locked in there, he would need to
B: sneeze. He quickly grabbed a handkerchief and turned away
W: in the trash heap - where other people had already gathered as to
B: grab it. However, he was too late. She picked it up and sent him flying,
W: while clutching the warm hand of her beloved all the while.

W: The dragon landed noisily and drooling fiery spit, watching
B: the clock slowly count down the minutes. She wandered aimlessly
W: walking into walls. The palace guards swooped arresting him for
B: four fruit flies flew, fluttering transparent wings, hovering over the*
W: gleaming portal that led to doom. The ultimate awaiting doom
B: was imminent. He looked around frantically. The door was barred,
W: the windows were firmly shut, and no key was to be found, so
B: as she filled her basket with flowers she remained blissfully unaware
W: that the man was ready to slay the dragon with the use of
B: such a dangerous object. It was not for human possession. He destroyed it.

*I did that line just to see her reaction. Plus, how could you not with a starter word like for?

The second game was a bit longer (and a bit more individual). We would agree on a topic, characters, setting, and something random we had to mention. Then we each had to write about 3/4 of a (handwritten) page using those things, and we compared them once we finished. There was a time limit, but we didn't really stick to it - the point was that we shouldn't take too long doing it.

The Politick's Story
topic: slaying a dragon
characters: 2 men, 1 woman (the men are scared, the women ends up killing it)
setting: dark castle
must mention: the dragon has yellow eyes

Hilda lit her torch, passing its flame on to the other two, until there was enough light to see down the gloomy pathway to the dungeons. Jack knelt, pressing his palm firmly onto the grisly ground.
     "She's here all right," he murmured.
     "Ay," Hilda nodded. "Which way, Hamish?"
     Hamish wet his fingers in his mouth, then held them above his head to test the air.
     "Air's hotter that way." Hamish pointed toward the dungeon doors with his torch.
     Jack cringed - he hated dragons. The vile things always ended up hurting him badly. He spoke weakly, "Hilda - you lead." Hilda sighed, before hiking up her armor -it was for a man, so it kept slipping down her slim shoulders- and strode towards the huge doors.
     She was about to yank them open when Hamish yelled, "No, Hilda! She's there! Right behind the door!" Hilda, whose hand had just grazed the wood, heard a deep growl and flinched, falling back and onto her rear. There was a hiss like gas being lit in an oven - and the whole door was in flames.
     Jack screamed as he saw the dragon nose its way through her bright flames. He saw brilliant eyes - yellow as the gold buttons on the king's lapel. Then Hamish yelled - and Jack saw Hilda thrust her sword into the dragon's flesh and watched it keel over, dripping blood onto the floor. Jack watched the creature die. He wiped his brow and closed his eyes.

Pica's Story
topic: slaying a dragon
characters: 2 men, 1 woman (the men are scared, the women ends up killing it)
setting: dark castle
must mention: the dragon has yellow eyes

     "Bernard, get over here!" Lissa's shout echoed in the near-empty courtyard.
     "Alright, you don't have to let the whole world know." Bernard and his page stepped into the courtyard to join her. 
     "What took you so long?" Lissa asked. 
     "I had to... show Alvin where to put the horses." He glanced around uneasily. "You're sure you want to go through with this Liss?"
    "Yes. And you can't back down now that you're a real knight. You even brought along that ridiculous page."
    "Excuse me," Alvin said quietly, "but I believe we have company."
    "Blast! Let's go, Liss. Please?" Lissa could see Bernard's knees shaking in his hand-me-down armor. He was much more frightened than she, but she wouldn't let him back down.
     "No. Come here, you big flying lizard, you. Let's see your worst." As she spoke, the "flying lizard" appeared on the rooftop facing them. Even Lissa had to gasp. When Bernard had taken this job, the people describing the dragon had failed to mention how terrifying it was. With cruel yellow eyes, razor-sharp teeth, and a barbed tail over 10 feet long, it snarled and flew, almost carelessly, down to the courtyard. Bernard was paralyzed in fright. Alvin was cowering behind Bernard. Lissa pulled the sword from her belt.
      "You're not so bad, are you?" she said. She smiled and swung her sword. Now, she thought, at last I am the kingdom's champion.

The Politick's Story
topic: roadkill
characters: young boy, elderly woman
setting: late 1800s
must mention: someone loses a shoe

Thomas waved goodbye to his grandmother before stepping outside of his house into the heated June day. On the front porch rested his shoes. Thomas already felt the stickiness of sweat spotting his neck. His mouth was as dry as cotton - which was fitting because he was off to pick some for his grandmother from the field across the dirt road. He pulled on his boots, not bothering to lace them - his fingers already felt heavy and clumsy. He snagged his straw hat from the hook on the porch's column and staggered down the front steps.
     Thomas saw heat shimmering on the road. He walked up alongside it.
     "What...?" Thomas stammered.
     BEEP! BEEP!
     A car was approaching - and fast. A shiny black one. 
     "What? But cars don't ever come through here..." The car was getting closer. Thomas stared. Heat made him feel detached - he was tired.
     A hare hopped onto the road. The care was so close. It startled Thomas back into reality; he lauched himself back and as if in slow motion he saw the car's wheels run over the hare, flattening it. And he saw a shoe, his shoe, that had slipped off as he fell - nestled beside it.

Pica's Story
topic: roadkill
characters: young boy, elderly woman
setting: late 1800s
must mention: someone loses a shoe

Agatha sighed. Late again. What her son would think of her now. "Charlie! What's taking so long?"
     "I can't find my shoe, Agy!" Charlie's freckled face appeared over the bannister. "It's disappeared!"
     "Oh, Charlie. Just get another pair then." She sighed again. That boy. 
     "Why are we going to see your son anyway, Agy? Can't we go to the park instead?" Charlie's shout came from inside his room seconds before he came, hopping as he tied his shoe, out himself.
     "No, Charlie. Jerry has a surprise for you. Pop in the carriage, now." She followed him in and rapped to the roof of the carriage to get the driver going.
     "Jerry? Is that your son? I've never met a nanny's son before." Charlie bounced up and down in his seat. 
    "Yes, dear. Now settle down until we get there."
     When they finally arrived, Charlie was practically bursting with excitement. "Wow!" he shouted. "Jerry tests out new cars?"
     "Yes siree. And as a special treat, he'll let you see one of the tests. Look, there's one now." Charlie leaned over the fence as the car sped by at over 15 miles per hour.
     Suddenly, his face became worried. "Agy, look! A bird with a broken wing, right in the middle of the road! The driver will see it, won't he? Won't he?"
     "I hope so, Charlie. I do." 
     The driver finished his test and parked the car. Charlie slid down to sit with his back resting against the fence. He began to cry.
     "Agy? I want to go home."

That's all we have for now, but I am hereby challenging the Politick (are you reading this, Politick?) to take one of the stories from the second game and to turn it into a short story at least 1 page long typed. AND take the other and turn it into a short story under 150 words. You have until May 30th (Monday night) at 11:59. Good luck.

Hopefully we will have many more posts of our writing games in the weeks and months to come. For now, we'll get back to Rudolph & Isadora starting tomorrow (I'm getting an extension on my post because I took the time to type up all of the writing from today) and The Golden Night whenever I get around to it. Have a great Memorial Day Weekend!


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