chelydra

iron
scales
raven*
tomb
treetops
wave
raspberry
moonlit
wolf*
kiss

433 words

Deadline Bastille Day (14th)

(See previous ThinkWrite Challenges for rules and discussions.) I had Edgar Allen Poe on my mind, as you might have noticed, but that doesn't need to influence your writing. Some of these words can be used in very different ways (as verbs or nouns, or as nouns with unrelated meanings) any of which are fine.


*You can substitute werewolf for wolf, and crow for raven, but otherwise stick to the words on the list in the form they appear.

chelydra

In case someone is doing well with a story, but it wants to be a lot longer or a lot shorter, here's how we'll handle that situation - wthout sacrificing the challenge of sticking to the word count:

If it's going to be longer, make it exactly twice as long - or if you're really on a roll and can't stop, three times as long! In case your mathematically challenged, that would be 866 or 1299 words.
On the other hand if it's happiest much shorter, make it exactly half as long. That means 216 and a half words. How you get the half-word is up to you; the easiest way is probably by cutting someone off in mid-word as they're trying to say something.
The rule is to accomodate Hazer, who said she had a far better story last time but then had to go back and cut out a lot to meet the word-count.
On the previous challenge, I posted a link to an on-line word-counter for folks (like me) who don't have Microsoft Word. It probably doesn't count half-words.

chelydra

Please note that everything I added beyond the first bit (list and word-count) is extraneous and optional - to allow for flexibility if you want it. Just ignore it all (unless it's useful for you, which it probably won't be).

And if you're not familiar with Think Write challenges, the idea is to write a story of a set number of words (433 in this case) and include in it each of the ten words on the list.

Hazer

Thanks for that consideration, chelydra. I will however try and play by the rules (without grumbling) as that is all part of the challenge. It is nice to be given that option though, just in case there is a story lurking somewhere in my imagination that cannot be told within the prescribed parameters.

midnightpoet

I like the list - and the options you provide! I might have fun with the half word!

midnightpoet

High in the moonlit treetops, the raven kissed the wolf.

“That’s just dumb, what’s it even mean?”

I stared at the words scrawled in my notebook.

“It sounds wonderfully poetic, doesn’t it? Why does it have to mean anything?”

“Because otherwise it’s just senseless words, duh!”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. You do better.”

Iron scales were drawn on the tomb surrounded by raspberry bushes, which waved in the w –

She stopped writing and the last word trailed off in a jagged line. Her eyes were wide in surprise as the blood drained from her face.

I pulled my knife out of her dying body and composed a poem.

midnightpoet

Instead of doing half of 433, I did 1/4, just for fun. 108 1/4 words.

mdawrcn

Chelydra wrote the following on my Advice From A Tree – “Had a high school english teacher who assigned essay on Why I Like Trees Better Than People. I used it on my own writing class every year and they loved it.”

It inspired me to write the following. Please don’t hold it against me.

Why I Like Trees Better Than People – sometimes. It’s a joke, really .

Trees are just more likeable creatures for many reasons. Trees are tall and ironlike, people are short, fat, and soft. Kiss a tree and you are tree hugger, but trees emit pure oxygen, so all the air guzzling, resource wasting people can survive. Kiss a person and they tell all, you can catch diseases, and they emit carbon dioxide which is not only toxic to humans, but heats the earth’s atmosphere causing climate change and rising sea levels. They can also blow bad breath.

Treetops are perfect perches for that blueblack raven that actually, beautifully reflects every color there is, when illuminated on a moonlit night. Trees also provide shelter for those newborn wolf pups that are so perfectly formed. Most people only care about destroying this habitat for their own profit.

Pay close attention to the perfect scales of a tree. Take a really close up picture and pay attention to the small tomblike knotholes, all of which are pieces of art in themselves. Compare that to the scaliness of an aging person. Need I say more?

Raspberries to people, but bow deeply and wave to the majesty of a tree.

216 1/2 words sort of.

chelydra

Off to a roaring start! Keep 'em coming!
Now I'm wishing I said that anyone who does a fraction of 433 needs to do enough fractional stories to total 433 (I'm getting greedy now), but I didn't, so you needn't (but I wish you would). (And f you do, I will judge generously - if the total is greater than the sum of the parts, you're judged on the cumulative effect. If not, e.g., if one is outstanding and the rest are warm-up or cool-down - exercizes, you're judged only on the best one - which also applies to people who submit a 433-word story or a longer one (2x, 3x, etc.).

Bearing in mind that all we're really looking for is 433-word stories containing the assigned ten words, there are two additional options now on offer for those who thrive on convoluted challenges:
You can derive your word-count from 3.14159, but if you do, it has to be circular in form or theme or subject.
You can also derive your word-count from the Fibinacci Series, but in this case you MUST submit a pair or a trio (or octet or whatever) of stories whose relative length is .618 > 1 > 1.618, etc. and they MUST be harmonious in spirit as if suffused with a mellow golden glow (in honor of the Gplden Mean), and above all they must relate to each other harmoniously. (433 x .618 = 267.6 so you will need to include 3 letters of a five-letter word, 6 letters of a ten-letter word or 12 of a twenty-letter word).

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT ALL VARIANTS ON THE BASIC RULES (A) ARE OPTIONAL & UNNECESSARY and (B) are intended only for those writers who are energized by mad challenges... and (C) as noted above, the only way you might benefit in the judging is if you produce a series of mini-stories adding up to 433 total words.

chelydra

I meant to say in the first paragraph above that multiple entries are always encouraged in ThinkDraw Challenges and will never be judged by their average quality - only the very best story counts, except as noted above in this particular challenge. To clarify: if the others you submit are dreadful, that's okay, they don't count against you, and writers can't ever get better if everything they do is "perfect". If you want to keep sending in stories you hope might be good, and then once they;re posted you realize they're rubbish, that's GREAT -- as long as you then send more! (That was how I ran my Writing Like Mad course - students judged only by how high a mountain of rubbish they can produce, in accordance with Freidrich Engels first law of dialectical and historical materialism, that qualitive change results only from quantitative changes, like one more second on the hob make the teakettle boil).

By the way, my esteemed old English teacher will be gratified to know his tree assignment is going viral!

THANKS to all of your for everything, including those who are just thinking about contributing.

chelydra

FORGET ALL THE OPTIONAL RULES AND WRITE STORIES!!!! (Please)

ladyhwin

I'm going to try my best to get around to writing this morning... either I haven't had the time or I'm in bed sick... just hasn't worked so far!

marg

LOL..

.. this is not a story, it's very rushed and probably nowhere near any acceptable word count .. so this is just showing willing, y'all unnerstand ?

In the dark garden the silent raven sleeps
the clinging ivy creeps
unseen in the shadow of the hall

In the dark garden the treetops claw the sky
each breath of wind a sigh
unseen in the shadow of the maul

In the dark garden the iron palings rust
the tomb returns to dust
unseen in the shadow of the fall

In the dark garden the scales fall off my eyes
I wave the lies goodbye
and softly kiss the wolf

In the moonlit garden, the raspberry canes loom
the golden rain blooms
we’re giggling in the shadow of the wall

Hazer

The raucous cry of a solitary raven broke the morning silence, and brought Steven out of his reverie. He sat slouched against the cemetery's iron gate, where he had spent the better part of the night. He hadn't had the strength to look among the tomb stones yesterday,and even now a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him.
If only he had come back sooner. He could have taken time off from his work and come home the first time Elenore had called. But no, he had chosen instead to stay another three full weeks, deep in the South American jungle, scouring the treetops for Dusky parrots.
Their communication had been sketchy at best. The news had reached him via one of his Portuguese guides, so Elenore's cry for help had been lost in the translation, and so he had brushed it off and carried on with his work.
Now he was sick with shame and regret.
How could he face her again after this? He had considered staying, but it was his own cowardice that had tipped the scales. He knew that he couldn't stay, and so with a hurried, guilty kiss he had left her, the tears glistening on her moonlit cheeks.
He had told her she would be okay. She could manage without him. Weren't her parents living just over the hill? He had tried to justify his leaving. His work needed him and so he had to go.
An involuntary shiver crept along his spine as he remembered the eerie howl of a wolf as he crossed the yard to his pick-up that night. It had seemed like an omen and it had spurred him on.The sooner he was on that plane the sooner he would have time and space he needed to sort out his feelings.
But as the plane had soared into the night sky his thoughts became more selfish. What if he never came back? What if he lost himself in the jungle, far away from the haunted look in Elenore's eyes?
But in the end his conscience had won out. He knew he had to come home and face Elenore. But there was something he had to do first. He had to find the baby's tiny grave. He had to beg God's forgiveness.
He had taken only one look at his daughter's tiny face, so disfigured by the raspberry birthmark that seemed to cover the entire left side of her face. The birthmark that had grown to choke the life out of her tiny body.
He searched the cemetery and finally, there it was. The tiny mound of freshly dug earth with the sweet cloying scent of the Star-gazer lilies made him light headed as he knelt at it's edge in silent prayer. A new resolve squared his shoulders. He would face Elenore.


Exactly 433 words, I believe. Too sleepy to proof read. Good night all.

midnightpoet

(part 2, another 108 1/4 words)

Softly now,
I kiss your moonlit corpse.

Your lips are cold and
your breath tastes of raspberries.

Your blood grows tacky
on the knife
still clenched in my fist.

Treetops wave in a harsh wind,
and branches scratch the windows
as though eager to enter –
like a raven sensing death.

Your cold, pale lips part
as though to howl like a wolf
but all that escapes

is a g—
gasp.

I drive the iron knife
into your soft flesh
once more
and feel a fresh wave of blood
seep out onto my hand.

I will carve scales
on your tomb –
uneven, to show
all the ways you

fell short.

midnightpoet

Hazer...wow. Very emotional - brought me near too tears. Well done!

mum23

It's good to see ThinkWrite back here again. It always added another wonderful dimension to Thinkdraw.

I shouldn't be here, but when I saw the word list I just couldn't resist.

Here's one from me, for what it's worth. 433 words.

...............

His lips kissed the surface as he knelt at the river bank and drank deeply of the sweet water. Clouds drifted lazily through the moonlit night while the treetops waved gently in the cool breeze. It was a perfect night and he was glad he would soon be home. The entire village would celebrate his triumphant return and his father, in his quiet way, would nod slowly at him over his work, his eyes full of love and pride in his youngest son. Just one more night among the trees he loved so well and the last part of his initiation would be over. Contentedly, he settled down to sleep.

The following morning, he awoke with the birds. Deftly, he speared a fish with the pointed stick he had fashioned two full moons ago and paused to admire the way the iridescent scales caught the sunlight, before skilfully removing the succulent flesh from the bones. A waiting raven caught the entrails which he tossed toward him, and, with a laugh, he watched the bird wolf his breakfast down. This was a favourite ritual. With a pang, he realised that, despite his eagerness to be reunited with his family, his village, and his waiting bride, he would miss this solitude and freedom.

Lost in his reverie, he didn’t notice the dark bodies slip silently across the sand behind him. The blow caught him completely unawares.

Through the painful fog when he came to, he heard low moans. His eyes took a long while to focus, and when they did, the first thing he saw was the iron band which connected him to the still unconscious man to his left and the bloodied man to his right. He became aware of a searing pain on his shoulder and with great effort his eyes finally found the mark, which already looked like a series of raspberries where his skin protested at the burn.

He knew what this was. There had been whispers that villages to the north had been losing their young men for six moons now. Although none of the elders would speak of it to the younger men, they had all heard the stories of lines of men being herded like cattle onto huge floating huts, never to return. He cursed his momentary carelessness.

The days passed in a blur of pain and beatings as they stumbled through the jungle. When they emerged they were dazzled by the largest river they had ever seen. There was the hut, even larger than he had imagined. These men were lucky. This ship would become their tomb.

chelydra

I resolved not to comment on individual stories until the very end of the process, but y'all are making it VERY hard to stick to this plan! I will grit my teeth, try to stop reading these (quite marvelous) contributions, and see you on Bastille Day (maybe sooner if I waver).

mum23

I've just read the other contributions, and love them all... glad I'm not making the decision at the end!

Hazer, how neat that we both had our characters in a reverie. I'd deliberately not read the other stories before I wrote mine so that I wouldn't be influenced by them, and yet...

This morning, I thought I'd set my twelve year old son this task as his writing assignment, as I thought the word list would appeal to him. I hope that you don't mind if I post his work here...

Apart from the tiniest bit of help with the editing, it's all his own.

.............

A desert. A blue sky, with not a cloud to break the endless deadly kiss of the sun upon the land. Moonlit, the desert would be beautiful. In the heat of the day, it is terrible. A row of men trudges through the sand carrying a nailed coffin, roughly built of pine and iron. In the coffin lies a sorcerer, finally brought down by treachery and betrayal. Their destination is a tomb, the only break in the desert.

On either side of the entrance are carvings so realistic that the evil men who bear the coffin quail beneath their unrelenting stone gaze. One is a carving of a winged man with the head of an eagle, standing eternal guard with his spear. The other is a man with the head of a jackal, protecting the tomb with sword and shield. Inside, the carvings continue along the walls of the passageway to the burial chamber. These carvings are of things the evil men have never seen. Rivers, oceans and forests so well carved that the treetops seem to wave with the force of a non-existent wind. And fruit, food that in the desert can only ever be imagined... raspberries, strawberries, apples.

Upon arriving in the burial chamber they encounter the largest and most terrible of the carvings. A huge stone cobra, hood extended, looks at them with eyes of flame. Coiled at the end of the chamber, lit only by its flickering, burning eyes, it towers above the frightened men with its scales catching the light. Next to it are two platforms. On one stands a wolf with eyes as silver as the moon. On the other is a raven with eyes as black as a new-moon night. Around the chamber are more statues of the eagle and jackal-men. In front of the cobra is a raised stone platform with the inlaid shape of the sorcerer.

The men bring the coffin closer to the platform before opening it and tumbling the body into the shaped indentation. Halfway down, the body stops and turns, before landing on its back in the hole. In the men’s minds, a voice hisses, “You have killed our master! Begone, or you too will die.” Terrified, they flee.

Days later, inside the tomb, the sorcerer’s body stirs. He rises and as he does, the statues in his chamber become flesh. Then in a voice as hollow as his tomb, he speaks. “I am Ravec Deathking and now I shall rise again to claim my kingdom and my revenge. They will regret the day they plunged their knives into my back!”

midnightpoet

Mum - your story is wonderful and left me totally speechless...and your son's story...wow - I can't believe a 12 year old wrote that. Well written and wonderfully imaginative!