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Writers F.A.Q (Last Updated: 2025 Jan 07 3:10 am)
Subject: Prose Challenge - yes it's back - Showing Emotion
Here's my first go. Scene 1: Anna strode up the hill, coat held close as the exuberant winds tumbled around her, bringing a fresh glow to her cheeks and teasing her hair into a havoc of tangles and curls on this crisp October morning. The suspension bridge came into sight as a delicate, mist like rain began to fall. She reached up to touch the fine droplets that caught on her eyelashes and laughed in delight. Today, of all days, she wanted to see everything. Part of the way across the bridge she stopped, holding on to the high railing as she raised herself up on tiptoe to peer down at the busy world below. The Avon and the road beside it snaked through the gorge below, teeming with life. "I'm pregnant." Anna shouted to the world, a amile lighting up her face "I could jump for joy." Scene 2: Anna struggled up the hill, clutching at her coat as the spiteful winds slapped at her face leaving it reddened and stinging, snatching her hair into demented snarls as she fought the elements on this bleak October morning. Finally she reached the towering suspension bridge as rain began to drizzle from the cloud ladensky. She wiped the blinding droplets away from her reddened eyes and laughed grimly. Today of all days, she wanted to see everything. Stopping partway across the bridge, clenched hands locked onto the high railing she stretched up onto tiptoe to peer at the gorge below, watching the uncaring traffic as it flowed unceasing on the road beside the dirty grey waters of the Avon. "I'm pregnant" Anna screamed to the world, a twisted smile on her strained face. "Oh joy, I could jump."
Scene One: Rubbing her hands together in anticipation, Shanna waited as the Writers Forum appeared on her computer screen. Casually cramming a Wagon Wheel into her grinning mouth she noticed that she was still the only one who had entered the prose challenge. She would have to win if nobody else entered. She'd be famous, her name up at the top of the forum for all to see. Perhaps she should redesign her signature, pare it down, make it easier for when she was handing out all those autographs. She slumped back in her chair, dreaming of the headed paper that she would have printed once she had officially won. Maybe she should get some proper photos done, she was sure Crescent would want to put one up in place of the banner. She heaved a great sigh of contentment and turned off the computer. It was time for bed. Shanna knew she'd sleep well tonight. Scene Two. As the Writers Forum appeared on her computer screen, Shanna anxiously wrung her hands together. As she saw, once again, that she was still the only person who had entered the prose challenge, she stuffed a Wagon Wheel in her mouth to stifle her cry of dismay. She would have to win if nobody else entered. She'd be a laughing stock, she had thought she could post any old rubbish, never dreaming it would see the light of day again once the challenge was over. She slumped back in her chair as she realised something worse COULD happen. What if Crescent decided in the interests of taste that Shanna couldn't win? How would she ever live down losing a challenge if she was the only person who'd even entered? She heaved a sign of despair and jabbed sullenly at the off button on her computer. It was time for bed, and she just knew she'd be having nightmares again. :-)
Okay, here's my effort. Version 1 He bought her tires for Valentines Day. As he napped in front of the television set, she made dinner and remembered a time when he bought chocolate and roses and, that one year, a single diamond solitaire set in a platinum band. And this year, she had new tires for her car. He had led her outside to show her his gift. How romantic, she said. Her words were edged as sharply as the knife that were now slicing tomatoes for the salad. I thought You never think. She turned and went back into the house, slamming the screen door between them. He spoke through the screen. I just wanted you to be safe. Youre the most important person in my life. He came inside. Ill get you something else. Yeah, well, maybe you can kiss this Valentines Day present good-bye. She flashed him so he could see the red lace bra beneath her shirt and then pulled a sweater out of the hall closed and pulled it on. Get out of here. Go watch your stupid television program. Ill help you with dinner. Youll just screw that up like everything you do. Go on. Get out of my sight. Now she smelled burnt meat. The knife slipped and cut her finger. She watched blood drop on the cutting board. It was his fault she cut herself. His fault the dinner was ruined. His fault that her Valentines Day was spoiled. Everything was his fault. She picked up the knife and went into the living room. He had fallen asleep. Just like him. Snoring away like the great hog he was. She raised the knife and sliced it against his exposed neck. She left the house, leaving the imprint of her bloodied hand on the doorknob. ************************************** Version 2 He bought her tires for Valentines Day. As he napped in front of the television set, she made dinner and remembered a time when he bought chocolate and roses and, that one year, a single diamond solitaire set in a platinum band. And this year, she had new tires for her car. He had led her outside to show her his gift. How romantic, she said. She smiled at the concern that flickered crossed his face. I thought She stopped his words by placing her hand lightly against his mouth. Youre always so thoughtful. I understand. You want me to be safe. He kissed the fingers pressed against his lips. Youre the most important person in my life, he said. I might have something else for you too. Well, I think I might have a little surprise for you tooafter dinner. She opened the top of her blouse so he could see the red lace bra beneath. I think youll like dessert. She gently pushed him away. You go and watch your television program. Im fixing dinner all by myself tonightall for you. Sure you dont want some help? Youll be too distracting. You go on now. I wont be long. Now the smell of roast and potatoes filled the air. Just about done. She finished the tomatoes and tossed them into the bowl with the lettuce. His favorite salad dressing. She went into the living room and found he had fallen asleep. She smiled. Without waking him, she bent down and kissed his forehead, leaving behind the red imprint of her lips as she went back in the kitchen to finish making dinner for him.
I offer the following with the appropriate humbleness that should usher in a story like this. And, apologies for stirring a pot of emotions that I should have left simmering on the stove of life. However, the challenge mentioned emotion and this was the first thing to pop into my mind.
The emotional change between version one and two are very subtle. Perhaps, too subtle. All the words are the same. I have bolded two different words and changed four punctuation marks (as well as color) in my effort to show different emotions.
"I'm afraid I just don't have any good news for you..."
The words trailed off into a distant echo as Tessa's gaze left the veterinarian's eyes and focused on Tilly, quietly sleeping in her folded arms.
"It just isn't fair!" The words that escaped her lips were accompanied by a feeling she never intended to be revealed.
The doctor's face showed a bit of surprise at her reaction. He would understand if only he could read her mind. Sure, Tilly had always been just a bedraggled stray cat. Months fending for herself had taken its expected toll. Even after 3 years of comfortable home living, her fur had never smoothed out, making her look like some disheveled ball of fur. What would normally have been the sinuous movement of a member of the cat family was replaced by a limp from some unfortunate accident that never had proper attention. And, there was that chronic ear ailment that required weekly attention. Still, a certain loving bond had developed between Tessa and Tilly. To some degree, both depended on the other. But now that would end. Though Tessa had already guessed the ending, she wasn't prepared for its arrival.
Quietly, she left the building and began walking toward her car. Then, succumbing to the flood of emotions, looked up and spoke.
"You give and You take!" Tears erupted. "Go ahead and take my my best friend now! Go ahead!"
"I'm afraid I just don't have any good news for you..."
The words trailed off into a distant echo as Tessa's gaze left the veterinarian's eyes and focused on Tilly, quietly sleeping in her folded arms.
"It just isn't fair." The words that escaped her lips were accompanied by a feeling she never intended to be revealed.
The doctor's face showed a bit of surprise at her reaction. He would understand if only he could read her mind. Sure, Tilly had always been just a bedraggled stray cat. Months fending for herself had taken its expected toll. Even after 3 years of comfortable home living, her fur had never smoothed out, making her look like some disheveled ball of fur. What would normally have been the sinuous movement of a member of the cat family was replaced by a limp from some unfortunate accident that never had proper attention. And, there was that chronic ear ailment that required weekly attention. Still, a certain loving bond had developed between Tessa and Tilly. To some degree, both depended on the other. But now that would end. Though Tessa had already guessed the ending, she wasn't prepared for its arrival.
Quietly, she left the building and began walking toward her car. Then, succumbing to the flood of emotions, looked up and spoke.
"You give and You take." Tears erupted. "Go ahead and take my my best friend now. Go ahead."
Scene 1 - He finished off his wine and watched the final drop of crimson red spill from the cup to his lips. He set the cup to the table and spyed his wife as she entered the room. "How was your day" He said, taking care to show the emotion his wife desired. "Wonderfull dear. The store was empty all day, I hardly had to work at all." She said. "Well isn't that nice." He replied. Scene 2 - He drowned his mouth with the rememnants of his wine and watched as the final blood red drop of wine splashed across his chapped and worn lips. He let the cup fall to the floor as his wife came into the room. "How he was your day" He said. There was hint of resentment in his voice but it was masked the emotion he forced into his throat. "Wonderfull dear. The store was almost empty, I hardly had to work at all." She said. The words were full of releif, but her face was full of malice as she knew there would be little bonus this week. He found trouble masking the sarcasm and was barely suprised when it came through despite his effort. "Well isn't that nice" He replied. Ummm...This isn't quite my style, so I would appreciate any comment that might help...Do you think (Those who have read my writing) that my traditional gothic style would work for this. I've never tried to adapt it to prose before.
Scene 1: Help is coming, Fawn whispered. Dont move Doug! Youre badly hurt! Im going to get my med kit. You poor baby, she said worriedly as she ran toward the truck. The icy sea water splashed on his face burning the wounds. Doug tried to comprehend his predicament, but he could only recall Fawns excited voice yelling Oooh! There it is! She returned with a syringe and a blanket. Fawn looked him in the eyes and said, This will ease the pain. She gave him the injection and wrapped the blanket around him. Scene 2: Help is coming, Fawn whispered. Dont move Doug. Youre badly hurt. Im going to get my med kit. You poor baby, she said sarcastically as she walked toward the truck. The icy sea water splashed on his face burning the wounds. Doug tried to comprehend his predicament, but could only recall Fawns faint voice whispering Aaah. There it is. She returned with a syringe and a large canvas bag. Fawn looked around and said, This will ease the pain. She gave him the injection and wrapped the bag around him.
Time is running short. Hope I get some inspiration soon. If not, at least I've got it book marked now. :-) jon
~jon
My Blog - Mad
Utopia Writing in a new era.
Okay, here my poor attempt... It's not so easy to give slightly different emotions in a foreign language... but I promised myself to enter the next prose challenge... takes a deep breath and hides her shyness... my first pieces in English... Here they are: SCENE 1 "The horoscope! What a nonsense!" Lisa said to herself, a little annoyed. She was putting order in the kitchen after breakfast, the radio turned on to keep her company, so she couldn't reach the button to shut up 'The Advices by the Stars' and couldn't help to hear her sign. - Virgo: in this busy period keep a day for yourself, today try to relax and enjoy the doing nothing. Damned zodiac! Those conjurers writing horoscopes should really go to work for their life instead of giving such silly advices to busy people! SCENE 2 "The horoscope! What a nonsense!" Lisa smiled to herself. She was putting order in the kitchen after breakfast, the radio turned on to keep her company, even if she thought that people listening to 'The Advices by the Stars' before beginning the day were a little silly, she couldn't help to wait till the speaker reached her sign. - Virgo: in this busy period keep a day for yourself, today try to relax and enjoy the doing nothing. Doing nothing! She wished she could! She shook her head a little amused: maybe the people writing horoscopes couldn't understand that people working for his life couldn't to spend a whole day doing nothing simply because they choose. As I said, English is not my language, so every kind of advice, correction and criticism is more than welcome!
You mean I made the deadline! Wow. Here goes: Scene 1: Maggie made for her front door. With luck her mom would be out back, surveying the horizon for any sign of her, and she could poke her head out the back door and innocently ask, Have you been calling me? She had used the feint before to good effect, and hoped for the best. She ran up to the front door and stopped there to catch her breath. The trick obviously would not work if she was winded. Then she looked at her soiled clothes and began to doubt that this strategy would work. Still, it was worth a try. After a moment or two she swallowed the last of her panting and eased the front door open. The smell of dinner cooking made her realize how hungry she was. Her mom was making spaghetti, one of her favorites, and the aromas of garlic mixed with those of rosemary, basil and oregano. Unfortunately, she could hear movement in the kitchen. Her mother was inside, not out, making this feint all the more unlikely to succeed. If she could sneak across the hall and get upstairs unobserved, then quickly change her clothes, she had a chance. Cautiously, she entered the hall. Margaret Louise Walton! Her mother stood at the stove stirring the spaghetti sauce, not even turning her head. Where have you been? She popped the lid back on the sauce pan to contain the bubbling mixture and turned her steely gaze on her wayward daughter. Her expression became even more grim when she laid eyes on the state of her attire. What in the world! She crossed the kitchen to the hall in a series of quick, sharp steps, to seize Maggie by the shoulder for closer inspection. Maggie was a mess, and she saw the dismay in her mother's eyes. The mud, caked on her shoes and around the cuffs of her jeans, was flaking off onto the highly polished floor. Worse yet, the dampness from her wet underwear accentuated the grime, crispy outlining her bar and panties on her outer garments. What is the meaning of this, young lady? She looked at the floor, twisting a bit on her ankles. Ma'am? You're are a mess! And the garden still has not been weeded. Where have you been? Didn't you hear me calling you? Why, I was about to call the police. Didn't I tell you not to wander off without telling me where you were going? The questions flew much too fast to afford any opportunity for a response, and no response was needed. Maggie stood somber and silent, while her mother vent her spleen. Finally, the tirade ended with, Your father will be home soon, and I won't have you looking like that! Go take a shower, and be quick about it. I don't want you making dinner late! Now get! Maggie bolted up the stairs as her mother took a half hearted swipe at her bottom. And how'd you get so wet? Maggie did not answer, but just dashed into the bathroom and closed the door. Scene 2: Maggie made for her front door. With luck her mom would be out back, surveying the horizon for any sign of her, and she could poke her head out the back door and innocently ask, Have you been calling me? She had used the feint before to good effect, and hoped for the best. She ran up to the front door and stopped there to catch her breath. The trick obviously would not work if she was winded. Then she looked at her soiled clothes and began to doubt that this strategy would work. Still, she had try. After a moment or two she swallowed the last of her panting and eased the front door open. Despite the smell of dinner cooking, she realized how hungry she was. Her mom was making spaghetti, again, and the smell of garlic and mismatched herbs made her stomach reel. Unfortunately, she could hear movement in the kitchen. Her mother was inside, not out, all but dooming this feint. If she could only sneak across the hall and get upstairs unobserved, then quickly change her clothes, she still had a chance. Cautiously, she entered the hall. Margaret Louise Walton! Her mother stood at the stove stirring the spaghetti sauce like mad. She did not even bother to turn her head. Where have you been? she demanded, slamming the lid back on the sauce pan. Only then did she turn her steely gaze on her daughter. Her expression became even more severe when she laid eyes on the state of her attire. What in the world! She crossed the kitchen to the hall in a series of quick, sharp steps, to roughly seize Maggie by the shoulder for closer inspection. Maggie was a mess, and she saw the fury in her mother's eyes. The mud, caked on her shoes and around the cuffs of her jeans, was flaking off onto her mother's precious, highly polished floor. Worse yet, the dampness from her wet underwear accentuated the grime, crispy outlining her bar and panties on her outer garments. What is the meaning of this, young lady? She looked at the floor, twisting a bit on her ankles. Ma'am? You're are a mess! And the garden still has not been weeded. Where have you been? Didn't you hear me calling you? Why, I was about to call the police. Didn't I tell you not to wander off without telling me where you were going? The questions flew much too fast to afford any opportunity for a response, for no response was possible, not when her mother was in this mood. Maggie stood somber and silent, while her mother vent her spleen. Finally, the tirade ended with, Your father will be home soon, and I won't have you looking like that and spoiling our dinner. Go take a shower, and be quick about it! Now get! Maggie bolted up the stairs, but not quick enough to avoid the sharp smack on her behind. And how the hell did you get so wet? her mother demanded. Maggie did not answer, but just dashed into the safety of the bathroom, quickly closing and bolting the door behind her.
~jon
My Blog - Mad
Utopia Writing in a new era.
It's an except from a novel I just started. She's now too old to go skinny dipping, so she went swimming in her underwear as a compromise, for modisty's sake. jon
~jon
My Blog - Mad
Utopia Writing in a new era.
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Please go here to vote. Votes are due by 28 Feb. Cheers! And good luck!
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Write the same scene twice showing two different emotions.
This challenge will be open for three weeks. Post as many entries as you are satisfied with. At the end of the three weeks, everyone gets to vote on the winning submission. You can vote in the voting thread (which will be posted at the end of the three weeks) or you can IM me if you don't like public voting.
The winner will get their entry in the library (permanently) and their name goes in the announcement box with a link to their entry until the next prose challenge is decided.
Here's an example. (No, I'm not entering the contest!)
Scene 1:
Sally quartered the potatoes and slid them into the pot. She adjusted the burner as she drew the cookbook off the shelf. Nestling the cookbook open, she perused the recipes. Lime juice, she needed lime juice. She popped the fridge open and scanned the shelves. The bottle was gone. She smacked her head with her hand. Of course there was no lime juice! They'd run out. She didn't have time to shop this week and he certainly wouldn't think to get any.
"Is anything wrong, dear?" he called out from the living room.
She glanced over at him. "Nothing. Nothing at all."
Scene 2:
Sally hacked up the potatoes and hurled them into the pot. She smacked the burner on as she yanked the cookbook off the shelf. Wedging the cookbook open, she raced through the recipes. Lime juice, she needed lime juice. She threw the fridge open and ransacked the shelves. The bottle was gone. She smacked her head with her hand. Of course there was no lime juice! They'd run out. She didn't have time to shop this week and he certainly wouldn't think to get any.
"Is anything wrong, dear?" he called out from the living room.
She glared at him. "Nothing. Nothing at all."