Writing Exercise 145

Good morning!

This week I was prompted by one of my art buddies, so I wrote a poem about 'demons'. Here goes:

2018/09/18 – Demons (poem)

Everyone has their demons haunting them day and night

Some are very real, others are just their fears

Bringing the hardest men and toughest women to tears

Gripping and shaking them until they don't know left from right

Mine lurk in the darkness inside my soul

Laughing at me, taunting me as they tear me apart

Letting me know the real torture is only about to start

How can I live when inside I have this gaping hole?

Those demons are ghastly creatures

Behind each thought their jabs and punches are vicious

They find my silent suffering so delicious

And when I look in the mirror they bear my features

There are nights when I think this never ends

When I know against them I'm a lousy defender

But in the end I swear to never surrender

And hope that one day my barren soul mends

Writing Exercise 140

Hello there!

I know this comes at a late hour, but I couldn't sleep so worked on this prompt by a friend from my art group. So here is this week's exercise:

2018/08/15 – “They came out of nowhere, the demons are destroying the city. This is the end” (drabble)

It all started with a dull rumble. The earth shook and trembled under the sheer force of nature. But it was no ordinary earthquake. No, it was something more sinister. Something, which heralded the beginning of the end. An abysmal rift opened and split the city in two, and from it they emerged – ghastly creatures conjured from your worst nightmares. Demons of all kinds, and they sought to destroy and kill and devour. None was safe. There was no hope to survive this horror for no man-made weapon could touch a hair on their ugly heads. The end was nigh.

Writing Exercise 136

Hello there!

For quite some time I had a request lying about. Now I got round to finally tackle it. It is set in my Neverbeen Universe. And this is what I made of it:

2018/07/20 – “Um… Boss? You might want to see this…” The Dark Overlord’s henchman notifies them. They look outside to see the prophesied hero, who has just heard the prophecy and learned of their importance, has shown up at their doorstep to join the forces of evil.

“Mylady!” Totally engrossed with the book she was reading the Daemoness only noticed her minions wanted to gain her attention after a few attempts. “Um...Boss? You might want to see this...” the henchman notified her nervously wringing his hands.

Lady Rawiya Raven blinked then sighed and put down her book. “Alright. What's the matter?” she asked and followed the man to the to of her keeptower where other minions were gathered. A red dawn crept over the horizon. But there was more, so much more...

“What are they?” Rawiya peered at the oncoming hordes.

“Undeads, Mylady...” the henchman seemed even more nervous as the shambling creatures approached and followed their master, who was marching straight towards her black fortress.

“I see,” the Dark Overlady murmured, “so the day has finally come as was prophesied...”

“What are we going to do? Attack?” another of her minions asked as he clutched his weapons, ready for war. All of them seemed visibly agitated, even distressed.

But the Daemoness just held up her hand. “Wait.” She spread her black wings and leapt into the air to face the prophesied hero. The hordes stopped and the knight in shining armour approached where she landed and awaited him.

“You must be Lady Rawiya Raven. They told me about you and your destructive powers.” the alleged saviour of the world rumbled as he took off his helmet to greet the Dark Overlady. “My name is Aeron Deathwalker.”

She inclined her head and smiled a little mischievous smile. “You are not mistaken, Aeron Deathwalker. I assume you know of the prophesy?” She crossed her arms.

He nodded. “I do.” He sighed. “To save the world I am supposed to defeat you, the ultimate threat to mankind. That's at least what they told me.”

Rawiya raised a brow. “And you think fighting me here, where I have field advantage, would be a good idea? You're very sure of yourself. Then again you have a whole prophesy to back you up. But we'll see if it's any good.”

“Actually...no,” Aeron deadpanned. “I'm not here to fight you, Mylady. I'm here to offer my services and join your forces.” He got down on his knees and took her hand. “I don't care about the prophesy, I don't care about those old coots babbling about heroes and fate, and I certainly don't care about humanity. I'd rather see the world burn if I can spend the rest of my days by the side of this beautiful lady,” he stated.

She looked deeply in his eyes, and he looked right back. She saw nothing but sincerity in him. Then a small smile crept onto her lips. “Very well,” she said. “Rise. And come with me; I'll show you your new home...can I offer you some tea?”

Writing Exercise 112

This week I started early. So I already have a new exercise for you. :)
This double drabble is another prompt my a member of the Dead Pete Society. Enjoy!

2018/01/29 – “I swear there was a body in this coffin. You have to help me find it!” (double drabble)

“I swear there was a body in this coffin. You have to help me find it!” a protagonist in an old movie exclaims as he agitatedly wrings his hands. How I have ended up watching this movie I'll never know. But these are the wondrous ways of youtube. I remember looking for the stunning soundtrack to an anime I watched a while ago. And as I click through the suggestions at the sidebar I see so many different things. Somewhere in between playthrough videos of games I might want to play and breathtakingly beautiful speed draw recordings, which I can only gape at in awe, I watch an old Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing scene and remember how much I liked to dance... And now I'm somehow rapt in a rather comical funeral story about this disappeared corpse. As I watch the characters stumble through the search of the body all the while trying to cover up the mess, I shake my head at myself. That movie is totally not what I had come for and yet I find myself watching it. Indeed, you never know where you end up browsing youtube. It's always a fun, but weird journey.

Writing Exercise 111

Today I have another writing exercise for you. Again I was prompted by a member of the Dead Pete Society, but this time I chose to write a drabble.
Here it is: 

2018/01/28 – You’ve always wondered why your brother was never in your family photos; today you found out why (drabble)

Saya liked to look at photos. They always looked fun, as if the people in them had a good time.

But she had always wondered why her brother Lyr was never in her family photos. There were photos of her parents, of her grandparents, of her aunts and uncles and cousins, but never him. Even in the more recent photos – those of her as a baby – Lyr was never to be seen. But finally today was the day when she found out why!

“Now look into the camera and smile,” Lyr said. It was him who took all the photos.

Writing Exercise 110

110 writing exercises already! Time sure flew by fast.
This week I was prompted by a member of the Dead Pete Society, but it took me all week to complete the prompt. Here it is:

2018/01/21 – Write about someone you hate who is in love with you

On a remote island, far from any civilisation, there lived a savage tribe. Their village was situated at the shore, a neat cluster of stilt houses. Most of the inhabitants were fishermen. Every morning they sailed with their little cockleshells to the nearby reef to fish. Zath was one of them. Even before sunrise he would get up, load his net and sail to his favourite fishing spot.

But he was not alone there. Every day he would try to outdo his neighbour Leann as they squabbled over who caught the biggest or most fish. Their rivalry dated to their youth, and they hated each other with a passion. Not one day passed when they wouldn't at least throw insults. It hadn't always been like that. Zath remembered a time when they had played together as kids, when they were inseparable and the best of friends. But somewhere sometime something had gone terribly awry. Yet Zath couldn't even remember the trigger incident of their broken friendship. He wondered if Leann did. But it mattered not. There was no way back now. Their fronts were hardened, their words bitter and spiteful.

But they wouldn't go as far as messing with their boats or nets; they were honourable fishermen. So Zath trusted Leann when he suddenly shouted: “Sharks! Pull in your net!” And while he hauled in the load of thrashing fish he heard a splash. Zath turned around. Leann's boat rocked back and forth on the waves. But where was Leann?

A shadow glided beneath Zath's boat. Without a second thought Zath grabbed his spear and jumped into the cool water, dove and searched for Leann. He saw three sharks lurking about and circling, and between them there drifted his rival. With two, three strong strokes Zath hurried there and thrust his spear at the sharks to shoo them away from Leann's body. A cloud of red surrounded the body and Zath didn't know how much longer he could fend off the sharks. He had to get the both of them out of there immediately! So he grabbed Leann by the midriff and dragged him to the surface, where he perceive the hulk of his boat. And once they broke through the surface and Zath drew in huge gulps of air he hauled Leann's body into his boat then climbed after him. Panting hard he lay on the planks. Then he remembered the blood.

“Leann! You alright?” He heaved himself up and examined the body. There was so much blood and Zath could see Leann had several bite marks; chunks of meat were missing. “Leann! Stay with me. I'll get you to our shaman as fast as I can,” he promised and was about to trim the sail when Leann grabbed his arm and groaned. “Zath,” he rasped, “never mind. We're too far out, aren't we? You won't make it… I… won't make it.” Zath shook his head, looked back to the small black dots at the horizon where their village lay. Leann was probably right, but he didn't want to acknowledge that.

Leann tugged at his arm until he grasped his hand and squeezed it. “Listen, man, let me...let me say this at least for once in my life,” Leann murmured laboriously, “you know, I never really hated you, Zath. The truth is… the truth is I love you. Always have.” Zath's eyes went wide with disbelief. “What?!” he exclaimed. This couldn't be true, could it? Zath was shocked. Leann closed his eyes, smiling, never to open them again.

As Zath sailed home as fast as he could, the body of his rival tucked between the planks and the net full of fish, his mind was in utter turmoil. There was so much left unsaid, so much said which couldn't be undone. But most of all he was upset and confused by Leann's last words. For years he'd thought Leann hated him. Yet, whatever he would have answered if he ever figured out what he felt for his rival, his long lost friend, it would remain unheard. And there would hardly be any closure to the rift between them.

Writing Exercise 091

Of curse, this week I also have a writing exercise for you. This time I got a very interesting prompt.
Let's see what I did with it, shall we?

2017/09/10 – The Post Offices all over the world are going to close, but they give you one last chance to write your very last snail mail ever.

“Did you know the Post Offices are going to close? It's all over the news,” my mother told exasperated when she visited me this Monday morning, “Can you believe that!”

I just shrugged as I always felt awkward writing mails. Usually they were addressed to public authorities or insurance companies and thus no pleasant mails at all. I wouldn't miss them. And when I found my mailbox empty I'd often muttered: “No mail at all is good mail.”

“But they give each person one last chance to send a very last mail. The authorities have handed over a list of their citizens so they can check,” my mother continued, reached into her bag and showed me an envelope. “I'm headed there now. Want to come along?” she asked excitedly.

Reluctantly I agreed, slipped on my shoes, grabbed my bag and keys and followed her to the only supermarket in the village, where the Post Office was crammed between the shelf with wine and the bakers.

When we reached the supermarket, the place was overrun with people – young and old. The poor cashiers didn't know what to do as they were so few and not used to having a whole village of customers in their shop at the same time.

“Oh, god,” I moaned, “this is madness.”

Once so friendly neighbours fought viciously over the last stamps and envelopes, the queue extended over the whole building and frayed at times as people got impatient and frantic and were eager to send their last mail or postcard or parcel. People were shouting and shoving but nothing made the process go faster as there was only one Post Office register.

“Are you really going to stand here in line waiting all day?” I asked my mother and she huffed: “I've run out of stamps. Didn't think it would be that full.” So we queued for a while. I looked around the shelves and thought about what to make for dinner. Until my mother became really impatient.

“You know what? Let's come back tomorrow. They won't be closing for another week. There sure is enough time to get that mail sent,” she decided.

“Who are you writing to anyway?” I was curious, but she only smiled sagely.

“To a very important person in my life, of course,” she answered.

So we decided to go home and meet up again tomorrow. But the situation was the same on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and we had neither the patience nor the mood to stand in line all day with people who behaved like madmen.

That was when three letters and a postcard arrived in my mailbox. Curiously I opened them to find my best friend and some people I'd lost contact with had decided to write their very last letter to me. As I didn't expect any mail I was pretty overwhelmed while I read each letter and postcard. Their words moved me almost to tears and the desire to write back to each of them filled me. I would type each of them an email, I promised to myself. But I also decided I would write that last letter and have it sent!

But it had to be special. So I searched my office for some sheets of laid paper and took my calligraphy pen and got to work. As I wrote the longest and most meaningful letter in my whole life I wanted to convey a lot of things. Of course I could tell this person any day per phone or email or text or directly. But dedicating my final letter to this person made everything so profound and serious. I even found my last two stamps, so again I met up with my mother on Friday to share them with her. The post box was overstuffed and I didn't want to rumple my letter.

“You know what? Here. I don't need that Post Office to deliver anything to you,” I exclaimed and handed the letter over. She was speechless and smiled happily then hugged me.

“You're right,” she agreed. “We'll never get that letter delivered in time with so many people overcrowding the place. And the post box is a mess. Here.” She gave me her letter, and it indeed was addressed to me.

“So I am that important person?” I ask surprised.

“Of course, silly,” she laughed and hugged me again.

Writing Exercise 066

My dear writing buddy Sam from the Dead Pete Society is responsible for this week's writing exercise. She posted a prompt, and I instantly took it and did with it what you are about to read. You will see, this little story is greatly influenced by one of our day trips while we were in Japan.
So here goes:

 

2017/03/16 – "They thought I would forget. But I remembered. Everything."

Sitting in a rocking chair on the porch she enjoyed the soothing warmth of the late summer sun, sipping on some iced tea and fanning herself with yesterday's newspaper with her good hand. The old radio beside her on the small table played a happy tune. The grass had turned brown due to the lack of rain and the leaves stirred in the light breeze. She peered at the cloudless sky as the weather forecast promised a summer rain in the evening.

The afterthought of a smile faded in the many wrinkles around her mouth. Rain. She remembered the feel of the rain on her skin; even decades later she saw every tiny detail before her mind's eye. Her life had changed so much, but still the image, the noises and smells of this one incident were so very vivid as if engraved in stone or captured in a black and white photo or family stories told for generations.

But photos turned so easily to ashes when set aflame, stone crumbled to rubble in the face of a destructive force beyond comparison, generations of people were winked out in a single blinding flash that made earth the embodiment of hell. Distinctive clouds heralding nothing but death in their wake, an explosion with a destructive force never seen before, the stench of charred black flesh, fatal damage done on a cellular level, a whole city of buildings blasted to dust, the wails of agony of those who survived the blast. And hours later came the rain – the black rain.

She had been but a child back then, innocent, never understood what hit her when it did. She lost everything on that day – everything but her raw life. Surprisingly she had sustained the mother of all explosions, the black rain, the long-term aftermath of radiation, and she continued to do so.

But she would always walk the Earth with her eyes turned skyward, her mind tuned to the many gods in the hope one might hear her prayers for peace to remain and the black rain to stay away. For, even if younger generations became oblivious to the inhumanity and destructive force of war, she still remembered. Everything.

Writing Exercise 035

This week I did a prompt fill found in the forums for the game Spellstone, which I play regularly. So I invented a background story for one of the characters (and some of the cards) who appear in the game: the goblin who owns the shop where I can buy Spellstones, Shards and other items.
Here it is:

2016/08/08 - What did the Goblin do for a living before becoming a Spellstone Merchant?

The story about Dagobert, the goblin Spellstone Merchant, is the story of Spellstone itself.
A long, long time ago all the Tuskers and Squids and Locusts were happily roaming the lands when suddenly the mighty Vulcanos made the volcanos of Karthos errupt and plunged the world in darkness as the ashes rained upon it and the lava poured forth.
The Flying Squirrels and Moss Golems and Mermaids were miserable. So the people of Skyhaven turned to the great Solaron, who then stroke his wings to stop Vulcanos and froze the lands and all the creatures in one fell swoop. For thousands of years the world was frozen solid and the creatures trapped in Solaron’s Ice Age. Until Atlas awoke from his slumber and made the earth tremble as he yawned. The earthquake caused by him freed the goblins, who lived under the earth and thus survived the Ice Age unscathed.
Dagobert was one of the most curious goblins and went to see what had happened on the surface. So he found the creatures trapped in a humongous ice shelf. As he was also a clever goblin and a skilled miner — like every goblin — he instantly had an idea. He took his trusty pickaxe and hacked at the ice around the creatures. The other goblins deemed him crazy and wanted nothing to do with it. They rather stayed underground in their kingdom.
But Dagobert was determined. One by one he tore giant chunks of ice out of the shelf, each encompassing one of the trapped creatures. But instead of releasing them instantly he decided to sell them to adventurers; if they freed the creatures they would surely be happy and grateful enough to abide by their will. Dagobert also collected the ice shards that came loose when hacking at the shelf. They were so hard, they wouldn’t melt. And as they were shiny and beautiful he also decided to sell them. After long and hard months of working the ice and defrosting Elaria, Luminis, Karthos and the other realms Dagobert was able to sell his Spellstones and Shards, and the business he started flourished better than ever.
Now Dagobert, the Spellstone Merchant, is the richest goblin there is as he has the monopoly for Spellstones and Shards. Adventurers frequent his shop in hordes. And the king of the goblins is fuming in his throne that he didn’t hop on the bandwagon when the business was still in its early stage. But he has a plan how to foil Dagobert’s success. It all starts with getting the dragons from Terragon Peak and snatching the mighty hammer from Beetleton Bunker…

Writing Exercise 034

My writing exercise this week is a prompt found on tumblr. Here it is:

Sounds interesting, don't you think? So much potential... I think I might exploit this bit further some other time. But first of all here is what I did with this prompt for now:

2016/08/01 – AU: no ageing after 18 until one finds their soul-mate

None asks your age anymore. When everyone stopped ageing at the age of eighteen it became irrelevant. There are few old-looking people now – those who found their soul-mates. But soon they will perish as they can only grow old together. It is considered happiness to be able to age. A short-lived happiness, as I might say. Foolishness. I've watched people time and again repeat the same mistakes, reincarnation after reincarnation. Me? I can never age. Humankind has glimpsed eternity, and I intend to stay and see it happen. To watch progress, to see human evolution first hand, to influence it yourself and write history – these are the things I thrive for.

I move a lot around the globe, changing my name about every century, inventing myself anew. Sometimes I'm an artist, sometimes I'm an engineer, sometimes I'm a politician.

This time I chose to be an author. I have a lot to write home about. Three of my books are bestsellers now. Historical fiction, they labelled them. Ha. They are nothing but the truth; they are my story, my autobiography. Just none has connected the dots, yet. When I was interviewed I did mislead the reporter though, saying I researched people thoroughly whenever I sensed a story. I don't want too much attention as nothing annoys me more than paparazzi and stalkers. And if someone was to find out who I was this would be bound to happen.

Yet I don't want to be forgotten either. People remember outstanding persons from history: the sailor who discovered another continent, the artist who painted the most mysterious smile, the scientist who explained relativity, the politician who committed atrocities and genocide. But people get more excited about protagonists and antagonists of their favourite books and movies.

So I decided to write about my different identities in my books. One of them is about to be turned into a movie, and I'm pretty excited about it. The story is about...well, me, of course. But back then when it happened I reigned over a vast territory; people built huge statues with my face chiselled into the stone. One of these statues still stands tall as a skyscraper and tourists pilgrim in hordes just to take photos of my nose. Anyhow, this is also a story about power, and love and tragedy. The thing is, I fell for the emperor of another realm, who tried to annex my territory by being liaised with me. And to my horror I found out we were soul-mates! I felt my end was near. However, he was murdered and I became lover to his successor. When this new emperor lost the war, my empire then crumbled also. So we committed suicide together – except I only staged mine and fled into another identity.

But my book ends with the double-suicide, and the star-crossed lovers meeting again in death. Pure fiction, but the audience loved it. So much so that it is now turned into a movie.

I enter the motion picture studio to watch them make the movie, and to put in my two cents. I chat with the director, and it's actually kind of thrilling to see your own life enacted and becoming an epic piece of cinematic art.

Then the main cast is introduced to me. Strange for me, I've always been a huge fan of the actor who plays the main protagonist. But meeting him in person I suddenly realise why. It feels like all those centuries ago when he first lay eyes on me. My heart beats like a drum and I can't do anything but stare.

It's him, my soul-mate reincarnated!

I know it the second our hands touch and our eyes meet. As we talk the same feelings of dread and longing creep into my heart. And I wonder if he realises it, too… That he is my destined, that we belong.

This seems to be the case, as he keeps chatting with me; his eyes light up whenever I answer. He eventually invites me to dinner… and I accept. What else could I do? Inside my mind goes in circles, my stomach is churning – a million butterflies released – and my heart is fluttering like a hummingbird in a cage. Then filming continues and he is whisked away to enact our previous lives. And I just sit there and stare. All day I anticipate tonight, I imagine what it will be like. I make plans… and I realise I need a new dress! So I excuse myself and leave the set to prepare.

Excitement rises to the brink of unbearable until he comes to get me. I demurely blush as he compliments me on my new dress, although I know I look stunning. Together we leave for dinner. The evening is just wonderful, we talk a lot and the most delicious food becomes insignificant. Finally we stand in front of his hotel. He looks deeply into my eyes, our hands intertwine as he bends down to kiss me. It's so bittersweet, my heart is aching for him. This is how it's meant to be.

I smile as he sinks into my arms, a surprised gasp from his blood-red lips. A sniper on the roof. Because I can never age…

Writing Exercise 024

This writing exercise is a little different from the others. The prompt for this week was found on tumblr and my first instinct was to turn it down. But then again these exercises are supposed to be challenging, so I braced up and came up with this four times drabble:

2016/05/23 - "You've been typing furiously on your laptop in the library, and have just gone to get a book, so I had a quick look and you're writing hardcore gay porn and it's GOOD." (4 x Drabble)

It was a sunny summer afternoon; too hot to sit in the library and bake in the stale air amongst the books. And yet a hand full of students sat there adamantly enduring and cramming knowledge into their heads between lectures.

The heavy silence was only ever disturbed by the fast clicking sound of fingertips typing away on a laptop. The monotonous staccato had been going on for quite some time. And it only ever stopped when the student in question fanned herself with some sheets of paper and looked out the window overlooking the other university buildings. Finally she sighed and stood to bring one book back and fetch another from the countless shelves.

Her neighbour observed her go from the corners of her eyes and wondered what her friend had been typing all this time while she idly flipped the pages of the textbooks she had stacked on her desk and tried to read. Curiosity got the better of her, she leaned over and took a peek at the last sentence on the screen.

He inserted a second finger and the motion elicited a wanton moan from his lover, who was spreading his legs wider – a nonverbal beg for more.

She blinked, startled and thinking she was imagining things. But a second glance told her she hadn't misread and these words were really written there. She was stunned speechless.

“What are you doing?“ her friend's quiet voice startled her once again and she felt a blush creep onto her cheeks that had nothing to do with the insuffrable heat. The author of those lines had returned with a textbook and sat. “Well?“

Her neighbour gaped incredulously. “You're writing gay porn? Here? Now? ...why?“ she whisper-blurted.

Her friend made a shushing sound. Then she shrugged. “So? Don't tell me you're not bored by this stuff,“ she whispered and tapped on the cover of the textbook her neighbour feigned reading. “It's so hot today, and I can't concentrate anyways.“

For a while they stared at each other, cheeks flushed, until her neighbour muttered: “Well... it's good.“

The author grinned mischievously. “I'll let you have a readthrough when it's done,“ she winked and they both snickered quietly. She resumed typing while her friend stared out the window into the summer sky and dreamily mused on the unfinished scene she had just read. It was really too hot to be cramming today.

Long Time no See!

Have you missed me yet? :o


Obviously I've been neglecting my dear little blog for a few days. And if I said I was terribly sorry for that... that wouldn't be exactly true. XD
You see, I was visiting my dear friend and RPG partner over Valentine's and I hadn't seen her since last year. So we've practically been hanging out, watching movies, playing video games, you name it. We had a whole lot of fun.


But! Here is what's so awesome and why I'm not really sorry I missed you guys: she gave me an amazing belated Christmas gift. A handmade notebook filled with various writing prompts either in word or picture. :D
I'm totally over the moon, and I've already started writing a story using those prompts. So I have a new WIP and continued writing exercise filled with all the characters from Neverbeen Universe all at once. I'm so excited.


Sixteen pages have already been filled, and I have a small handwriting.
When the notebook is done and the story told, this will be my gift to her in turn.


I've made a few snapshots of those writing promts for you. And maybe you'll see why I'm so excited about it?