Writing Challenge! [Eighth challenge posted!]
 

This is a little something that my teachers used to do, and I thought it would be a good game of sorts for us writers to get together and have a bit of fun and critique each other's work while it's still raw.

The idea is that I (or a volunteer! ) post an outline for a challenge that the players have a week to post. The challenge will usually have a time limit of 15-30 minutes and a maximum of 2000 words as well as some criteria to fill.

The criteria will vary from using a certain technique, style, writing in a certain genre (for people like me who don't write outside one particular genre), writing a scene with a given theme and characters or writing from a given picture.

As I said, you would have a week to post what you've written in this thread and you would get helpful feedback from everyone else here. No editing is allowed bar from correcting punctuation and spelling to the best of your ability without a dictionary. Couple of days of feedback and then we do it all over again with something different!

I would have started it straight away but I'm shy like that, so I wanted to post the idea first and see if anyone is interested in taking part? It will be roughly every week but it's only 15 minutes a go or something and it's more fun when you have lots of people and different styles emerging!

Any questions? :D


Challenge 1.

Challenge 2.

Challenge 3.

Challenge 4.

Challenge 5.

Challenge 6.

Challenge 7.

Challenge 8. <--- Present challenge!

Seems like it might be fun, however I don't understand what it is one is suppose to do. Sorry!

It's basically a writing exercise each week where I set a theme, genre or scenario and you have to time yourself for 15 minutes while you write something off the top of your head, post it straight here with no editing and we all critique them together. It's just a way of trying out different styles of writing that you might not try otherwise. Hope that makes a little more sense?

Yes, it does make more sence now

mmmm sounds like a great idea....
Woul love to do it!
Ok, so are you waiting for more people or waiting for someone to start?

Sounds like fun, although it will drive me crazy because I'm such a perfectionist when it comes to writing. Before I share any of my work, I read through it at least five times, and I often end up making numerous revisions. I can't promise to participate in the challenge every week, but I'll happily participate when I can.

It sounds like a great idea (I just joined this writing group, by the way), I'm not sure I can keep up with your pace, but I can try ...

It would be very interesting to compare the different ideas that everyone would come up with, and fun of course! I'm much like Rabid though, quite the perfectionist. On top of that, I'm terribly slow at writing and I always end up changing my mind. But besides all that, I'd give it a go.

And also, would it be cheating if I took as long as I wanted within that week to think up an idea before actually writing or is it protocol that the time starts when you think or do anything towards the writing?

Hello guys, wow the response has been fab, I'm so pleased! I was hoping to get the first one up at the beginning of next week as a test run! Don't be worried about the pace of it, it's only a bit of fun to try and hone some new techniques!

burnziiy, generally you shouldn't have any time to think about it, the idea is to see how you react to certain stimuli and to increase this with practise so as to get creative juices flowing! On some there will probably be a designated "study time" in which you might have five mins to look at a given picture etc.

I know this is over the internet so who's to know if you do plan it, but it takes away the purpose of the challenge. This is spur-of-the-moment writing and nothing you post should be polished or revised.

simstate, welcome to the group! And don't worry about pace. The word counts will be very small and some challenges may get posted later that need more time. You certainly don't need to participate each week if you feel any strain!

Rabid, no editing! Heh. This is the challenge of it. You can of course revise spelling and things until the cows come home, but you should not rewrite any of it or cut any out.

Again, thanks everyone for the response!! If you have any ideas for techniques etc that we could try some weeks, please PM me and I'll incorporate all your ideas to keep it varied!

Wow, this sounds really fun. I'll try to get involved every week, but the amount of homework I'm getting might not let me participate every time. Hopefully this will get me used to having other people read my work.

Yeah, that's probably what I need it for too - I'm too defensive about what I write and end up not getting the criticism I need.

First challenge should be up tomorrow night (Sunday) so we'll have some writing to do next week! :D

That's perfect timing. After Monday I'll have two less assignments to do, so I'll have plenty of time for the challenge.

I'll probably do this too, and for the people that have trouble with keeping themselves down to 2,000 words or 15 minutes and no edits, may I recommend Write or Die?

It's a website that plays an annoying noise when you stop writing, and it lets you write for a set amount of time or words. Then if you tell it you're done it will give you your writing with no carriage returns, so when you c/p it to here you'll have one chance to edit it so that you can reinsert the carriage returns.

If we ever wanted a change of pace, I've participated in writing challenges called drabble challenges. The prompt is a phrase or word, and then the participants must write a one-hundred to five-hundred word snippet including the prompt. You can edit it as often as you want, too . I love the original challenge idea, but this might be a bit easier when we're all busy and looking for something less challenging.

Challenge 1
 

Thank you for the link, FurryPanda! I'll probs have a squiz on it in just a sec!
And Rabid, yep I've got some planned that use only a few words or just one. I tend to find that the smaller the prompt the more varied reactions you get!


Guidelines.

- Your piece must be written in the first person narrative, i.e. me, we etc.
- You have 15 minutes to write this. Either time yourself with an alarm or phone, or use the useful link by FurryPanda
- You must have a minumum of 500 words, although you shouldn't go over 2000.
- Copy and paste straight onto this thread. Do not edit or rewrite your piece. Spelling, grammar and punctuation can be revised but without a dictionary and such.

my challenge 1
 

. . . got bored, and had time to spare.
I might have done something incorrect, so sorry for that

For many a years I haved roam the land. North to South, East to West. I've seen more sights then an avid couch potato. Grime is my middle name and gasoline is my perfume of choice. I am a car. Just a car, you think? Not just any car, might I add. My owner purchased me on a chilly, autumn day many years ago. There I had rested many a weeks on that lot, just waiting for that special someone. Once I got washed and polished up, I was extremely excited. This, however, wore off faster then fingernail polish.

Now a days my trips are less lengthy, my sights less breathtaking. With all the new hot rods out on market, no one finds the interest in driving me, a year 2003 Tiburon any longer. Sure, I guzzle your gas faster then you make the thirty dollars to refill me, but is that to blame?

We have been so many places together. Why did you leave me parked at the back of your driveway after all these years? Am I not as efficient as my younger self was? Am I some horrid eye sore to drive about? Does my unpolished paint, and bug filled liscense plate turn you off?

I suppose that darn Kia is to blame. My own sister you purchase. To think that you tossed me aside like a weed when you found that more fuel efficient drive. I guess that's the way you like them now, big and efficient. I see how it is. You tell me to blame the economy. But, that's not what it is, I know.

I have it all figured out. You change cars like the Earth changes seasons. You chose me when you were that younger, healthier self. You enjoyed me for a few years, "got your money's worth", as you said. But, now your needs, or luck, has changed. Since you love to spend excessive amounts of your not so hard earned cash, you decided to buy a multipurpose deal on wheels. With room to spare, she has plenty room for all the junk you decide to pack in the trunk, and, saves you gas along the way. Well, I am sorry that I was made compact. But, that used to be the way you liked it.

So, just for you, I will sit. Day in and day out, through rail, hail, snow, and brutal sun, I will stay parked. Don't bother driving me, don't even bother looking my direction when you go get into your dream ride. I just let you know, that I look foward to that day, that day that your precious little Kia comes and sleeps beside me. Just remember, I was your first, your only, and your best, Hyndai.

I loved it, clw . I don't know if you intended to be funny or not, but it struck me as irreverently humorous to read about a vehicle acting like a jilted lover .

indeed Rabid, I found myself crackin up, and infact writing about a real life car and situation :P

This prolly sucks....used Pandas write or die...scared the heck out of me. Lol. Ment to be slightly depressing.

Everyday I stare at the same blank wall on the same worn wood table. I am a clock. A antique clock. It is, I guess, my job to stare. I've looked at the same wall for generations now, and I know there's a change in the air. Where there was no...what is it....telephone, there is. From wall-mounted to cordless. There are electric ovens, that sometimes don't work...or so I've heard. The blare from the televison has become more and more obscene as the years have gone by. I watched old friends go away. The old pictures...they where worth so much money! thrown away. The old war medallions...pieces of worthless metal...sold to some dealer. I'm actually suprised me and my old friend, the table, have made it this far. We have heard it all...Pearl Habor, the Cold War, Vietnam, September 11, yet.... It's hard to describe the feeling that your help is no longer appriceiated. I think our time is near, the be replaced with a digital clock. A nice, fake wood table massed produced in China. Oh....I think I hear them now. It's my time. But wait! I'm valuable! Think of the money! I hear you humans complain about money! Me, and this table hear, could be worth a small fortune! You have no idea whos hands crafted us! They could've been famous! Their pieces could be worth millions! Yet you'll through us away...to be whittled away...sliver by sliver.... Oh well...even magical things must end. My chime shall no longer ring in these halls. I shall no longer hear the laughter of children, the suprised shouts at the presents on birthdays or Christmas. Oh well....to my final home I go.

My contribution - be brutal! I can take it - ha ha - Writers need thick skin
 

I hate it here in this junk yard - the rats gnaw at my insides day and night - all I see around me are dirty, broken, unwanted things ... a beat-up old car with blocks for wheels, old dolls missing their heads, a broken-down dishwasher. I don't belong here.

I was a beautiful bed once - with a shiny brass headboard and a good springy cushion. My master and mistress picked me out of all the other beds at the local furniture shop.

"Oh, there" she had cried out, "This is the one we need. It's just the perfect price for us. Please?"

She'd looked up at my master with her winsome smile that he could not resist, and I was delivered to their new home the following day.

They were newly weds, you see. I was a good bed; they never heard a word of complaint from me. Those early days of their marriage, I had a good work-out every night. Hands clenched on my headboard, bodies pounding down on me, but I could handle it. My springs kept their spring and I enjoyed listening to my master and mistress make love to each other every night.

Then my master got signed into a high profile baseball team. They were very excited when that happened, I can tell you! I felt their celebration too, the morning after. But my mistress stripped off the soiled sheets and I was good as new. Soft and cushiony and smelling of her favorite fabric softener.

Then came the long lonely nights for my mistress. Endless nights waiting for my master to call. Nights of tears. Nights watching the Hallmark Channel.

Then my mistress started to get frequent visitors again. I had never realized that she had so many male friends! And I was happy. Once again, I heard laughter in my mistress’ voice.

But I was not so happy when my mistress started to use me. With other men.

No! - I wanted to cry out! - My master owns me - I don't want these strange men on me!

But I was only a bed, what could I do?

So now strange hands clenched the headboard. Strange voices permeated the night. Grunts. The rustle of silk sheets. Squeaky sounds of the springs.

"What the h*** is this!!!!"

It was my master's voice. I had never heard him sound so enraged. So angry.

"Oh, please. I'm so sorry..." My mistress had cried and pleaded. "Please..."

I felt the blows. I felt the hard steel flash down. Again and again. Through my mistress' body. And through me. Pieces of stuffing flew in the air. I felt hot sticky liquid flow down, soak down through the mattress.

Oh no - it will be murder to dry clean that - I thought.

Then the air was rent with the sound of sirens. And important men in blue uniform came to take my master away. Men in white came to take my mistress and her friend away. Men in white coats came to dab the sticky fluid from me. I was paraded around together with the knife. I was evidence you see. Then I was kept in a locker for the longest time. No one bothered to clean me up. No one bothered to change the sheets.

And now, I am here, all alone, in the city dump. I miss my mistress and master.

ETA: When are we supposed to start critiquing each other? It would be best if everyone had submitted their stuff by then, right?

ETA: I tried to add the cool widget from Write or Die, but it wouldn't take here. So I made a picture instead. Thanks to Fuzzy Panda for the tip!



ETA again! Oh drat - I need glasses - I just went back to Gemmareno's post and realized that I totally missed reading this line : "Your narrator is experiencing an emotional turmoil of some kind. You must write about the problem, emotions and anything else related to this."

Yikes! All I read before I wrote this was : "The catch is that your narrator is an inanimate object."

Sorry, my narrator is kinda an emotionally stunted bed that doesn't quite realize the gravity of what happened. I'll try to read ALL the instructions next time!

Word Count: 700

Yay, thank you posters! *hands out cookies*

simstate, no worries, your entry had emotional turmoil, namely confusion! Hehe. About the critiquing, there's not really any time set aside for it. However, if people think it would be a better idea to have a few days specifically for this purpose, then that's fine! If so it'll probably be towards the end of the week when most people have done it.

Keep 'em coming guys!

ETA: Happy 16th Rabid! :D

ETA2: Aww, I just saw your blog entry about this challenge, simstate, thanks for spreading the word! ^_^

The Story Of An Alarm Clock
 

[i]This is my story of an emo little alarm clock. Feel free to criticize, I am always seeking to improve.

Mornings. I HATE mornings. There is nothing worse than the sun peeping over the edge of the horizon, bathing the world in crystalline red light, and knowing that soon you are going to be smacked, violently.

It all seemed so nice and harmless, that first day. I had just come all the way from China, sitting in a stuffy little box with a window in the front so people could see in,a nd I could see out. The only problem with the trip from China in that little box? I was facing the back of someone else's box. I spent most of the trip thinking about playing tiddlywinks. Is that a dignified thing? Playing tiddlywinks? No, its not. Stupid US Freight, I hope that boat and its boxes burn.

I don't, not really, I'm not a morning person enough to be able to act magnaminous. If I heard about the ship and all its electronics burning, I'd be sad. Make no mistake.

So I got to this huge building, and I mean it was bloody huge. Like... Have you people ever stood in front of an airplane? You don't realize when you're in it how huge it is, but it's... huge. There was a big sign in front of it that said "Wal-Mart" and I got put on a shelf with a ton of other people, and in front of us there was a shelf with hats on it, and under every hat was a little yellow and white slip of paper on us that said in black letters "Hats:$3.98 Wal-Mart Always Low Prices"

I sat in the Wal-Mart for... a really long time. Maybe you can't comprehend how long a hundred thousand footsteps is, but that's how long I was there. I exaggerate, but only a little, I had a lot of trouble counting footsteps when I was on a shelf. What kind of marvelous powers do you suppose I have to count the swaying of people's hips as they pass by, when that's where eye level is?

Then there was a day, that seemed like every other. The lights came on. I whined and moaned about how much I hate mornings, and then... the day went by as normal. And then lunch time came. It passed like normal too. Then closing time came! It passed like normal too. I'm only saying this so you appreciate how vital to my plight now the next part of this all is. You don't want to hear it? Fine! I won't tell you, and I'll skip right to the good stuff! You ungrateful...

I didn't mean that. It's just that its morning, and I really don't like mornings.

So the next day, the day after normal day I-really-can't-count-that-high, someone picked me up in my box, and I looked through the clear cellophane at a kind faced woman with curly brown hair, a full mouth, and grayish green eyes. She was quite easily the most lovely creature I had seen. Then again, given that I had spent all of my life in a box or looking at people's hips, that doesn't say much.

"Oh, here's a cheap one Carl," she said, and without another look she ahnded me to some acne ridden child. Carl, for that was his name, was not as pretty to look at as his mother. He had stringy greasy brown hair, heavy lidded eyes, a pouty mouth and arms like a gorilla's. No, not like a gorilla, more out of proportion. Picture a stick man made out of toothpicks. Picture that same stick man with jointed arms and legs. Picture the stick man's forearms being carpet tubing. That was how out of proportion Carl was. It was bloody scary.

So the two of them put me in a shopping cart next to a Nikon digital camera. I asked the camera what he thought of his new master, and the camera went on for the entire trip that if Carl's mother were to photograph her son, Nikon would surely die. I thought he was exagerating, but a while later as I was watching from Carl's end table she did take his picture as he posed with the cat, and the cat got startled and clawed the mother's leg, and she dropped and killed Nikon. Pity I didn't get him to forecast my end.

As I said, I would up on Carl's end table, and he took me out of my box and fiddled with my dials all crisp and clear like. I tried to take it in diginifed good humor, but goodness me, it tickled! And then... he left. I was all alone for the first time... ever.

The next morning I felt the sun rising, all gilded and red over the window sill, and I felt my hatred of mornings melting away. How could something this bright and clean and beautiful be anything but a marvel of perfection? I sang out in joy at this gorgeous sight and then... And then Carl's arm came crashing down onto the top of my head and I was stunned into silence.

This happened for months, I would ring in the new day, he would hit me, and I came more and more to hate mornings. But today I was knocked onto the floor, and now I can't see the sun, all I can see is this beige carpeting, with a soda stain and little tufts of lint. And as the morning is coming, and I can't see that beautiful sun, and I'm not afraid of that brawny forearm... I ring again. And this time its not because of the dials that Carl fiddled with all those months ago.

I'm... I'm happy.

Aww, I loved that one FurryPanda!

Damn, I'm sorry for not getting one in myself - so hypocritical! It's Sunday again, so I'll put another challenge up a bit later if we want to give it another go this week?

sure, I thought it was fun to do, even if not many people submitted one. Maybe people just didn't have time .. . .

Yeah, well RL gets in the way lol. But sure, as long as one person wants to give it another go... XD

I'll give it another gander, I had fun writing mine, and its good to have a nice low pressure reason to write.

Challenge 2
 

Guidelines.

- Your piece should be in the third person, she, he etc.
- You have 20 minutes to write this. Either time yourself with an alarm or phone, or use the useful link by FurryPanda on page 1.
- You must have a minumum of 500 words, although you shouldn't go over 2000.
- Copy and paste straight onto this thread. Do not edit or rewrite your piece. Spelling, grammar and punctuation can be revised but without a dictionary and such.

My Critique
 

I thought I’d do the critique before everyone started posting new stories.

First – great job to everyone who made a submission. And kudos to Furry Panda for that Write or Die link – very scary site but effective. It really makes the creative juice flow!

clw8’s post
Suggest proof-reading to correct spelling and grammar (the very first sentence “For many a years I haved roam the land.” for example.)
The characterization of the jealous and bitter car was spot-on, great job! As the car spoke, I could imagine her as an over-the-hill jilted girlfriend. I guess there wasn’t much time to give much attention to setting in the story – I get the sense it’s somewhere in the Midwest? Or no? The pacing was good – I got the whole point of the piece (jilted lover) from the first paragraph.

RussaNodrey’s post
Suggest using carriage-return next time – paragraphs are good! It doesn’t have to be one giant paragraph.
The story is similar to clw8 – it’s an unwanted clock this time. I just wish that the “voice” was older – it is an antique clock after all – thought the language should’ve sounded old fashioned. The setting was great – I could imagine an old formal parlour as it slowly emptied of furniture.

PixCii’s post
Could I request for a left-sided paragraph formatting next time? This isn’t a poem after all – the center format was very distracting for me.
That said – I vote best post for this one - so funny! I was guessing the entire time just which fruit was the speaker. The pacing was very good – with a bit of suspense to keep the reader interested – does the fruit get eaten or not? The characterization of the fruit was very real – and the dialogue worked – I was imagining a young teen-ager?

FurryPanda’s post
Okay - this ties with PixCii’s as best post for me also – the emo alarm clock was very believable – and I liked the pacing of the piece – how the clock finally found a home and a purpose in life (waking the hell out of Carl every morning). Very good description of the clock’s life before being bought and after. And I liked how the new characters were introduced into the mix – the mom and Carl.
The characterization of the clock was very believable – and I could see in just a few paragraphs that there was character growth.

I hope these same people post again – I’m sure the pieces will just get better as they go along. And I do hope more people join in!

Great critique, simstate. There's not much I would add but there was one little thing I wanted to mention for RussaNodrey; your use of ellipses (the three dots) makes the piece seem a bit vague sometimes. While using them is good for thought progression and things like that you should try more direct ways of separating sentences and stuff. It will make your pacing snappier! Hope that helps.

simstate, seeing as you can't really critique your own... READ INSTRUCTIONS. Haha, I'm kidding! I think you let on what your narrator was a little too early. There was a great opportunity for you to carry on and keep the audience guessing. "I was a beautiful bed once" seemed a bit direct. Although that fact that the bed is self aware of what it is is funny, it might have made it seem more human if he'd said "I was beautiful once" and let the descriptions of springs and headboards do the rest! Apart from that (lame) attempt of critiquing your entry was good and had good pacing up until the end when you ran out of time. Lol. *hands you a cookie*

Here's my submission. That is one fugly picture - where did you find it!
Disclaimer - it actually took me 21 minutes to write this - I forgot myself and it was an extra minute before I remembered to hit the done button on Write or Die.



The Old Picture In The Parlour

Kara hid in the parlour when the policemen came. Her mother finally found her when it was near dusk - gathering her into a tight hug.

"Don't you ever do that again!" her mother had scolded and shook her slightly. "I was half out of my mind. What with your father missing -"

"Mama," Kara tugged at her mother's sleeve. "Look at the old picture on the wall. Last week, the ogre man was holding four keys. But look, now he has five keys in his hand."

"What on earth are you talking about Kara?" her mother exclaimed. "How could the number of keys change? If there are five keys now, then there always were five keys."

"But mama ..."

"Now you be a good girl, Kara. I've set out your dinner for you on the kitchen table. I've got to go talk to some of the search people who are helping look for daddy. You be a good girl and clean up afterwards."

Kara had a last long look at the old faded black and white print on the wall. Her mother had found it in a garage sale and for some reason had bought it ("It was going for a steal!" she'd said) and displayed it in the parlour. The picture fascinated Kara. There was a big hairy ogre of a man with bulging-out eyes who clutched a ring of keys on one hand. He was talking to a lady dressed up in a fancy dress and a bad wig. Kara imagined the man was the "Beast" in "Beauty & The Beast." But unlike the kindly "Beast" in the Dysney movie, Kara knew the man in the picture was up to no good.

And she had counted the keys last week - she was playing a counting game and had counted 3 lamps, 2 rugs, 5 silver spoons, 1 grandfather clock and 7 windows in the parlour. She had counted the keys in the picture specially - 1 2 3 4 - four keys. But now there were five.

Kara was worried about her father. He had kissed her at the breakfast table and gone to read his newspaper in the parlour. But when mother had gone to call him for lunch, there was no one in the room. He had been missing for 3 days now and no one had heard from him.

Kara went to sleep alone; she made sure to leave her door open, just in case daddy came back in the night.

But he didn't.

The days passed by and became weeks. The friends and neighbors and policemen were gone. Even her grandpa and grandma had to fly back home.

Life somehow went back to normal without her father. Now it was just her mother and her. Kara checked on the old picture everyday. She didn't know why, but she counted the keys everyday. Five keys. Five keys. Five keys.

One morning, Kara woke up to silence.

"Mama?" She went to her mother's bedroom, but it was empty with the bedcovers neatly done. Her mother wasn't in the kitchen either. Or the garage - she checked and the car was still there. She went to the backyard, but mother wasn't there either.

Where could mama have gone? Then, with a stab of fear, Kara ran to the parlour. She looked at the old picture.

Now the ogre man was holding six keys in his hand. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Six keys.

Kara opened her mouth to scream.

It's an illustration of an old fairy tale!

I loved what you posted, very sinister and it had a really good ending! Just be careful with spelling ("Dysney") and also be consistent with how you write numbers. The counting at the end was fine, but generally if the number is under, say, twenty one then you should write the numbers out. Especially if some are numbers and others are written! :D

Seriously! I did a horror story too! 532 words


Athena paused as she glance around the corridor. No one was there to interupt this very important meeting. The curtain gently parted to reviel the old man, the magician, who had amazed her with his performance.
"You asked for a meeting?" said the man in his reedy voice.
Athena was very scared, what if this man bewitched her or worse? It took all her self control to keep her voice level.
"That magic, it amazed me! I was wondering if I may..." but the man cut her off.
"You truely enjoy magic, eh?" he said, reaching into his ornate jacket, "This key will help you. It will open any door, any lock, and might even make you smarter then God himself. You can find the answers to anything behind locked doors, be they doors or blocks in the mind."
This was blasphemey and yet, so intreging! Athena wanted to get away, yet was held rapt in attenstion.
"Here," the man gestured to a door to the right, "Open it."
With shivering hands she took the key. The sharp intensity of the cold on the brass burned, but she gathered her resolve and walked towards the door. It was usually locked, so if this worked... Athena put the key the lock and twisted it slightly. The door creaked open on not-so-well oiled hinges.
"This is shocking!"
Athena was quite suprised the man was actually telling the truth.
"You see, miss, not all magicians lie. Now, about the other use. To look into the mind. See if you cannot read mine. Simply consitrate on getting into my mind, then, all my knowledge is yours."
Athena was getting more nervous as this went on. Surely eternal damnation meet her if she tried this trick! Yet, she could not give up. Reading minds sounded so very, shall she say, delightful. Athena consentrated. Then, gradually, light faded from the room. All the memories of the old man flowed around her. It was all in reach! She touched an image cautiously. Immediately the memory, the death of a loved one, was replayed to her. The shocking imagies the truth! It was amazing!
"Oh please sir! Show me more magic! This can't be all you can do!" The man smiled. Immediatly Athena regretted the action. What if this time she would be turned into so hideous monster! A demon! Athena turned and fled, not yet realizing the key was still clutched in her hands. Her footsteps echoed off the marble floors and she fled to her room in a panic. She thought she could here the footsteps of the man behind her, echoing, echoing.
"Please!" Athena cried, "Take your key, take your magic and tricks and leave me!" The same laughter repeated itself. Athena felt sick. "Oh please, dear God don't let curse me! Please, I repent!" The demonic laughter echoed, rising to a cresendo! "PLEASE!"
The laughter stoped as Athena collasped onto the marble floor. She curled up, her heart beating, sweat pouring down her back. Her crying echoed more amongst the room. When she was found, there was no key. In fact there was nothing except the laughter, which echoed omniously around the chamber yet was not heard to anyone except Athena, who heard it day in, day out. Echoing. Echoing.

Fantastic read, RussaNodrey! I'm glad you're doing another challenge! :D

hey.
I know I was a person in favor of the 2nd one.
So, it's totally crossed my mind to complete the writing, but, if I don't forget, I plan on doing it tomorrow (wouldv'e done it tonight, buuut.... I played sims for about 4 consecutive hours, then did homework )

Haha, it's addictive, that game, huh? It's fine, just give it a go whenever you get a spare 20 mins! :D

Hi everyone! I've just joined the group! I read about this game thanks to simstate's blog and I'd like to partecipate... from next week since I've already read all your posts, which are amazing by the way. I hope I'll keep pace, oh, and I might add (so you won't be that surprised if I make funny mistakes) that english is not my first language since I'm italian. It's really a challenge since I'm quite slow in writing and I'm not used to limits in the number of words. I'm looking forward to the next challenge!

Round 2
 

Mary awoke in a very paculiar room. Everything was colored in tones of reds and purples, and dark oak furniture lined the walls. Tall curtains with many poofy, lacey liners under them covered all the windows, making even the middle of the day seem like the middle of the night. She searched for a way to exit. Her eyes finally landed upon a narrow brown door, that was so perfectly carved in such an elegant design, was located on the opposite side of the room. Swiftly, she moved across the room, her dress rubbing against all the beautiful furniture, and dragging upon the thickly carpeted floor. Upon reaching the door, she heard a most startling noice behind the curtain at the entry way. Turning her head slightly, she immediately made out the silouette of a hefty man. With this, she leaped back, almost losing her balance, and started to cringe as he made his figure visable. He had a certain twinkle in his eye that let on that he actually enjoyed watching Mary scurry frantically around the room. It was at that second that he spoke up.

"My name is Captain Joseph K. Thompson", he said. I am captain of the JJLouise, you are aboard her now.

Not knowing how to digest the most startling news she had just recieved, Mary just looked down at the floor, then at the door, then back onto the man. She then caught eye contact with shiny silver rods he was holding in his hands. No wait, she thought, keys. He has keys!

Recognizing what she was staring at, Thompson brought the keys up to chest level.

"So", he said, "You think that I'm just going to hand you these keys, and let you be on your merry little way? You are sadly mistaken miss. I ddin't bring you here just for the fun of it. I brought you here as a test of strength, courage, and intellegence."

At that momment, he held out the keys, and then studied her reaction.

"When you, Mary, are correctly able to identify the correct key for that door, in one guess, then you will be safely removed from this ship, and back to the place at which you belong."

Not knowing how to take this most startling news, Mary just stood there, dumb-struck. After some seconds of pondering, she took held of the keys, and one by one started to study them. She stared back and forth between the door and the keys, noting the differences in sizes. After about five minuets of examining, she finally made her decision.

"This key, Sir, is the key that will unlock that door, and free me forever."

Amazed at the key that she chose, Thompson unwillingly stuck the key into the lock, and with a click, the door unlocked. With no hessitation, Mary fled through the door, not taking a second look back.

-clw8

Oh thanks!!!

Welcome Nadia! I look forward to seeing you're writing and don't worry about not having English as your first language! :D

clw8, I loved yours, you had a gorgeous first paragraph, really got across the atmosphere! Just watch out for missing speech marks and try not to repeat phrases ("startling news") so that the piece flows a little better. Good job, thanks for participating again! :D

Thanks...Yeah, I had serious writer block, and, didn't even go back and correct any grammer or spelling. Looking back at it now, I see TONS of mistakes. I didn't intentionally repeat phrases, I was just at complete loss of words! It took me probably a good minuet to think of the work silouette....so, yea...writer block and story writing doesn't go together well!

....That's not even how I wanted to end the story. Pretty crummy ending for such a built up start... however, what can I say....I was out of time, and words......

Lol! Don't worry about it It was still a good read!

Third one?
Are we going to have yet another???

Challenge 3
 

I'm sorry the third challenge didn't go up last night! I haven't been feeling well :weep: But nevermind, here's your next one to try out! :D


Guidelines.

- Your piece can either be in the first person or third person, but you must start with the aforementioned sentence regardless.
- You have 20 minutes to write this. Either time yourself with an alarm or phone, or use the useful link by FurryPanda on page 1.
- You must have a minumum of 500 words, although you shouldn't go over 2000.
- Copy and paste straight onto this thread. Do not edit or rewrite your piece. Spelling, grammar and punctuation can be revised but without a dictionary and such.




(I hope this deadline is alright for people - I'd like to keep it as every Sunday night Again, sorry for the delay!)

It's not that good, but, oh well!
----------
She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled. Molly, a very mischievious four year old, loved playing jokes on people. Just five minuets ago, she had snuck into her uncle Dean's office, and took the small box that contained an engagement ring inside. Dean had laid it there, on the corner of his desk, while he was practicing what he would say to the woman he wanted to propose to, Julie.

Molly pranced about her uncles home, knocking over random non breakables, and picking through everything. She was bored. Having to live with her uncle for the summer wasn't a picnic by any means, and Molly enjoyed making things as hard as possible for her dear and loving uncle.

At noon, Dean entered his office to redeem Julie's ring, and to make sure he knew exactly what he was going to say, just one last time. Noticing that the box wasn't where he left it, he began looking frantically around the room. Digging under stacks of papers, crawling around on the floor like a baby, and skimming the entire area all proved one thing: the ring was not in there. Without another minuet of hessitation, it finally came to Dean. Who else could have the ring except Molly? After all, it was just the two of them living there at the house.

Exiting to his backyard, Dean made his way over to Molly. Not seeing that he was behind her, Molly had the ring on her very own tiny finger. Seeing it almost imediately, Dean swooped down beside her, jerking the ring off of her hand, and startling poor Molly.

"Why did you take this from my desk, Molly?", Dean asked.

With her blue eyes shinning bright, Molly turned to look her uncle square in the eyes, and replied, "I thought it was pretty, and just wanted to look at it."

Not knowing what more to say, and definately not wanting to start a fight, or to have a crying four year old, Dean got up, and just walked back inside. Not wanting to be left outside, Molly ran inside too, and decided to go on an annoying rampage of bugging her uncle to death. However, cut short of her plan, the door bell rang.

Not thinking twice, Molly raced over to the front door, and opened it. Julie was at the door, because Dean, of course, had wanted to speak to her.

"Hello there Molly. How are you today?"

Uninterested in talking to Julie, Molly ignored her question, and instead went off to watch tv. At that second, Dean entered the room with a certain smile on his face.

"Hey there", Dean said, blushing a little.

"Hey there, yourself", Julie replied.

Not wanting to prolong what he intended to do any longer, he dropped to his knee, whipped out the ring, and proposed to Julie. With a big, happy 'yes', Julie leaped into Dean's arms.

"It's about time," Julie said, "I was beginning to think that I was going to have to propose to you."

"Why Julie, you know that it's the man's job to propose to the woman he loves."

With her head burried in his shoulder, Dean could barely make out a muffled "hypocrite".

-clw8

Hey, nice post clw8 - and very prompt! Molly seems full of mischief. The pacing I thought was pretty good. I'll just mention point of view though - you jumped from Molly's POV to Dean's. Well done for not switching halfway through a sentence, hehe, but maybe it would have been more interesting to keep with Molly's POV? See Dean and Julie through the eyes of a four year old? I think it could have worked out pretty cute that way!

Apart from that it's really cute, good job! :D

Thanks, Gemmareno - I'll keep the numbers thing in mind!

I won't add any more critiques since you've pretty much covered it, just a need to run spell check to clean up the spelling some and just a note to RussaNodrey - cool that I see paragraphs! Loved that we both thought "horror story."

Just wondering - which fairy tale was that picture in anyway?

"This is the key, Uncle?"

"Yes. Be very quiet as you go through the castle. You know what to do once you are in the king's chambers?"

"Yes."

"Good luck to you then, niece. I will see you shortly."

Arabella hid the key in her skirts as she slowly sashayed her way through the castle corriders. Once at the king's chamber door, she looked about to assure herself no one was about. She quietly opened the door before entering the grand sitting room. With silent stealth she made her way to the bedchamber where she quickly undressed down to her chemise before crawling into the immense bed. Carefully so as not to wake him, she lay close to the king and gently pulled his arm around herself.

Arabella tried to keep from trembling as she lay beside the king. She hoped that he was indeed far enough in his cups and not question her presence in his bed. Longer than life minutes passed before there was a loud knocking on the outer chamber doors.


Ok, I quit. That's seven minutes of my life I'll never have back.

Pity you didn't finish it Deatherella. It was a good start - plus I was wondering what was going to happen next.

Challenge #3
 

She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled. Well, technically, it wasn't her pocket. She'd worn her cute little strapless black dress for her date tonight and had not expected it to get so cold. Ricky, after several hints from her, had finally caught on and offered her his jacket. Feeling the little box on the front right breastpocket was an unexpected bonus.

Sally surreptitiously fished her cell phone out while Ricky was off to the gents. Quickly, she dialed her best friend Gail's number.

"Girl!" she squealed, "I think he's proposing tonight!"

"About time," Gail muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing - I said congratulations. I'm really happy for you. Not!" Gail snickered.

"Oh, you big hypocrite! I heard you the first time. It doesn't matter now that he's made me wait ten years. I'm finally getting married!" Sally couldn't help crowing in triumph.

Sally had already been a bridesmaid for a grand total of fifteen times - count that - fifteen times. She'd gritted her teeth and smiled through the ribbing she got. But Sally was getting tired of all the questions during the family get-togethers - "So, when is Ricky going to make an honest woman out of you?" She had almost had enough of the pitying glances from her married girlfriends. Now, she could join the ranks of the blushing brides in her clique. Finally.

"Oh, shoot - he's on his way back, gotta go."

"Details, girl, details -" Gail managed to get out before Sally cut her off.

"Hey, what's up?" Ricky asked, sliding into the seat beside her. He gave her a lopsided smile that never failed to make Sally's breath catch. As her mother had observed the first time she'd met Ricky - "What a handsome devil you've managed to catch, Sally." Ricky was the quintessential tall, dark and handsome man she'd dreamed about ever since she'd read her first Mills and Boon romance novel. So what if he'd fended off any marriage talk all these years - he was just making sure that everything was perfect before he proposed. Sally was sure of that.

To reassure herself, Sally touched the box again and smiled. "Nothing darling, just admiring the view."

The dinner seemed to fly by - Sally honestly couldn't have told you what the conversation was or what she ate. She was floating on a sea of giddy happiness - in her mind, she was already walking down the aisle in a frothy concoction she'd always dreamed of since she was thirteen. She'd even picked out her wedding song - she'd heard it in the Broadway play "Mamma Mia" and thought "I do, I do, I do" was simply perfect.

Then Ricky was signaling the waiter for the cheque. What? What? Sally shook her head in bewilderment - What about the proposal? Oh, what the heck - Sally had had enough of waiting. She was going to seize the bull by the horns.

"Darling," she purred. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

When Ricky looked at her blankly, Sally added, "I'm sorry, darling. Not that I was snooping or anything, but I couldn't help but notice this little box inside your jacket pocket ..."

"Oh, thank God you found it, Sally! I thought I'd lost the dammed thing. It's an engagement ring that Jack had me pick up for him. He's proposing to Jessie, fancy that! Never dreamed he'd give up his freedom just like that, now me ..."

Ricky never had the chance to continue. Instead, he found his drink and his jacket dumped on his head and was reeling from a solid whack to his head from Sally's purse as she made her exit.

Aww, Deatherella, shame you couldn't finish yours - I loved the opening! You had some really great language in there and it would have been great to see where you were going with it. What made you stop? You did number 2 though, if you have time and feel like it, maybe you can have a bash at number 3 before Sunday? :D

simstate, that was a really fun read and I loved the casual references and the typical quotes from family - it all made the characters seem very believable! Ricky deserved to get a knock on the head! The picture from challenge 2 is an illustration of Bluebeard. I hoped the picture was obscure enough for people not to be biased by the actual story!

She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled.

"Stop smiling like that and answer me! Did you get it?" asked Layla jumping up and down excitedly.

"I did, I can't believe I did it!" Jenny whispered most to herself in amusement.

"Yes!!! Egle is so going to freak out!" Layla laughed rolling on her bed.

"I bet she is, but what can she do? Nothing!" Jenny smiled thinking of her horrible stepmother, Egle, looking for her favourite jewel: jenny's mother's emerald necklace. When she married her father, a wedower, she was all sweet and kind, and declared that of course all Jenny's mother belongings were going to be in jenny's bedroom and that she could wear them whenever she wanted to. But then she saw them, and with her little hawkish hands took them all and began wearing her mother's favourite necklace, the one her father gave her after their wedding. The one she had stolen just an hour before.

"That hypocrite! Do you want to hide it here in my house? I bet she knows that is you who took it, but she can't just show up here and ask me if she can rummage in my bedroom!" Layla asked taking the box out of my pocket and playing with it. "Wear it, now that you finally have it you should see it around your neck!"

Jenny took the little box from her bestfriend's hands, and trembling a little she opened it. She brushed tenderly the little shiny emeralds and locked her beautiful mother's necklace around her own neck for the first time.

"Oh, it's so beautiful, it's the same colour of your eyes" Layla exclamed while Jenny was looking at herself in the mirror in amazement. In that moment Layla's mother opened the door of her daughter's bedroom and came in accompanied by two men in uniforms. Their eyes moved around the room and when they fell on jenny's neck they sparkled.

"Miss, follow us" said one of them. Jenny looked at Layla in panic, and trough gritted teeth she said in an angry voice: "I can't believe she called the police to get after me!!!"

...........................
Sorry, I didn't count the words, my fifteen minutes are going to finish just now!

Hello Nadia, it great to see you've joined in! I liked your post, "hawkish hands" really caught my attention. Just be careful of capitals on the names of characters and try and be as clear as possible about who's who and who's talking, just so people don't get confused. This was really great seeing as it's your second language. Good job! *thumbs up*



Guidelines.

- Your piece should be in the first person.
- You have 15 minutes to write this. Either time yourself with an alarm or phone, or use the useful link by FurryPanda on page 1.
- You must have a minumum of 500 words, although you shouldn't go over 2000.
- Copy and paste straight onto this thread. Do not edit or rewrite your piece. Spelling, grammar and punctuation can be revised but without a dictionary and such.



I also wanted to check whether anyone is having trouble reaching the 500 word mark? If so I'll bring it down a little.

Not much critiques to add to Gemmareno's -

I agree with what she said on clw8's post - I got confused when the POV suddenly shifted from the kid to the guy.

and as for Nadia's entry - I can only hope that I can ever write that well in Italian (which is never! ha ha) - the 5th paragraph was a bit confusing to me though - the sentences seemed to run into each other? But other than that, that was a cool short & I can't believe the step mother called the cops too!

I don't understand this "stream of consciousness" writing though (the 4th challenge). Is this kinda like a free-style poem or something? You're supposed to be disjointed? Sorry, don't quite get what we're supposed to write.

At some point soon, I vow to enter this. I've been kind of slack the last two challenges and haven't participated, but assessment is nearly over at school (now that we're finally entering the final week of school for the term) so I should be able to find a spare fifteen minutes to do this in .

It would be great to have you posting again PixCii! Good luck with your assessment.

simstate, sorry I wasn't very clear. Stream of consciousness is a style of writing which sounds more like inner thoughts than structured narration. These thoughts can jump from the past to what's happening in the present, and is generally a very intimate and characterised way of writing. It requires you to get right into the head of your character. I hope that helps. There are many examples of it on google and myriad novels are written using it, so a quick search should help you! :D

My try on the stream of consciousness thingee:
 

Okay, I had no idea what I was doing. But here goes - 530 words in 15 minutes... And it's a really pointless piece where my character's mind wanders from one thing to the next, and one minute I'm six, and one minute I'm older, well whatever ;-)


I can see the cookie jar. It's on the very top of the shelf. If I push this chair here just so and put this phone book here just so and add another phone book here just so, I can almost reach it. Barely. I have to go on tip toes though. And come to think of it, I'm a bit wobbly right now. I should have worn my good rubber shoes. My slippers can't stay on. Not really. I think I'll take them off and go barefoot. So, chair, phonebook, phonebook, feet and reach. I'm almost there, barely, almost, and yup, I've got the cookie jar in my hands.

I can smell the cookies. I think I can smell the cookies. The cap is on a bit tight, too tight, trying to open, twisting my hands, almost there. Oops, I'm wobbling, wobbling, wobbling, darn phonebooks. Well, now I can smell the cookies. But they're all over the floor. They smell good, really good. They're fresh. Crunchy on the outside, gooey and chewy on the inside. Just the way I like it.

I love cookies. I love them with chocolate bits mixed inside. I love them with chocolate bits stuck outside. I love them with frosting. I love them even if they are all broken up into little pieces. I love even the little crumbs. And there are a lot of crumbs here right now.

I try to collect the broken shards of the cookie jar. And I nick my thumb on one. I cry out a little, not too loud, I don't want anybody running to find out what's wrong. I can suck on the finger and pretend the red stuff is a cookie. Yes, I can pretend. There's raspberry frosting on my cookie. Or a strawberry frosting?

I have to hide the cookie jar pieces. Then nobody can blame me if they can't find the cookie jar. But first I have to eat the cookies, so much cookies.

I think of Cookie Monster. He loved cookies too. He loved to count cookies. I wonder how many cookies there are here on the floor? It's hard to tell since they're all in pieces right now. I can try to put the pieces back together again. Like Humpty Dumpty. He sat on the wall and had a great fall. But why would he sit on a wall? He must know that he would break if he fell, right? It's like the cookie jar. Why is it on a shelf? A high shelf. That I needed to get on a chair and a phone book and another phone book just to reach for it. It wasn't my fault. The phone book was slippery.

And at least I'm not hurt. Well, my thumb is bleeding but that doesn't count. I'm not like Humpty Dumpty. I didn't break. I hurt a little though. But the cookies can make it all better. These are really good cookies. That's why they're hidden all the way up the shelf. But I found them. And they're mine. Even if they're all broken up now. I'm hiding the pieces of the cookie jar. And I won't tell where.

I chuckled all through that - you really put across a frantic, childlike tone! The first two paragraps were great, with different sentence lengths which made it seem very choppy and energetic. After those first paragraphs though, the repetition of "cookies", "cookie jar" and so on was a bit excessive. Perhaps you should have moved away from the cookie jar incident, been looking at it in flashback as an older character, maybe add another character in like a childhood crush, to create a different pace? It would have added something very bittersweet to it, I think. It was a really fun read though and you had a good bash at something new so well done you! And thanks for participating! Something tells me Challenge 4 may be a little quiet.

Ok, I tried, really tried. I'm not used to the stream of consciousness technique, even if I studied it when I was reading Joyce. Here it is:


The water is warm, very warm. Is it normal? I’m used to cold seas, while this sea is so warm..could it boil and fry me? This is so weird. Where’s my mask? Oh, here it is. Put it on. Done. Now snorkelling. What am I supposed to do? The guy on the beach said to “just look”, so I’m just going to look. And swim of course. I wouldn’t like to drown. I wonder if it’s true that while drowning you could see all your life passing before your eyes. But maybe not just when you’re drowning, just when you’re dying of a slow de-Oh! A fish! A orange and white fish! How cute! It’s like Nemo! What was nemo? A fish, of course, but what was its name? Mmm, it had something to do with circus, dunno. Doesn’t matter anyway. It feels incredible to swim here, the water is lighter, it’s more like floating than swimming and everything is so clear. The guy on the beach said to swim, swim, swim, and I would notice when I’d reach the coral reef. So I swim, swim, swim. And look. How is it possible? There are too many fish, too bright, too beautiful. The guy on the beach said also dangerous. Must not touch them. But they’re sooooo-I want to brush them! I’m going to dive deeper, well the water is not very deep, like six feet deep. I’m too short to touch the bottom with my fins. Sigh, they’re too fast! Too fast! I thought they were slower, now they’re placid again. I extend my right arm and they almost disappear. Sad. They should play with me, not run away. I feel like the pricess of the sea, everything is under me, there’s no one but me and the colourful fishes-oh! It’s like in the picture the guy on the beach showed me! Corals, corals, corals. Grey and Red here. Red and greenish over there. Yellowish near that big thing. Big thing. Big thing? It’s too far to see it clearly, I don’t know what it is. Must get a closer look. Must be a dolphin! The big thing is grey. Awww, I would so love to play with a dolphin, it wouldn’t swim away like the silly fishes. Getting nearer. It’s even bigger now. Very big and grey. Too big. Way too big. The guy on the beach lied to me! He told me no way! Sharks! No sharks, he lied! I’m going to be eaten, bitten and eaten. Eaten alive. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? Swim away. Away. Must get out of the water. Fast. Very Fast. I can’t move. I can’t. I want to but I can’t. I’m frozen. I can’t turn around. I must keep my eyes on the grey big shadow, if I turn it will follow me and eat me when I’m not looking. It’s getting nearer. Oh God, Oh God. What am I-Why is-Help!
No. No. No. It is swimming on my left, it is passing me. It doesn’t look at me. And it doesn’t look like a shark, not like the ones in Jaws. Just a big scary grey thing. It’s swimming away. I almost can’t see it anymore. I can’t see it. It’s gone. Now must get out of here. And never, never, never come back. And tell dad to kick the guy on the beach.

------------------------------------------

I loved simstate's story! It' so good! The short sentences really show the thoughts and their tone. It is credible and seems real.

I really liked it Nadia! It had an almost lyrical sound when reading it - the repetition made it seem like poetry! It would have been easier to read if it had been paragraphed clearly though - a big chunk of writing is always a little dauting to look it! ^_^

Hmmmm, if I quit playing on the net long enough to finish my income taxes, I'll take a stab at the new one. I so love just rambling on.

Hehe, I look forward to it, Deatherella!

Hey, does this mean no more challenges?

Hey simstate, I'm sorry there's been no challenges! I... have no excuse apart from being ill and thinking that the lack of replies meant people weren't too fussed about doing another one! I'll try my very best to get one up in the next few days. I think we'll do some kind of character study this time round!

I look forward to it Gemmareno! I'm really liking the writing challenges! Thank you for thinking of them!

sorry I never posted on the last one. I know that I had done the first three, but, once I read the 4th one....and found out that I really didn't grasp the idea of what to do....I got discouraged, and then sidetracked, what with spring break and stuff. So, if you post another, and I just happen to pop in to check it out, I'll probably post an entry - if it's a writing style I'm familiar enough with or easy enough to learn

I think that many people just didn't know what to do with "stream of consciousness" writing (like me!) - ha ha - but I was glad I had that experience of trying something I never did before.

I'm wondering where you're getting your ideas though - are you a literature/writing/journalism student or something?

Thank you Nadia, I'm glad you're enjoying them!
clw8, no worries m'dear. I know SOC is a bit of a weird one but it's good to have a bash at! Sorry if it was a little too odd to understand what I meant, I'll keep that in mind for the future!
simstate lol yeah it's a weird technique but I'm glad you gave it a go - when done right it can be really good, like in Ian McEwan's Atonement.

And no, I don't have any writing qualifications besides GCSE and an A-Level in English Lit. I'm just an amateur writer like all you lot. :D

Challenge 5
 

Guidelines.

- You may chose whichever scene you like/know the most from your story.
- You have 20 minutes for this challenge, and you should write for at least 15 of those. Either time yourself with an alarm or phone, or use the useful link by FurryPanda on page 1.
- You must have a minumum of 500 words, although you shouldn't go over 1000.
- Copy and paste straight onto this thread. Do not edit or rewrite your piece. Spelling, grammar and punctuation can be revised but without a dictionary and such.




This is the absurdly late challenge 5! I know I said it would be a character study but I figured after two weeks we might all be a little rusty and I thought this idea sounded more fun! As always, if you're not sure feel free to ask!

sounds great, but please tell me the date you posted this on, so I know when next sunday is... will start mine soon

Hope I find 20 free minutes to do the challenge, and maybe a little more time to reread the stories...I really don't remember them very well :p

I've been watching this thread looking for a challenge to jump in on, but these are all so hard . Granted, the intention is to stretch your writing ability and refine your skill, but I think that my style isn't abstract enough. Maybe I'm just not versatile enough, but I don't like to lend myself to writing anything too surreal or experimental.

Ooh, I'm tempted to enter this challenge, but I don't think I'll go very well at all. I can hardly remember the stories as it is, and I find it hard to rewrite someone else's work.

Hey guys. I posted Challenge 5 on the 26th, but as it seemed to slide under the radar I bumped it and reposted it yesterday (sorry mods :weep: ). Technically next Sunday is the 3rd, but because it wasn't noticed until now this cuts you down to what... four days? If anyone wants me to stretch this to next Wednesday (the 6th) so that people have a whole week's opportunity, let me know and that will be fine.

Nadia, I hope you find 20 mins too! Don't feel that you have to stick too close to the story, though. The themes, characters and plot should be there, but you can change names, setting etc to suit the genre.
Rabid, yeah I can see that some of these have been a little weird! XD I would hope that you might give this a go, though? You don't have to alter your style too much for these challenges. Feel free though to PM me with any ideas for challenges which you might enjoy? It would be good to get ideas from everyone else!
PixCii, do a quick wiki search on them for a rough outline, and pick out a section that you may remember from watching Disney or something. Don't try and think of it as rewriting work - think of it as "Damn, that story's good but it would be sooo much better as a comedy/horror!" etc etc.

Hope you guys have fun with this! XD

Challenge 5
 

This'll probably be horrible, as I'm pressed for time, and am really not the type to remember disney stories I may or may not have read when younger. Nonetheless, here's my go at a horror twist on the ol' Rapunzel story.
----

The chilly, damp, stormy night air blew through Rapunzel's tower window. Her candle sticks had trouble staying lit, and she feared that she would run out of matches if she had to continue relighting them. However, she did not want to shut her old, wooden window, as this caused her to go into deep depression for being shut off from the entire world. So, just as any other night, Rapunzel left the window open, and tried to keep the candles burning.

It was some time after midnight, however she was unaware of the actual time. A long, teary stare out the window only downed Rapunzel even more. There were no lights to be seen, anywhere; not even a star shinned in the sky.

Feeling a slight chill come one, Rapunzel went over to her canopy bed, and snuggled up beneath the warmth of the magnificent lavander quilt. She started to drift off into a dream like state, and the room began to disappear.

Suddenly, a racket that could wake the dead blared below. As if she'd never been almost asleep a mere ten seconds before, Rapunzel leaped off her bed, fully alert, and tip toed over towards the window. With all senses on full power, she tried to determine the source of this noice. However, she saw nothing. She heard nothing. It appeared to be just her and the night.

Another noice erupted from below, almost knocking Rapunzel back onto the floor. Her heart nearly skipping a beat, began to thump hard and loud. This time she was almost too frightened to look out the window, but decided that since she was so far up, that it'd be ok. Though, upon looking out the window for a sourse, she again noticed absolutely nothing.

Then all of a sudden a charming voice chimmed in from below. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair." Acting from instinct, she prepared herself and then tossed down her beautiful, long, blond hair. All at once, she heard a violent laugh from below, and realized that she just commited a very bad mistake.

With all her might, Rapunzel yanked on her hair, in hopes that it would be free and able to be pulled back up. This, however, was not the case, at all. The man below, still with his laughter, was on a steady climb up her thick hair.

Her heart was racing, and she glanced around for something to help her out. She needed a way to free herself. She needed a way to prevent this man from gaining access to her. At that momment, she saw the answer. A shiny pair of scissors that were used for crafting. Sure, they were dull as can be, but were better than nothing.

She nerve rackingly began grinding away on her hair. Results were coming slowly, but were coming. On the other end, the maniac was nearly a half a way up the tower, and advancing rather quickly.

Using the scissors to the best of her ability, Rapunzel had managed to saw through three fourths of her braided hair. Nearly there, she could feel the tension, and sense that in any second she would have the biggest conflict in her life, unless she could cut her hair.

The mad man was just five feet below the window, and Rapunzel was in over drive. She had only a few more clumps to cut through.

With one last strike from the scissors, the hair split into, and just as the maniac had gotten to the top of the window, the hair fell. However, still grasping for dear life was the man.

Acting without hesitation, Rapunzel grabbed a candle, rushed over to the window, and held the flames at the mans fingers. He flinched a bit, but was determined to not let go. Then, out of no where, Rapunzel slams down a large hard back book onto the mans hands, releasing a piercing scream, and sending him falling down, down, down.

From that night on, Rapunzel would never let anyone up into her tower again. After all: She had a new, shorter hairstyle.

Wow, I loved it! Especially how it started with a storm. XD I love the commentary of her cutting her hair - it was tense but at the same time had humour (is that possible?).

Thanks for posting clw8!

I really liked it, especially the beginning! And the last line about the haircut was so funny I laughed! I think the tension was there but was balanced, so it wasn't overwhelming which is good!

Cinderella - the scifi/ futuristic fantasy version
 

Hmmm - It's been a long, long time since I've read the fairy tales - but it's fun to rewrite them. I wish I had more time - I had a great idea for how the Prince would search for Cinderella in scene 3 - but oh well. I'm bad with time management.

------------------------------------------------------------

"Stop dragging me!" hissed Cinderella. "What are we doing in this musty old laboratory anyway?"

"Because I'm your fairy god-mother, silly." Marraine sat down and started typing on the old keyboard. "Now, do you or don't you want to attend the Virtual Ball?"

"What are you talking about? You know I can't afford to pay for admission." Cinderella wrapped her arms around her body. "It's cold here. Come on, let's go back to the dome. My stepmother will kill me if she finds out I'm not yet done tending to the hydroponics garden!"

"Oh, shush. You've been stuck forever in that garden - who ever heard of cinders being used as fertilizer anyway?" Marraine continued typing on the keyboard and finally gave a satisfied whoop. "I knew I could do it! I've hacked in the system - so guess who gets to attend the Virtual Ball afterall?"

Cinderella's eyes were round as saucers. "Marraine, you didn't! They'll find out you hacked in the system!"

But in Cinderella's heart, hope bloomed. The Virtual Ball had been the talk of all the single girls for the past few months - sure they were physically stuck in Jupiter's fourth moon - but for the cost of 500 galacticans, the magic of Virtual Reality would allow young people from Earth, Mars and even from the far away colony on Pluto to meet and mingle and dance and enjoy themselves for one night. And it had been whispered that for this Virtual Ball, the handsome young prince from the net show "Prince Charming" would be in attendance. Cinderella had a big crush on him and had secretly downloaded a hologram of the prince for a small fortune. Now, thanks to Marraine, she'd have a chance to meet him!

"Okay, lie down and put on the suit and goggles." Marraine ordered. "Hurry! Now remember, I can only guarantee that you'll be in the system until midnight. Remember, Cinderalla, you'll be logged out before midnight, okay?"

Cinderella gave her friend a quick hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you -- I'll remember ...."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Virtual Ball was magnificent. It was a dream come true for Cinderella and she could hardly contain her excitement. She'd caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and had gasped. Marraine always did have great fashion sense and had clothed her friend with the very latest. Hundreds of beautiful young people mingled around the room and Cinderella was one among them.

"May I have this dance?" Cinderella whirled around and almost choked. Her Prince Charming was looking down at her and had his hand out. OMG!!! OMG!!! OMG!!! She swallowed and chanced a look around her - not a good move, she could see all the other girls glaring back at her.

"Please - may I have this dance?" he asked again and smiled. And so Cinderella stepped into his arms and promptly forgot about the rest of the universe.

There was an old film that Cinderella had once seen where the heroine had sang "I could have danced all night ..." And that was true. But they had also talked. And laughed. And joked. And for the first time in her life, Cinderella felt like a princess and not a lowly hydroponics garden worker.

And then, suddenly the clock struck midnight ...

Oh no! Cinderella leapt up and -- "I'm sorry, I have to go ..."

"What?"

"I have to go ..."

The interface had begun to turn into static and Cinderella could barely make out her Prince Charming's face as he whispered "At least give me your twitter name ..."

But she had already logged out.

^ Haha love it, I thought the logging in thing was very Matrix. I could tell you got into it and I would love to see scene 3 as futuristic fantasy too! :D

ETA: Also want to check up on what people think about a new challenge this Sunday or next Wednesday? Challenge 5 did go up on Sunday but people didn't really see it til Wednesday. Let me know guys, so I know whether I have to start brainstorming (or mindmapping :S)!

Thanks Gemmareno! Ha ha - just for the heck of it, here's scene 3 (I'm no longer following the original story faithfully) so you can have an idea of how the Prince does trace his Cinderella ...

p.s. I'd wait for someone else to submit a story for this week, but that's me - you're awfully good with your brainstorming and I don't want you to run out of ideas too soon.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Cinderella sat up and pulled the VR goggles off. She could hear Marraine typing away furiously on the keyboard and cursing softly.

"You had to cut it fine, didn't you? I said 'before midnight?'" Marraine scowled at her.

"Sorry, I forgot - the prince - what's happening?"

"Server security ..." Marraine bent back to the computer. "They're trying to trace my signal ... they found the backdoor I used ..."

"Oh, I'm so sorry ... " Cinderella ran to her friend and stood helplessly at her side. "Can you hide our IP address? We are in so much trouble!"

"Well, yeah - I hope that you at least got hot and heavy with your prince ..." Marraine grinned and winked at her. "Relax, I know how to cover my tracks."

Suddenly, the lights flickered - Marraine didn't notice as she had returned to concentrating on the computer screen - but Cinderella heard a 'click - click - click' - and her heart constricted when she discovered the sound was coming from the electronic lock on the door.

"Marraine -" Cinderella grabbed her friend's hand. "We have to get out now!"

"What? I'm almost done, I need to erase ..."

"Now!"

Cinderella dragged Marraine with her and half-running managed to escape from the room before the lock engaged.

Cool, I love the technological twist on the story, it's very imaginative. Thanks for posting it, hehe. And that's fine then - I'll post Challenge 6 on Wednesday.

Challenge 6
 

Guidelines.

- You must write in the first person and you must not use sight to describe the setting.
- You have 15 minutes for this challenge. Either time yourself with an alarm or phone, or use the useful link by FurryPanda on page 1.
- You must have a minumum of 500 words, although you shouldn't go over 1000.
- Copy and paste straight onto this thread. Do not edit or rewrite your piece. Spelling, grammar and punctuation can be revised but without a dictionary and such.

Ooh, this is right up my alley. I love imagery. I'll definitely participate in this one!

Yay, I have finally enticed you! XD Can't wait to read it, Rabid. :D

Phew. Okay, so I said I would enter another one, so here it is. It's a bit odd, but it's what my brain was thinking at the time. I go into a bit of a panic with these, I find.
------------------------
I could hear it. I could smell it. I could taste it. I could do everything but see it.
I could hear the gentle rustling of the trees as a cool autumn breeze graced the leaves. I could smell the dirt, fresh from the recent rainful. I could taste the earthy decay of old leaves in the air. I could do everything but see it.
The birds were chirping quietly, most of them still in hiding from the moisture on the leaves which showered them with fresh batches of cool water each time they emerged from their homes. There was new rain coming. I could hear the cracks of thunder in the distance, approaching at a rapid pace, and I could smell the fresh scent that rain promised us. The air was fresh, crisp with every breath I took as it blew down my throat. I could do everything but see it.
The forest was beautiful, with or without my eyes. The gentle swaying of the trees could be heard with accurate hearing, and the wind which lived between the branches was always a helpful reminder of how they sounded. The rain would amplify every scent around: the leaves, the dirt, the trees, the bark, and the occasional human which passed through this dark domain. The smell of everything around me was strong enough to taste, even if it was only the slightest taste on the tip of my tongue. It was enough. Enough for me at least. I didn't want to taste it. I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to smell it. All I wanted to do was see it. I could do everything but see it.
I walked, my footsteps nearly silent as I walked sightlessly along the damp ground, all sound muffled by layers of leaves and dirt. It was almost impossible to be heard here. I felt a drop of rain on the tip of my nose, and I turned my face up to the sky to let the cool moisture land on my face. I opened my mouth to catch a drop, and in that one drop of water, I could taste everything in the forest. I could taste the wind, the trees, the grass, the moss, the dirt, the birds, the animals. I could taste everything.
I continued to walk through the forest, thinking carefully about the placement of the all too familiar environment. Trees would surround me everywhere, some young, some centuries old. I knew where each fallen log was, and these thoughts were embeded into my memory. I knew where the sparrows lived and where the moles hid from the tawny owls, all without vision. To my left I could hear a stream, not too far away, bubbling as fresh rain water streamed down a small waterfall, splashing dramatically on the rocks below. Just past the stream was a tiny, rickety house, long abandoned. To my right was more forest, and not far behind that was a clearing.
It wasn't much, but it was beautiful, with tall grass, softer than any other grass imaginable, and beautiful wildflowers. I kept my even pace, listening for sounds of approaching civilization, such as cars or people, but I knew that I was a fair way off. The dense forest continued for a long way. I wasn't afraid. This was my forest.
I could hear it. I could smell it. I could taste it. I could do everything but see it.

Pixcii: Beautiful. So beautiful. Probably one of the best short pieces of writing I have ever had the pleasure of reading!

tashi, I can't stop blushing. Thank you so much! You have no idea how much that means to me.

tashi what are you talking about? That piece of writing is so amazing! It's so beautiful, and the imagery is wonderful. You're a fantastic writer. Oh, and by the way, I have considered being an author, but I'm not good enough, and I don't think I could be good enough, to make a decent living out of it. I would like to write a novel though.

PixCii, well well well, I shall have to make you panic in every challenge! Your piece was so poignant and detailed, I really loved reading it. Your repetition on the end of paragraphs made it seem very thoughtful and sad. Also, don't think you can't write books because you don't think you're good enough right now! If I thought that I'd have given up years ago lol. Successful writers are good, yes, but they also have to be stubborn. Keep at it if it's something you want to try, and like all worthwhile skills, practice makes perfect.

tashi, welcome! It's great to have more posters and congrats on your piece. Again, very sad and atmospheric, it seems like a very tragic love story and I'm a sucker for those! I love how thorough your piece seemed, and the gentle pace was really lovely to read. Thanks for giving challenge 6 a bash - if you do try a couple more it would be great if you set aside the whole 15 minutes as I'd love to read more of your writing.

Here is my first entry, inspired by a story i'm writing about a blind girl (fitted well didn't it?) i just changed the gender. Hope you like!

I traced my finger over her eyelids and let my breath brush her forehead. I let my fingers tangle themselves in-between the curls and slowly bent down to faintly touch my lips with hers. The fresh smell of white nectarines and cinnamon graced my nose and her laugh echoed in my ears. Her fingertips felt smooth on my cheek as she traced the contours of my mouth. I could imagine her, with her mousey brown curly hair and blue eyes. I knew just how she was looking at me now, her little eyes in wrinkles as she tried to understand what I was seeing. The cool wind blew on my face and released a sense of freedom inside me. The grass tickled my ears as I folded my hands behind my head. The sun shone on me and turned the raven black of my world to a dusty grey. She smothered her body close to me and I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. The song of the birds mixed with her honey silk voice to a tune that made my heart hum. There was that old harmony in the air again, that feeling of being understood as it wafted through the trees. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t see her; it was enough to know her smell, her voice, her movements and her feelings. But it was her touch I longed for most, when I felt secure because I knew she was there by me. I hung on her words and dug my nose into her sweet hair. Her lips touched mine again, like butter on my rough skin, her breath blowing down my throat tickling my nerves with the sensation of sugar and candy. She pulled me up, the grass sliding from my back and falling down my spine. She tore me across what seemed like grass, ran me through the sunshine; sung to me that if I couldn’t see the spring then I should feel it, smell it; made me feel the flowers, enjoy the coolness of the fountain that bubbled over the stones. But it was everything about her that made my spring. Her curls were my waves, her smell my flowers, her touch my wind, her voice my birds but most of all, her laugh my sun. I only realised it was getting dark as my sight grew black again. A peaceful black that led us back through the forest, the leaves brushing my bare arms, to the little wood hut where I could wrap my arms around her, feel her body curled around mine and look at her with my eyes for a whole night. No-one could take those things away from me; they were locked tight in my mind just like she was locked in my arms, her chest peacefully rising. I could make out just where the mood was by turning my head to I saw the grey again. I closed my eyes too and let the rhythm of her breathing lull me to sleep.

Welcome Tusnelda, thanks for posting! You have a gorgeous way of describing, it's really peaceful to read. I love how you made the female character seem like nature. I think you should try lengthening some of your sentences though - in the first half they were all the same length and the rhythm was a bit too even - try using more commas or shorter sentences to make it flow. I hope I explained that right...

I hope you come back for more challenges too! Just be careful with using old ideas for these - it was great that you already had a blind character to relate to but the challenges shouldn't be already written, nor inspired by something you're working on now. Again, I hope that didn't come across as catty or anything! I'd love to see more of your writing. :D

Thanks Gemmareno! I realised that after reading, but i read the rules so that i couldn't change it. I haven't started the story yet, but this challenge made me start today Thats also the first peaceful bit of writing i wrote, im more for a bit drastic.

I'm glad this inspired you to write! If you post it in the Creativity Forum let us know. And really? It seemed that you were very comfortable with writing peaceful scenes like that one. I'll try a challenge in future that's action-packed and we shall see what you come up with!

Haha, that will be fun! At the moment i'm editing my old story, somewhere along 100 A4 pages. I'm more occupied with sad stories than happy

Whats the creativity forum?

This one. :D

100 A4 pages? Wowza, congrats! That must be a mega word-count! ^_^

I think I'm over a bit, but I just couldn't help myself. Adjectives are so my thing, and this really got flowing. I wrote it as an experiment using the plot I've contrived for my story (Not With a Bang, But a Whimper) about how superheroes die, so please suspend disbelief for anything about how the fire takes to him, because the protagonist can become fire. I hope that I didn't break the rules by allowing the narrator to know that he's touching pavement and whatnot, because there are a few things in here that having sight might help to illuminate, but I think a person could tell without it. I really like how this turned out, though. Great challenge !


He doesn’t remember exactly when it starts, but he knows that it starts with fire.

It’s an explosive gas leak that sets an uptown Manhattan skyscraper ablaze in plumes of pulsating flame. Wicked curls of throbbing, blistering hellfire lick at the structure with intense force and uninhibited determination, charring the walls and melting the glass windows to encase all those inside the building within a molten, smoldering prison.

He ducks beneath a crumbling, groaning rafter and into the building. Treacle-thick, filthy smoke hangs heavily within the atmosphere and arrests his breath as he pushes through the burning wreckage with sooty hands, immune to the persistent flames licking hungrily at his legs and back like a starved pack of wolverines, persistent and maniacal. He has only enough concentration for the panicked screams muffled by the roar of the inferno, no awareness for the tongues of fire that climb keenly up his body as he fights through the burning building.

A panicked scream resonates from down the crumbling hallway. His breath is briefly arrested, terrified and irreparably unnerved as he hears his partner press her face into her sleeve and cough roughly into it against the noxious, treacle-thick smoke circulating the hall. The building creaks dangerously around her as she shrieks his name, the raging inferno causing an expanse of blackened floorboards to collapse before her.

He coughs above the roar of the ravening flames, smoke tangled in his throat to create the foul, all-too familiar taste of pressure and urgency. Even a man immune to fire is not immune to its byproducts.

He thoughtlessly pushes through the incinerated rubble, set on a helpless one-track mindset to save her. His breath comes too fast due to sheer terror, inundating his lungs in thick, poisonous smoke and causing him to hack not unlike an asthmatic as he forges a crazed trail down the crumbling corridor. He brushes broken, smoldering furniture aside, feeling the roughness of the wood and the flame igniting his skin like a match cast upon a bundle of firewood. When he finally reaches the end of the hallway, small infernos burning like home across his body and wheezing breathlessly as he steps through a ring of fire surrounding her, she clutches his shoulder with bruising intensity.

“It’ll be okay, Sarah,” he pants heavily, taking advantage of the charred, weakened wall behind them to kick in the framework and drywall with the last of his waning energy. “Go,” he gasps when she hesitates, pressing a hand to his tight, burning chest and bending double in a futile attempt to dispel the smoke strangling him.

She clasps his shoulder, worry and tension radiating from her hand. “Don’t take too long,” she advises in a reedy voice starved of oxygen. “I’ll send someone back for you.”

He remains motionless only long enough for her footsteps to fade away down the pulsating, overheated stairwell. The gratitude of her safe return is so much that he thinks he’ll never ask for anything again, but the job isn’t finished, and he races once more down the hallway through the path of burning rubble he previously cleared.

A thick miasma of black smoke and ravenous, mushrooming flames pulls at him as he slowly and painstakingly fights his way back down the hall. He rounds a broken, fiery heap of what might once have been an end table to find a woman collapsed on her side, a lethal trail of hellfire licking its greedy, heated way across his feet and in her direction.

"No,” he breathes, skidding to skinned knees at her side and rapidly rolling her away from the pulsating, augmenting inferno. His clammy hands, blackened by soot and ash, scrabble for the nonexistent pulse in her neck, and he bends his ear to her mouth to listen with a sinking, leaden stomach for the bated breath he knows won’t come. “No, no, no,” he mutters brokenly, clasping his hands to press repeatedly at her motionless chest before clumsily pinching her fine-boned nose shut and delivering a desperate breath to soft, still lips.

He coughs dry and deep as he performs the compressions, scarcely able to inhale enough oxygen to fulfill himself, let alone support another person. His eyes burn with moisture, salty tears etch filthy furrows in the ashy grime caking his face, and whether the stinging sensation in his eyes stems from the noxious smoke or the nauseous, mounting knowledge of failure in his gut, he doesn’t want to know.

"Come on, come on,” he rasps huskily, delivering a particularly hard compression that creates a sharp crack as her sternum yields beneath his unleashed strength. He can hear the groaning of the smoldering rafters and smell the pungent, earthy aroma of the wooden infrastructure crumbling around them, but he knows nothing other than that he has to save this woman’s life. He’s counting furiously and doing the compressions, pausing only to cough up slimy soot and ash. He’s shaking and doesn’t know that he’s still crying. All he knows is that he can’t be responsible for this, that she has to come back. She has to.

He can’t just stop and let her die.

He loses track of how many minutes her heart doesn’t beat and how many ribs he shatters in the process of trying to bring her back to life, but soon strong hands grip his shoulders and pull him abruptly to his feet. It must be a firefighter. He can feel his chest tightening until it seems as though he’s sucking air through a thin coffee stirrer, but he still has enough energy to push at the stranger’s hold.

"Sorry, buddy,” the fireman yells above the growl of the inferno and the creaking moan of the collapsing building, pushing squarely on his shoulderblades to steer him through a molten archway. “We have to go.”

He finds himself limp and listless beneath the direction of the fireman, unable to do much more than steer himself in the pointed direction. He’s half-blind from lack of oxygen, immersed in a wholly auditory experience of creaking, crashing wood and the feel of intense heat upon his thick skin, legs weak and trembling beneath his suddenly immense weight. He pushes through his physical weakness, operating on solely adrenaline as he struggles to turn himself from the firefighter’s direction. He has a job to do, he remembers. He is his job.

“Have to save her,” he croaks harshly, scarcely able to project the desperate plea before it ends in a dry, hoarse cough that brings his fist to his mouth and bends him double.

"You did all you could,” the firefighter assures, clasping the muscle of his upper arms to direct him through the burning rubble once more. The heat and the roar are fading so drastically that he thinks they might be getting close, but his lungs are screaming for oxygen and his brain is so starved of air that it could be nothing more than his addled mind playing tricks on him. “She’s gone.”

They were closer than he previously thought, and the brisk night air hits him like a slap in the filthy, tear-streaked face. The fireman maintains a firm, reassuring grip upon his arms as he directs him down the building’s short staircase, but the moment the melted rubber of his sneakers comes in contact with the pavement, he collapses to the ground. The rough asphalt stings at the tender skin of his palms and grates at his skinned knees, but he has only enough concentration left for the monumental effort of expelling the smoke from his lungs. He feels not unlike a cat hacking up a hairball, chest burning as though filled with molten glass as his awareness fluctuates and he brings up foul-tasting soot. His back arches and his fingers curl convulsively as the piercing cacophony of sirens floods his consciousness, but he registers only the taste of rotten fruit in his mouth before his consciousness finally and blessedly fades.

That's some hefty font work there, Rabid!

I'll read it now, but I'm wondering what is it about challenge 6 that made it so busy? XD

ETA: I'm so impressed with your command with words, Rabid. You have a very broad vocabulary and it means that every sentence is a treat! Like I mentioned to Tusnelda a few posts ago, be careful about posting work that is already underway - the challenges should be spontaneous and unconnected to any writing you've done before. Also, I didn't quite get the feeling that your protagonist was blind - I think you should use more of his senses; smells, sounds and suchlike to show how aware he is of the surroundings. You said he found the woman - how did he know? The rattle of her breath, the smell of a familiar perfume?

Thank you for posting and I hope to see more of your challenges! :D

I don't know why the forum always does that when I copy-paste from Word... what font does everyone else type in so that they don't get that? I can't stand anything but Arial Narrow.

I would imagine Times New Roman or plain Arial. I've never heard of the font doing that. How bizarre.