Comments on: Training Exercise #3 http://www.verbhounds.com/training-exercise-3/ Subsiste sermonem statim et scribe. Mon, 06 Jun 2011 14:46:13 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.2.1 By: Creative Every Day, Part 6 « Looking for Roots http://www.verbhounds.com/training-exercise-3/comment-page-1/#comment-42 Creative Every Day, Part 6 « Looking for Roots Mon, 08 Feb 2010 14:29:00 +0000 http://www.verbhounds.com/?p=138#comment-42 [...] by one of Gustav’s prompts (Gustav of the Fiction-Writing Directorate), I wrote a scene for 200 Miles (the tentative name [...] [...] by one of Gustav’s prompts (Gustav of the Fiction-Writing Directorate), I wrote a scene for 200 Miles (the tentative name [...]

]]> By: MAUS http://www.verbhounds.com/training-exercise-3/comment-page-1/#comment-29 MAUS Fri, 05 Feb 2010 05:39:40 +0000 http://www.verbhounds.com/?p=138#comment-29 The aching has crept back into his joints. He tosses beneath the covers, trying to arrange each limb just so, to ease the hurt. If he lies still, he can hear the strong thump from his heart, counting out a beat he might've danced to, once. Would she still love him if he couldn't dance with her? He thinks about posing for artists, still connected to art, if only by gossamer threads. Would they appreciate his dramatic poses as he seeks comfort? Would they capture the way the pain paints his features, despite their jealousy--that for all their talent they could never inspire the same looks of pain, the same desperation for relief on the faces of their creations, across the maps of their painted worlds. The aching has crept back into his joints. He tosses beneath the covers, trying to arrange each limb just so, to ease the hurt. If he lies still, he can hear the strong thump from his heart, counting out a beat he might’ve danced to, once. Would she still love him if he couldn’t dance with her?

He thinks about posing for artists, still connected to art, if only by gossamer threads. Would they appreciate his dramatic poses as he seeks comfort? Would they capture the way the pain paints his features, despite their jealousy–that for all their talent they could never inspire the same looks of pain, the same desperation for relief on the faces of their creations, across the maps of their painted worlds.

]]> By: Labrys http://www.verbhounds.com/training-exercise-3/comment-page-1/#comment-25 Labrys Thu, 04 Feb 2010 19:13:38 +0000 http://www.verbhounds.com/?p=138#comment-25 Her breathing came fast and ragged, rising with difficulty from a tightening knot in her belly. She could not bear the thought of chrysanthemums; she could not bear to think on how she could not bear the thought of chrysanthemums. But how could she tell him, when he looked at her in such confusion, his mind so far from beginning to understand what he was doing to her by having even suggested such a thing? She could see the petals forming, the inward-outward thrust of them, could feel them spreading in the pit of her stomach. "Are you okay," he asked, concerned, and of course he would be as she shook her head, her face flushing as brightly as the hated bloom. "I haven't," and she gasped, "read it. Won't. ...Allergic." "To D. H. Lawrence?" He blinked. It looked like she was trying to laugh -- he couldn't be sure she wasn't joking. Her breathing came fast and ragged, rising with difficulty from a tightening knot in her belly. She could not bear the thought of chrysanthemums; she could not bear to think on how she could not bear the thought of chrysanthemums. But how could she tell him, when he looked at her in such confusion, his mind so far from beginning to understand what he was doing to her by having even suggested such a thing? She could see the petals forming, the inward-outward thrust of them, could feel them spreading in the pit of her stomach.

“Are you okay,” he asked, concerned, and of course he would be as she shook her head, her face flushing as brightly as the hated bloom.

“I haven’t,” and she gasped, “read it. Won’t. …Allergic.”

“To D. H. Lawrence?” He blinked. It looked like she was trying to laugh — he couldn’t be sure she wasn’t joking.

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