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News: I moved the keyboard to my room and now I feel strongly inclined to tell the world that I adore Phantom of the Opera. Everything is perfectly normal and no, I don't have access to any secret underground labyrinth...yet.

--12 August 2017 --

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

April 1, 2010

Writing Game #1

Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose 02.JPG
For those of you who enjoy writing I thought I'd do a little bit of a game...just for fun (as games always are). Okay, so here's how it goes. I'm going to give you a little excerpt of an idea...a part of a story. What I want you to do is write down a paragraph of follow-up story-line for the next excerpts.



  1. I looked at the white rose. It's fragrance drifted upwards; so delicate and fine. If only things were perfect like this all the time. The birds chirruped softly in the early morning air. I felt the cool satin of my wedding dress brush against my arm. Another tear came to my eye, unbidden, as though it were a captive trying to escape the pain and agony. I sniffed and swiped at my face. The church was just ahead; I couldn't let anyone see me like this. 
  2. A tiny crack in the ground emitted steaming fumes of sulfur and other malodorous chemicals. If only Higgins had been able to come with me, I would have shown him the tiny centipedes that crawled across the cooled lava (he really did love those little worms), but he was careless enough to break his hip. Now I had to journey alone in search of the map. With the sun beating mercilessly down on my back, I squinted at the far ridge and continued to walk upwards. 
  3. The dong of the temple bells rang through the market square. I continued to move towards the fruit stands and everyone around me got down on their hands and knees and began their ritual prayers to Allah. Living in a Muslim nation was hard as a Christian. At least here they respected my beliefs and didn't torture me for them. The usual market place fervour now dribbled down to monotonous incantations. I ached so badly to see these people freed. Keeping my hood pulled down near my nose, I stepped over the hands of a young man and his wife. The click of an automatic machine gun froze me in position.
    "Get down." A thickly accented masculine voice echoed from the plaza.
    "I do not worship Allah, leave me in peace." My voice quivered. This had never happened before. Would they really shoot me?
    "Get down now, infidel, or you'll see the next sunrise as pig feed." The choice was now mine.
    "I cannot bow to another god other than the One True God. I will not bow." 

Alrighty, so pick one of those three (or as many as you like) and write a little response about what happens next in the scene. I'm looking forward to seeing your ideas! (Don't worry, I'm not going to use any of them, it'll just be for fun! Your unique writing response will remain that way, since I really do believe in copyright laws...no stealing allowed.)


Squeaks.


(Note: This game concept was taken from Storyteller's blog at Storyteller: A Writer's Journey; sorry!! But the idea is too good to be true, I just had to use it! :P )

5 comments:

  1. "A tiny crack in the ground emitted steaming fumes of sulfur and other malodorous chemicals. If only Higgins had been able to come with me, I would have shown him the tiny centipedes that crawled across the cooled lava (he really did love those little worms), but he was careless enough to break his hip. Now I had to journey alone in search of the map. With the sun beating mercilessly down on my back, I squinted at the far ridge and continued to walk upwards."

    The blackened ground was jagged and cracked as I traversed it in the hot sun. "Where does one find an ancient treasure map?", O queried aloud. "Hrumph" I muttered in response to my own question, certainly not in the scalding sunlight. I had started the day by putting on Jackson & Jones' sunscreen 50 WPF. Unfortunately for me, I could feel the skin starting to peel on my neck. So much for that idea. I needed shelter to wait for the sun to go down, shelter...away from the centipedes. I had heard they were not picky about what they ate.

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  2. Awesome blog, Squeaks! Thanks for the link. ;)

    Ooo, great story starters. I think I'll try number 3....

    "I cannot bow to another god other than the One True God. I will not bow."
    "Then you will die," the man said flatly.
    Out of instinct, I ducked and started to run. A bullet from the man's gun exploded from the barrel and collided with my shoulder. I felt my bones shatter, but I kept running, clutching the wound.
    The pain made me want to drop and give in, but I knew I would be sorry if I did. I couldn't stop. Had to escape. Couldn't stop...
    The bullets kept flying after me, but they went wide and I was no hit again. I dashed into an alley, out of sight of the Muslin man. My breath came in gasps. Blood covered my shoulder and ran down my arm. "God, please help me," I whispered the prayer.
    Slowly, I moved down the alley into the next street. More people covered the ground, prostrate before their temple. I picked my way through them as quickly as I could, keeping my eyes on the ground. I reached the alley on the other side of the street and glanced back. It looked like no one was following me. But I couldn't stop yet. Best to put as much distance between me and my attacker as possible.
    Suddenly, a shadow loomed over me. I turned to see the Muslim man blocking my way through the alley. He grabbed my arm before I had a chance to scream. Two more characters like him appeared, all bearing similar weapons.
    "Thought you would escape so easily, infidel?" he first man taunted. "You will soon see the power of Allah." To make their point crystal clear, one of the men held up a knife and slowly licked the blade.
    My mind halted in a paralyzing fear. The three men circled around me, cutting off all escape. There was only one choice now.
    A memory of a book I once read surfaced through my overloaded mind. It was a terrible, true account of a boy my age who had been martyred in ancient Rome. He had faced every torment, from fire to wild animals to sharp objects, all without showing any fear. All in the name of Jesus.
    The knowledge that I was not the only one to be persecuted for my faith gave me strength and sudden peace.
    Never. Never would I break down. Never would I forsake the One who suffered for me. It was no longer me that these men were dealing with, but Him. Jesus would have the last say, and Him alone.

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  3. Great job both of you! Intense bullet scene, Storyteller :P and I like the hinting about the centipedes, Millardthemk (do you think they're maneating?? jk...that would be too scary for me lolz!)

    I have yet to find a really good book about Christians in a Muslim world... "Blink" by Ted Dekker was pretty good.

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  4. Hmm, I Like that one.

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  5. Okay, okay, okay. I couldn't hold it back lol! I just wrote up a quick continuation for number 1. After reading Petrie's blog on the Bride of Christ my mind was already moving in that direction so I just uhh...harnessed the energy and sent it off to do some useful work :P


    I looked at the white rose. It's fragrance drifted upwards; so delicate and fine. If only things were perfect like this all the time. The birds chirruped softly in the early morning air. I felt the cool satin of my wedding dress brush against my arm. Another tear came to my eye, unbidden, as though it were a captive trying to escape the pain and agony. I sniffed and swiped at my face. The church was just ahead; I couldn't let anyone see me like this.
    I got up from the wooden bench and closed my eyes. A soft wind from the south caressed my slightly chilled skin. My mind wandered back to my parent’s conversation at dinner a couple months ago.

    “It’s high time that Hilary was married, Bruce.” Mother’s nasally voice cut across the dining table, stinging my ears.
    “Chelsea, dear...she’s still so young. I think we should wait a few more years before we...”
    “Bruce!” Mother slammed her fork down, sending a chunk of potato flying onto my sister’s lap, “She must get married in three months. That’s our deal.”
    “Three months!” Father’s face went red, then white. I watched as he placed his knife down on top of his beef, “Three months...it’s that John guy eh? I ... I guess I can’t say no then.”

    It happened that quickly. Within a couple minutes I had been sold off to a guy I didn’t even know. I hadn’t even met him!
    I pushed my golden bangs back and stared at the robin in the tree. Three months it had been. Here I was, preparing to marry an ancient bag for all I knew. The only thing I could count on was that even though my parents were in this whole deal for money, they could never take my Jesus away from me.
    I smiled. Yes, he is my true groom.
    With confidence I got up and turned towards the chapel; a new strength surged through my clammy skin. I wouldn’t go alone to the altar. No, Jesus would go with me.


    Squeaks.

    ReplyDelete

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