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day 6, "who" writing
i think i've over-personified what's into who's over the last five days. but i'm not that worried about it. it is what you make of it. pat says that "who" writing is looking at or through the eyes of specific characters. it is great for character development. you as "who is talking?" and "who are they talking to?"
5 minutes
sailor
alone at shore
his legs carry him further and further inland
his eyes brim with hope
scanning the horizon for his bonnie blass
her hair is the crimson of fire
and there amidst the crowd
his arms unfurl like big sails
catching wind towards his destination
they embrace, fire and sea
steam rising from a smoldering kiss
and together they row along
the wind at their backside
sails full
10 minutes
waitress clearing a table
clarissa hates her job
she claws at a wad of dollar bills lieing by the salt shaker. the smell of ketchup and vinegar assails her senses as she stalks dishes in a bin. another car pulls up in front of the window, and it's time for her to paint over her distaste for cleaning up after potential jackpots. all she has to do is shake, smile, and talk if it's a car full of men. she gets paid to feel pretty. clarissa wonders if this is how strippers feel. the rush of beauty and bills being stuffed down their panties. she can't tell which would be worse - always being treated like an object, or the smell of ketchup and vinegar. right now she hates to see the dirty fork that has been in someone's mouth. somebody's half-eaten hamburger is sitting in the paste of salad dressing. she stifles a gag reflex, and for the first time in her life she is seriously considering taking off her clothes for money. at least she could get better tips. and her customers wouldn't be so rude. it's only 2:30 and her feet are swollen and crying for a break.
90 secconds
priest
his voice booms in deep and ominous tones. he speaks with the authority of one who does not question his beliefs. his gaze pierces through my paper-thin soul, and i am unable to bear it. i hear the voice of hypocrites. loud and imposing. pushy.
*****
this whole day's worth of "creative effort" was a waste. that's not true. but i sucked at it, that's certainly the truth. fuck. i suck at this shit.
i think i've over-personified what's into who's over the last five days. but i'm not that worried about it. it is what you make of it. pat says that "who" writing is looking at or through the eyes of specific characters. it is great for character development. you as "who is talking?" and "who are they talking to?"
5 minutes
sailor
alone at shore
his legs carry him further and further inland
his eyes brim with hope
scanning the horizon for his bonnie blass
her hair is the crimson of fire
and there amidst the crowd
his arms unfurl like big sails
catching wind towards his destination
they embrace, fire and sea
steam rising from a smoldering kiss
and together they row along
the wind at their backside
sails full
10 minutes
waitress clearing a table
clarissa hates her job
she claws at a wad of dollar bills lieing by the salt shaker. the smell of ketchup and vinegar assails her senses as she stalks dishes in a bin. another car pulls up in front of the window, and it's time for her to paint over her distaste for cleaning up after potential jackpots. all she has to do is shake, smile, and talk if it's a car full of men. she gets paid to feel pretty. clarissa wonders if this is how strippers feel. the rush of beauty and bills being stuffed down their panties. she can't tell which would be worse - always being treated like an object, or the smell of ketchup and vinegar. right now she hates to see the dirty fork that has been in someone's mouth. somebody's half-eaten hamburger is sitting in the paste of salad dressing. she stifles a gag reflex, and for the first time in her life she is seriously considering taking off her clothes for money. at least she could get better tips. and her customers wouldn't be so rude. it's only 2:30 and her feet are swollen and crying for a break.
90 secconds
priest
his voice booms in deep and ominous tones. he speaks with the authority of one who does not question his beliefs. his gaze pierces through my paper-thin soul, and i am unable to bear it. i hear the voice of hypocrites. loud and imposing. pushy.
*****
this whole day's worth of "creative effort" was a waste. that's not true. but i sucked at it, that's certainly the truth. fuck. i suck at this shit.