I have always had a thirst for knowledge and understanding. I read encyclopedias for fun in the fourth grade, and I dominate at trivia to this day. Unfortunately, this proclivity for correct answers doesn't always work well in the writing world. For example, have you ever seen Lost? I'm about halfway through season three. When I first started watching the show, a friend of mine told me to expect to have a lot of my questions left unanswered. That advice has made the viewing experience much more enjoyable because I'm not spending half of the episode trying to figure out and reason through what's going on.
John Keats understood this artistic choice to live in the tension of mystery, and in a letter to his brothers, he gave it a name: negative capability.
Photo by Pascal
What Is Negative Capability?
After Keats put a name to it, philosophers latched onto the term and expounded upon it. Negative capability as seen as not just denying the need for correct answers, but denying humanity's ability to fully understand any kind of phenomena. In other words, negative capability says that for some things, those correct answers might not be available. In fact, they might not exist at all.
Keats was seen as rejecting the Enlightenment's attempts to rationalize nature, and by doing so, he ended up at the forefront of the Romantic movement.
But what does negative capability have to do with your writing?
Negative Capability and Your Writing
Sometimes you are creating a world that exists outside the realm of what we as readers experience and understand. If you find yourself in this position, you might feel compelled to explain the laws of nature that exist in this new world.
Don't!
Explaining the mystery not only removes the mystery, but it can also become this drawn-out lengthy technical description that no reader has the patience to slog through.
Negative Capability in Harry Potter
Think of the Harry Potter universe. Most of us are aware that magic doesn't exist in real life, but J.K. Rowling dumps us right into the world of witches and wizards, giants and dwarves, goblins and ghosts, and she fully expects her readers to keep up with her.
She explains some of the terminology, but we don't know where the magic comes from, or why some wizards are born of Muggle parents, or where the name Muggle comes from. No one explains why platform 9 3/4 exists or how it exists.
It's just part of the environment.
Negative Capability in Lost
The same thing happens in Lost, for better or for worse.
In the pilot episode, we see a polar bear on a tropical island. I have yet to learn where that came from, but it immediately establishes that this is a weird island, and this is not going to be your run-of-the-mill Gilligan's Island remake.
Negative capability gives the reader permission to sit back and enjoy the ride, and it can also give them an idea of what to expect from the rest of the work. If you don't make the attempt to explain all the details, the reader will subconsciously receive your permission to not worry about the hows or whys.
How about you? Do you use negative capability in your writing?
PRACTICE
Today, practice writing using negative capability. Write a short piece using as many mysterious, strange, and magical things as possible. However, don't explain anything. Practice letting the reader exist in that tension.
Write for fifteen minutes. When your time is up, post your practice in the comments section. And if you post, please be sure to read a few practices by your fellow writers and let them know whether they succeeded at using negative capability.
Happy writing!
You should have given this to George Lucas before he made Episode 1. Darn those midi-chlorians. Great post. I’ll have my practice up by then end of the day.
“Stop” the man swung down from the leafy canopy, and landed before a startled boy.
Eyeing him warily, the boy stopped in his tracks.
“Who’s daughter are you?” The demand was shrill and suspicious.
“I’m not a daughter, I mean I’m not a girl- I’m a boy” came Amas’ indignant response.
A bemused light entered the. Clear grey eyes of the man- “yes, yes so you claim… So you all claim” Momodu tilted his head to the side, “what are you doing on this land then? If you’re the boy you claim to be?”
Amas fiddled with the bamboo woven straps, securing the basket to his back. No he would not be intimidated, he’d already been warned, that many people would try to veer him off the path that he was on, and the excessive laughter that had followed his declaration to embark on this trip still smarted. His fists. Len he’d by his sides.
“I have just as much right to be on this land as you do”, he tilted his chin up, and met the steady grey gaze “you old miser”. Perhaps it wasn’t very wise to speak so disrespectfully to the Lands Miser. Not many dared to call a Miser, a Miser to his face, and those that did, we’ll, hardly any lived to report the results of their foolhardy words.
A few seconds of silence followed the boy’s utterance, and for a short while it seemed the winds had stilled, and that the colour had been leeched from the vibrant green tropical scenery.
As the colour slowly bled black into the world, the old Miser’s eyes flashed green once, before returning once more to that eerie grey colouring. “An old Miser I might be, but I was never so foolish as to call a Miser a Miser to his face, or a Hoarder, a Hoarder to her face. Tell me small one, what is it that bolden’s your tongue? Are you simple? Or perhaps were you not taught that one should never approach a danger, and taunt it with the very name that instills fear in the heart of men?”
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thank you 🙂
Now I want to read what happens next, good job!
Thank you 🙂
“Stop” the man swung down from the leafy canopy, and landed before a startled boy.
Eyeing him warily, the boy stopped in his tracks.
“Who’s daughter are you?” The demand was shrill and suspicious.
“I’m not a daughter, I mean I’m not a girl- I’m a boy” came Amas’ indignant response.
A bemused light entered the clear grey eyes of the man- “yes, yes so you claim… So you all claim.” Momodu tilted his head to the side, “what are you doing on this land then? If you’re the boy you claim to be?”
Amas fiddled with the bamboo woven straps, securing the basket to his back. No he would not be intimidated, he’d already been warned, that many people would try to veer him off the path that he was on, and the excessive laughter that had followed his declaration to embark on this trip still smarted. They’d laughed him right out of the concrete village. His fists clenched.
“I have just as much right to be on this land as you do”, he tilted his chin up, and met the steady grey gaze “you old miser”. Perhaps it wasn’t very wise to speak so disrespectfully to the Land’s Miser. Not many dared to call a Miser, a Miser to his face, and those that did? Well… hardly any lived to report the results of their foolhardy words.
A few seconds of silence followed the boy’s utterance, and for a short while it seemed the winds had stilled, and that the colour had been leeched from the vibrant green tropical scenery.
As the colour slowly bled black into the world, the old Miser’s eyes flashed green once, before returning once more to that eerie grey colouring. “An old Miser I might be, but I was never so foolish as to call a Miser a Miser to his face, or a Hoarder, a Hoarder to her face. Tell me small one, what is it that boldens your tongue? Are you simple? Or perhaps were you not taught that one should never approach a danger, and taunt it with the very name that instills fear in the heart of men?”
A nice idea! Like the split of occupations and genders.
tell me more!
“Deep breaths,” Robin instructed, looking Dessa calmly in the eye. “Remember, you must be both spirit and animal in this moment. Coexist. Balance. No, stop– let it go and start again. I don’t want any of that annoying flickering. It’s exhausting.”
Dessa gritted her teeth in irritation, and then forced her jaw to relax, standing utterly still, looking blankly into the face of her teacher. Balancing between the physical world and spiritual world was a lot harder than it sounded– It was like trying to do the hula on a loose fishing thread that is being used for some giant’s game of skipping.
Flickering was easier. She didn’t see why she couldn’t do it– it allowed her to bring more power back, anyhow. In Combat, wasn’t that important?
Dessa breathed in for six seconds, out for seven, in for eight, released, and repeated, draining herself, her eyelids drooped slightly as she felt her spirit within her, feeling it, and then nudging it ever so slightly. She tried insistently to get it to balance on that thin silver lining that separated the physical world and the wisp world. Her vision flickered and muscles spasmed as it tried to transfer completely into the spiritual world, but she held onto it, tenuously– she through herself back the other way, into the realm of the physical, frustration clashing in her gut through to her throat.
“No, you’re overcompensating,” Robin said, and Dessa frowned slightly as she focused her eyes on her. “Let’s see,” Robin tapped her chin with one finger, cocking her head interestedly, her impish face breaking into a brief grin. “I’ve never had to explain this to someone your age. They don’t usually let people join my class until Cycle Four, you know.”
Dessa’s eyes widened in surprise, but Robin hastily interjected, “Sorry, shouldn’t have distracted you like that. Have you ever ridden a horse?”
“Yes,” Dessa said. Only once.
“Well, when you’re riding a horse do you throw your body one way and then the other to stay on, or do you balance yourself on top?”
That made slightly more sense to Dessa, although she had had trouble staying on the horse instead of careening off one side after he had moved from a walk to a trot.
“So!” Robin said. “Balance.”
With another deep breath, she shut off her growing irritation and tried again.
I like the hints at Dessa’s reasons for being there, and her reasons for finding the task difficult.
I think you need to name Dessa in the last paragraph, and not name her in paragraph three to make the active person clearly identifiable.
Ah, okay. Thank you!
I sat in the waiting room, flipping through a magazine. Dust rose from the pages and attached itself to the ceiling. I frowned. The dust had not completed the purge of Cosmo. Was it an out of date version – here, where I was expected to trust them?
Stop it, said my wife without looking up from her tennis. It’s going to be fine.
All very well for her. She’d never had her wisdom lobes out before. She was still on her milk lobes, and in no position to offer comfort.
I flung the glossy into a corner and saw my wife frown as it scuttled, rejected, back to its shelf.
Is it strange that the magazine makes me go “Aww”?
Intriguing!
Really quite like this. It feels relatable, despite the difference in things going on.
Liam stuck his head in the hole. Suddenly he felt suction at the top of his head. He tried to pull back, but the opposing force was too great. His hands reached for the passing roots as he plummeted down the hole. Oh why had he not listened to his mother when she told him to stay away from chipmunk holes?
Down, down, down he flew. Flew? “Yes, I’m flying through this hole,” Liam shouted. A huge grin replace his terrified look. He wasn’t going to die, not if he could fly.
No sooner had Liam thought this than he landed with a thud. “So much for flying,” he mumbled as he rubbed his sore bottom.
Carefully Liam sat up. He wiggled his legs, then his toes. “Nothing broken there.” The arms and fingers came next. “All okay here, too.”
He looked around. A pinpoint of light far above his head dimly lit the dark walls. Liam gingerly put out his hand to touch the wall next to him.
“Don’t touch anything,” growled something close to his ear.
Liam’s head whipped around barely missing a huge black nose. He lurched backwards.
“Ouch!”
A sharp slap accompanied the cry. “Get yourself off of me.”
Liam ducked his head between his shoulders. What was happening? Where was he? He cringed as he felt something tickle his face.
“Sit still till we sort you out.” The growl was accompanied by a short laugh and another slap. “Laugh, boy. Or don’t you think it’s funny to sort you out?”
“S- – s– shure,” Liam stuttered. “Ha, ha.” He looked around again. His eyes had become accustomed to the gloom.
What a delightful idea! Flying through chipmunk holes.
I love the dialogue, the hint of humour. Can’t wait to read more.
Thanks for the encouragement. This is an idea I have for a children’s story. It will be a while before I can finish it though.
Hi Mary, I enjoyed that. I think it’s good how you started right in the middle of the exciting action. I also liked the hint of humour, and I am intrigued (and a little scared!) to see how the creature with a huge black nose is going to ‘sort him out!’
His heart was pounding in sync with his footsteps as he sped toward the
door. Two muffled thuds in the wall to his left let him know they were
still firing shots.
Straight past the door he glanced behind his shoulder. Reloading. He
braced himself to jump to the next ledge and slammed his foot as hard as
he could into the ground!
Except the ground wasn’t there.
He was sent cascading toward the ground three stories below, confused at
what had happened and heart still keeping pace with the speed at which
he was descending. Calm down, focus. He had to get back there. An-Rye’s
island was the only sanctuary from the empire’s crusade. He calmed his
breath and closed his eyes, the wind whipping his hair into his face.
Time felt as though it almost came to a stand-still. His eyes opened and
nearly jumped out of his head when he saw the oncoming pavement.
The water swallowed his body with one gulp. He opened his eyes and began
flailing his arms in an attempt to grab the sky and pull himself out.
When his head was above the water level, he scanned around him, looking
for the island.
“Oy! Didn- exp- you, oon!” A voice from behind called, the words drowned
and broken as the water splashed in and out of his ears. A current
picked up and carried Aiden as he started toward the shore.
An-Rye tossed Aiden a peach. “I said, I wasn’t expecting to see you
anytime soon.” he let out with a chuckle. “So what brings you back to my
quiet isle? Fancy a drink?”
“No thanks, ” Aiden bit into the peach. “The empire is expanding, and
they don’t like you all that much.” It’s a wonder they’re still unable
to get here.
“It’s no wonder when you know how to get here. Calm and go, thats all
there is to it. Those imperial types they…” He continued speaking,
waving his hands through the air. He reminded Aiden of a grandfather,
old and wise, with a healthy dose of senility. Like most grandparents.
I like that the water swallowed them in a gulp and they pulled themselves out by grabbing hold of the sky. I would like to do that.
It was the second time in a week I’d seen my slightly older self stroll casually through the room, acknowledge my presence with a quick wave and then exit through the other door without saying anything.
I looked at my best friend – a white, Husky-mix named Shadow – with raised eyebrows. “Did you see that?” I thought aloud.
He kept his head resting in his paws and thought back, “Yes.”
“I really like the shirt I was wearing,” I thought. “I’ll have to keep an eye out for it.”
“The thing that concerned me is that I wasn’t with you,” Shadow thought at me, his purple eyes growing sad. His worries were accompanied by a cartoonish image of a tombstone with his name on it.
“I thought we agreed on cremation,” I shot back without missing a beat.
Shadow was not amused.
First Sefton’s magazine and now this! All of the critters are breaking my heart
I like the “I thought” communication
Annie reached out, her hand passing through her mother’s blue cotton dress. She’d cried everything out while her mother waited patiently, hands crossed in front of her.
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” said Annie.
Her mother shrugged and smiled. Annie could see right through her teeth.
“I was going to be here sooner,” said her mother. “But with visiting Fatima and trekking through Bethlehem and trying to wipe the leaves off my tombstone… let me just tell you how hard it is to move anything when you’re gone… well, I ran late.”
Annie laughed, thinking, Some things never change.
She was thrilled to be laughing. Years ago, her mom’s constant tardiness grated Annie’s last nerve. Everything her mom did became irritating. She hated to admit it, but she’d added “Mom” to the list of “People I can’t spend more than a day with” years ago.
Everything 180ed when Annie got the call regarding the stroke. Everything she hated about her mother lost its edge. Most of it was comical now. Annie couldn’t help but laugh thinking about her mother’s obsession with Splenda and her packing makeup into old toilet paper rolls to save money.
“Listen, mom…” Now was her chance to make amends.
“Oh honey, don’t slouch when you talk,” said her mom, tsking.
“You always said that,” laughed Annie.
“No, I mean it,” said her mother. “You don’t want to be wandering through the afterlife all hunched over. We’re creepy enough as it is.”
Annie didn’t know what to say to that, so she nodded and repeated, “Listen, Mom, I need to tell you something.”
“What is it, sweetie?” Her mother sat down in a chair and passed right through it to the floor. “Good gracious!”
Annie flew up. “Oh my God, are you OK?” She reached out an ineffective hand.
“Oh yes,” her mother said. “I don’t feel pain anymore. Now embarrassment, that’s another story.” She got up and sat down slowly. This time she stopped on the chair.
“There we go. I just had to focus.”
Annie watched her, hand outstretched, then said, again, “Listen, Mom…”
“Honey, don’t slouch!”
Annie bristled. In a flash, she realized the closure she so desperately needed might come in a different form than expected.
Welp, here is a look inside my nutty brain:
“When I look into you, all I see fun wavy hallway.” Egg said.
“Well, when I look into you all i see a wavy tunnel” Slide replied
“Thats pretty rare to have similar views in each other, I really like looking into you” it cracked. It was really happy to have been hung where she was.
Although they were both mirrors, they were quite different and reflected light in different ways. Egg was shaped just like an big oval but about 20 times the size of an actual egg and fairly flat. Slide was a twice as tall as Egg in the shape of a rectangle. Slide was not flat, it had bunch of ripples in it like a piece of uncooked lasagna pasta.
“Have you ever consider making shards?” said Egg said interesting
Slide was actually a little excited about the question, but lied in his response “Shards?? Noo, I was literally just hung here. Im too young to have shards. Are you Nuts??”
They were mounted on the walls across from each other in a recently renovated colonial house. They were only just hung.
Reminds me of some cartooney alternate world, where anything can happen.
I am a white ball. You don’t exist yet. You think you do. I mean you feel like you are breathing and thinking. You didn’t know that I programmed that feeling. How do you like my program? I can change some things too. But I can’t tell you about it. You aren’t meant to know. It is pretty lame talking to you because I programmed all of your responses and reactions. The fact that you are panicking and throwing a fit is a little funny.
The one thing I wish I could do though is make you real. But I even can’t do everything. A program is simply a program and when it runs to its end its over.
I bet you want to know who your real mother is. I could tell you things about the universe that would cause your eyeballs to pull back. So look outside your so called window and into the starry sky and let your mind open up to the fact that you really don’t know anything.
But tell you what, I will let you come with me. Come here. Closer. Close those fractal eyes. Close down. Here let me help you. You are going to walk through your face now. Your face is now 1000 times bigger then you are. You just go through it. See the blue lights, that’s good. You are getting closer. See those spots glowing in the distance, those are others on the map. Based on their location it will tell me absolutely everything I need to know about them. I found you this way. And no I don’t always watch, I come and go as I please. Lot’s of us watch, but there is no point in talking with you until you reach a certain state. Most of you are all pure program, but sometimes a real thought does come through. That is what interests me. That’s what makes it fun, that sometimes you do surprise me.
I would say if you want advice from someone, just realize that you will never be able to grasp anything, that is not how things work. I could tell you why, but then it would take all of time. Do you have that sort of time? Neither do I, so don’t ask my silly questions. I guess that is all you can understand at this point. In some several thousands years we may talk again.
Just then the world started to vanish before your eyes and then you found yourself in a body again, except it wasn’t yours.
I have been struggling with this all day, and I apologize in advance for my post. I have never read much fantasy, and never tried to write it. And my biggest challenge in writing is over-explaining everything. So for going with the fantastic, I first tried leprechauns. I do like the leprechaun legends, so tried to write a story about them coming to my house. When I found myself writing about being in my backyard, battling leprechauns and kicking them in the face, I decided to change topics. So here is my best effort. I wrote it out long hand and did a little editing. It is a version of a story told for eons, and it is the best I could do. Please be honest, but not gratuitously cruel…..
One afternoon in November, my husband Keith and I were arguing about what to have for dinner. We are both chefs, and though we love to cook, we rarely agree. While we were debating our choices, our phone rang. Our neighbors were calling from Arizona, where they spend the winter. The Moseleys had called to ask one of us to run over to their house. They’d heard a major snowstorm was moving into our area, with freezing temperatures, and they’d forgotten to turn on the heat and thermostat before they left. They were hoping we’d help them avoid coming home to burst pipes. We didn’t really know them well, they’d just moved in. People are trusting out here in the country, and they gave us a key when they left.
I already had my tennies on, and Keith was watching football, so I said I’d go. I started walking to their house, only a few hundred yards from ours. As I walked, I noticed the temperature was dropping rapidly, and by the time I was at their back door, it was starting to snow. Actually, I wasn’t paying that much attention to the weather, because on they way over, I’d started to feel ill. Right by the back door, I actually got a gag reflex. There was a strong, kinda skunky odor lingering there. It wasn’t actually skunk, but close. I held on to the door frame to steady myself, and then went in. By the time I got in, and shut the door, I could see through the kitchen window, that the snow was falling pretty hard.
I went to the living room, turned on the heat, and set the thermostat at 65F. I was feeling worse, and getting very dizzy. I looked in their hall closet, hoping to find a jacket and boots to wear back to my house, as the storm was nearly a blizzard by now. There was nothing in the closet, and I decided to check the bedroom closets. I went down the hall, and stumbled repeatedly. The floor seemed to be undulating and tilting sharply to the left. I slid into the first bedroom, and laid down on the bed, hoping my head would stop spinning, and I would get a little energy back.
Instead, I fell asleep, and didn’t wake up till it was deep night outside. I still felt awful, and assumed I had a high fever. I was uncomfortable too, because someone was in the room. I couldn’t see anyone, but I could distinctly sense movement around the bed. And I smelled onions. A very strong onion smell, like onion soup on the stove. I pushed myself up a little off the pillow, turned on the light by the bed, and looked right into a young woman’s face. She was smiling, and of all things, she reminded me of my mother. Petite, with a cute pixie haircut, and sparkling green eyes. I wanted to ask her who she was and what she was doing, but I literally passed out.
Later that night, I woke up. I could hear two people talking. A woman and a man with a gravelly voice. They spoke very quietly, and I couldn’t make out their conversation. I sat up in bed, and discovered a bowl of onion soup on the nightstand. Strangely enough, it was made exactly the way my mother had always made it: thick like a gravy, with the toasted baguette on top, and just a little parmesan sprinkled over that. I drank the soup, and noticed the conversation down the hall had ended. Someone started playing the piano.
Now I hadn’t been in the Moseleys’ house many times, but I couldn’t believe that I’d never noticed a piano. A piano is oh, smaller than a truck and bigger than a breadbox? I tried to get up, but I felt very dizzy, and laid back on the bed. As I drifted back to sleep, I heard some songs my grandfather used to play for me on his piano. Nothing fancy, he wasn’t that good. Like my Gramps, whoever played that night, chose old popular songs: “Somewhere My Love”, “Any Time”, and “Stardust”. Improbably, this person played them in the same disjointed style of my grandfather. Didn’t miss a note, but his timing was off, and gave the music a strange cadence, as if he was playing on a boat that was rocking wildly at sea.
I fell asleep to the familiar old tunes, and slept like I had been drugged. In the morning I woke up, and sunlight was shining through the window. I heard the man and woman talking again. Being more alert, I was able to make out a little conversation. It was a foreign language, and I had a weird mostly lost memory, that I had once known that tongue. As I listened, words took shape, and made sentences, and I remembered what I was hearing. They were speaking my grandfather’s native tongue, known as Joual, the French dialect spoken in Quebec. This was not the sophisticated, snappy Joual of Montreal. This was the guttural patois Joual spoken in my grandfather’s farmlands, on the edge of the Quebec Wilderness.
Suddenly, their conversation came in crisp and clear, as if someone had adjusted a radio dial, and turned up the volume. The woman distinctly said, “She was such a little liar”. The man coughed and replied, “Oh, it’s just that she loved to tell stories.”
I felt pretty good, so I jumped up and went out the front room to see who was there. The living room and kitchen were empty, and the kitchen showed no sign that a meal had been prepared the night before. I looked around for the piano, while I wondered why the Moseleys’ house had been stocked with onions, cheese, and bread, when they planned to be gone till April.
Keith! I was so sidetracked, I had forgotten all about him. He must be worried sick about me. I’d been gone all night! I ran back to the house, to tell him I was alright, and to bring him back so he could help me find the intruders and figure out who they were. As I jogged back toward my home, I noticed that all the snow had already melted and the ground was dry. When I burst in the door, Keith didn’t look worried at all. I would have to describe him as actually looking really annoyed. He said, “What took you so long? You’ve been gone for over an hour!”
My brain felt like it had just unhinged and floated away. I could not speak. Keith became a little crabbier. “Do we know what we’re having for dinner?” Click, click, something in the head turned itself back on, and I answered, in my best French accent, “Oui, French Onion Soup”. I made sure to roll the ‘R’ extravagantly. Keith, ever the naysayer, fussed, “Someone has to go to the store, because we just did our shopping, and we didn’t buy onions”. I walked over the fridge, and said, “We will have plenty of onions”.
Very nice. I really liked the piano showing up and the music that sounded just like your grandfathers and the onion soup.
Oh Sandra thank you. I was all nutted up over this. I appreciate your generous praise.
Intriguing! Great that you wrote something that was different from what you’re used to!
Minor suggestions – watch out for repetition of words, e.g., “our” in the first paragraph. I think it would help the flow with something like: “While we were debating over choices, the phone rang. Our neighbors…” You also use “actually” 3 times in the skunk paragraph. Maybe remove “literally” before “passed out”. You could have something like, “I wanted to ask her who she was and what she was doing, but before I could form my thoughts [or form the words], I passed out.”
I liked, among others: ” People are trusting out here in the country” / “by the time I was at their back door, it was starting to snow” / ” Petite, with a cute pixie haircut” / “The floor seemed to be undulating and tilting sharply to the left.” [Question: I pictured “I slid into the first bedroom” as being a result of the floor tilting, but I’m thinking you just meant “went into”?] / “Didn’t miss a note, but his timing was off, and gave the music a strange cadence, as if he was playing on a boat that was rocking wildly at sea.” / “as if someone had adjusted a radio dial, and turned up the volume” / “I noticed that all the snow had already melted and the ground was dry”. Loved the ending! – “I walked over to the fridge, and said, ‘We will have plenty of onions’.”
Susan thank you for your thoughtful remarks. Interjecting repetitive garbage words is another challenge for me. Scary; I edited out many, and there were still the ones you mentioned. Argh!
I think you nailed the exercise right on the head. You made me crave soup and baguettes! No one owes any apologies for practice writing. You’re pushing boundaries and trying new things, so it’s never going to be your best work. I would like to point out that you have a tendency to use passive verb forms. For instance, “were arguing,” “were calling,” “were speaking” would be stronger as argued, called and spoke.
Whoa, was not aware of that. Thank you!
“No one owes any apologies for practice writing”. THANK YOU for your comment. That’s why The Write Practice community is so remarkable! Everyone’s writing is valued, and everyone is respected for their own writing journey. Thoughtful feedback is given for the most basic to the most compelling piece. I am a newbie writer and am so grateful for being accepted for where I am in my process.
I really enjoyed this piece. Wonderfully evocative metaphors. “his timing was off, and gave the music a strange cadence, as if he was playing on a boat that was rocking wildly at sea.”, is just excellent. Kudos to you.
Blush blush. 🙂 Thanks Ed!
Siobhan stood poised at the base of the great elm. This was the spot where she would step back
into her own world. Her time in this one
had come to and end.
In this world she had lived a full and beautiful life with
the man she had given her heart to so many human years ago. She had laid him to rest a moon back. And now it was her time to move on. To return to the realm she had come from as
she had promised her King and Queen, she would do when they had granted her her
one request.
Next to the Great Elm was a humble pool. The water so still and clear it reflected as
a mirror would all that it looked.
Siobhan looked down and lingered a little longer at the old wrinkled
woman staring back at her. She had
enjoyed growing old. Enjoyed how her
body had changed over the years from barring
her soul mates children and had wrinkled and shrunk with age. Her long gray tresses hung loose down her
spine and her once bright eyes were now a muted gray.
The air around the tree rippled as a gentle summons for her
return whispered through the breeze.
Siobhan slowly undressed. Leaving
behind her shoes and dress. Her coat and
small clothes. Everything except the
silver locket hanging around her neck.
Inside an etching of the face of the man she would love eternally. A part of her yearned for mortality. Yearned to be also sailing on the
flaming wooden vessel with her beloved
up to Valhalla. But that would be asking
too much. Already she had been granted
more than most.
Siobhan glanced around her once more. Bidding this world a final goodbye. Then slowly she stepped through the ripple. As her
vision became clear she found herself
standing in a forest much the same as
the one she had just left. Instantly she
was youthful and beautiful once
more. Her veins hummed with power and
her eyes burned with fervor. She called
for a mysterious breath, shaking away the last of the other world before making
her path home.
BEAUTIFUL AND POWERFUL! This really captured my imagination right away and brought many questions to mind about Siobhan’s life(s). I liked the indication of different time “realms”, and the mention of the air rippling in one paragraph, followed by “she stepped through the ripple” in the next paragraph was extremely effective. Thanks for sharing.
I like how this piece builds to the mystery in the final paragraph.
This makes me want to read more. I agree with Sandra, the whole thing leads very smoothly to a final paragraph that raises tons of questions. With some tweaking, this could be the opening to a novel.
Sounds like the beginning of a good story. I like the way you’ve described her attachment to this world, and the letting go, and then the return to her world.
Very good. I am interested in more. A few minor nits I won’t go into because I thought they were vastly overshadowed by the majority of the story.
The carriage is stifling as it teeters down the cobblestone roadway. The second sun feels much hotter against my pale skin as it peaks in the horizon, casting my wedding dress an eerie shade of blue through the curtains.
I would give anything for the trees and dewy mornings of the North right now.
We hit a bump in the road, and I’m jostled. My corset is on so tight that its hard to breath for a moment after.
I feel trapped. Trapped in this foreign city. Trapped in this sweltering carriage. And trapped by this dress.
I toy with the lace of my light blue wedding dress. Any moment the carriage will turn onto the drive of the Court. The crowds will cheer and toss flowers at my carriage for good luck. I don’t remember what kind. I couldn’t listen when all of the traditions were explained, not with this on my mind. All I remember is that I will meet and marry my husband in the same moment. Then I am his forever.
This carriage is too hot. My dress is too tight. The road is too bumpy. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.
I don’t dare stop my carriage for air. It would surely set off the mood of the guards protecting me. My husbands guards, I think, trying out the title.
I’m going to be sick.
No. I am a Princess of the North. Sweat and corsets do not bother me, and I certainly don’t get sick at the idea of marriage. He’s only the Crown Prince of the South. The only difference between the two of us is a little bit more sun.
That didn’t help at all. But it doesn’t matter anymore, I can hear the crowd, and the carriage is making it’s final turn. I straighten my spine, imagining my mother sitting across from me. In her opinion, my spine could always be straighter. I take a deep breath. I am going to be fine.
Wonderful. I can already see the movie version. Nicely written.
Very in-depth. She is resigned, but she seems ill and panicked at certain times, as well. The ending’s kind of sad. I hope things turn out all right for her. Great use of first person and making me care! : )
Negative capability
Rosie tip-toed quietly up the porch steps and eased the heavy oak door open enough to slip through. She pulled her scarf away from the scoop and tangle of deep auburn ringlets and let it float away.
Her ringlets bounced free and cascaded down her back. She slid her boots off and wiggled her toes. Her little brown boots walked off and climbed into their corner of the rack at the end next to her slippers. By the time the purple velvet slippers had wiggled across the floor, and snuggled into the length of Rosie’s stockinged feet and sucked comfortably up and around her heels, her towelling robe had already unhooked from the brass hanger next to the parlour door and was floating impatiently waiting for Rosie to unbutton her winter coat.
Robe crooked its sleeves as if to anchor on imaginary hips and shrugged it’s empty shoulders. But Rosie was not one to be hurried. She looked down to her slippered feet and murmured thank you, as she reached for the lantern leaning on the balustrade and gave it a little tap.
Soft yellow light honeyed in to the entrance hall.
Towelling robe moved to face Rosie and pulled her belt loose trying to encourage her to let the winter coat go. Rosie smiled. “You’re so impatient” she said, and she released the four big brass coat buttons. Coat fell slightly backwards and whisked itself a few steps away, shook off the tiny droplets of rain that had gathered on its collar and retired to the rosewood stand next to the door.
The kettle whistled from the kitchen and Rosie padded into the dim hallway, smiling at the thought of a cup of tea and some time for book to read her the next chapter of it’s never ending story. Towelling robe scurried behind and slumped on the kitchen chair.
Rosie pulled book from the shelf above the refrigerator alcove. It’s big leather cover, creaked in her her hands, she placed it on the cream lace table mat at the centre of the little rectangle kitchen table. “Open” she said. The creaky cover lifted open and gold gilded, fine papyrus sheets whisked and fluttered and settled open in the centre of the book. Two small blue and black butterflies floated up and disappeared into the yellow evening light. Rosie poured a cup of tea held out her ams for robe to wrap her up nice and warm.
“Begin” she said. She took a seat her at the end of the table, smiled into her cup of tea and closed her eyes.
Book began to read in to the night. More butterflies arrived and settled in a swirl around the edge of Rosie’s chair.
This gave me that special “golden age of Disney” happy feeling. It’s very cute, and I love your use of honey as a verb.
I like your description for what you thought about the story…touching.
Cute. I think you have this concept down well because you do tell your story but are not stopping to explain anything. And the reader just enjoys going along for the ride.
Dawn, this is such a sweet story. I enjoed the richly detailed descriptions, and especiaaly that robe has emotions.
Utterly delightful…warm chocolate chip cookies with a cold glass of milk delightful. This would make the basis of an amazing series of children’s stories. I, too, enjoyed “honey” as a verb. Also, for reasons I don’t have time now to ascertain or articulate, I liked that you didn’t give the objects proper names (like Book instead of book). Somehow that enhanced the relationship between the objects and Rosie, and allowed more discovery for the reader.
It is really sumptuous and beautiful. Quite delicious and clever writing, putting cosy pictures into my head! Really good – keep writing it!
Harold threw himself on the couch, reached between the cushions and withdrew a frigid longneck, cap off and oozing white mist. Another grab earned him a bowl of chips covered in hot nacho cheese. “You’re late!” he bellowed, triggering a series of crashing sounds from the bathroom. Moments later, the TV staggered out, still wet and completely naked.
“You got here early,” it said in a petulant tone. “I’m not decent.”
“You’re hardly ever decent, going by what you show. Go dry off, I’m in the mood for pissing off a sitcom.”
A few minutes later, the appliance assumed its usual position on the wall and the screen popped on. The title screen for “Running Along with the Robertsons” scrolled by and he plucked at the words with his fingers, making bow ties and then a crude imitation of his landlord. Finally the show started. A middle-aged man stormed into a nondescript living room, obviously upset. He seemed ready to address the two teenage boys on the couch, but Harold tugged at a corner of the rug as he passed and the man face-planted into the glass coffee table. Harold chuckled at the brutal impact.
The two boys leapt from the couch and helped the man stand. “Dad, are you okay?”
“No, I– I can’t see.”
Harold drew a set of glasses on his ruined face.
“That’s not helping!” one of the boys said with a glare in his direction.
“My god, James, what happened?” a short woman in an apron burst into the room from off-screen. Before she got any further, Harold replaced her apron with blood-streaked scrubs, and gave her a face mask and scalpel to complete the outfit.
“Now you don’t have to go anywhere,” he said with a smile.
The woman stared daggers at him. She stepped on the couch and jabbed up past the screen’s edge with her scalpel. Harold yelped and reached for his behind. “Ow!”
“He needs a doctor! Now, get him one!”
“Okay, okay.” Harold reached again into his couch, searched for a moment, then had to stand up to pull out the considerable bulk of Dr. Phil. “All right, doc,” he said to the disoriented TV host, “get in there, they need you.” With a kick in the rear, Dr. Phil tumbled through the screen into the Robertsons’ living room and landed squarely on the unfortunate coffee table. The solidly built relationship expert proved too much for it to sustain and the glass top shattered into tiny fragments amidst screams from the Robertsons. Dazed, he sat up. “Don’t tell me, tell him,” he muttered. “Awareness without action is worthless.”
“What a insightful thing to say,” the woman in scrubs muttered, prompting agreeing nods from her family. “It’s an honor, Dr. Phil, and I have to say we really could use your help. Frank and I haven’t been intimate in six years and…”
Harold rolled his eyes. “Wrong doctor.” Once more he plunged his hands into the depths of his sofa, bringing out an entirely different kind of health professional. Once the man was on his feet, Harold said: “Here’s the skinny, Doctor. Those people in there have deep-seated emotional problems. They need someone to bring them face-to-face with themselves. Are you up for it?”
The man gave a thin, humorless smile and Harold suppressed a shiver.
“All right then, have at it.”
Dr. Hannibal Lecter strode into the screen with purpose. Moments later, the screams began. Harold smiled and sipped his beer.
This sounds like the beginning of a somewhat uneasy short story. I like it.
Mad. Love it.
Dawn
“Mad” sums up the idea I started with pretty well. I’m gad you liked it!
Thanks I found this exercise very helpful in teaching me not to spill too many beans at once. I wrote it once then realized later I did not like it and rewrote my practice. I do feel this is a really important concept cause in all stories there is some element of mystery and I think it can be a hard thing for someone new to writing to resist the urge to tell their readers too much in their excitement.
The purple shinigami tore from the night-tree shackles . It’s comforts had vanish years ago with the true legacy of makado. A decision which was made to close to time which the people of Nara ridiculed admittedly with a measured attitude knowing that it was the only option left for llama to break its rotten shame .Motionless ‘ laying against the icy stream which streamed down hill off a steep cliff and into the core of rocky moors’ completely seal at the mouth by a gigantic boulder ‘ the setting Sun last light split through a singular crack in the ghastly dome transforming the dust caught in it’s ray into glitter. It’s final testament for hope.
The trickle pauses as the flow sits steady below in accordance with the suns departure from the realm permitting the luring darkness from the north’ blackening the empty sky. It has all gone dead without a past. The cave echoes profoundly a creak of despair as the boulder begins to-shatter’ caving in the supporting elements of it’s murky structure . Darkest of all desire directing the wills of llamas shadow. Timing has set an eternity for sin surely. Each hour is to tick as minutes’ yet it was not a question of time .It won’t be long until screams of chaos sing loud through the sky . Rising from the south and tearing through the vines obstructing the cave exit, freedom awaits . A freedom lost and gain not by trust but for hope . It Stands at the edge peering down at the clouds and the black holes which whirled shifty screams of agony ‘ it knew all were destined to feel pain ‘ and wonder if death is the only way to break such a curse. Burning ‘ everything was burning , inside , outside, everywhere was torture. Bracing it’s claws against a gravel and it’s tails axed towards the sky ‘ it prepares for take off .
THis was a very eerie narrative. It kept it’s eerie tone throughout and by the end, I was thoroughly curious about what happened to make the shinigami so angry. The grammatical error and choppiness of the writing made it a little hard to follow, but when you only have 15 minutes, what can you do, right? Anyways, your writing has a very enjoyable, poetic style.
The wind blew through the dark green forest. It whistled through its branches and rattled
its leaves. In a tiny house at the foot
of Lord Ochre Oak tree, a window sprang open and little Princess Maya Maya
popped out her head. Her hair shone
golden in the eerie moonlight, wavy and wild and cropped level with her little
pointy chin, an open smile upon her face.
Her wide round eyes that were crystal blue looked upwards through the
tops of the trees dancing against the night sky. She saw a shooting star and waved excitedly,
for she guessed that Elfin Peabody was riding it. And she was right, for up, up there in the
freezing winds Elfin Peabody was screaming across the sky on his silver rocket,
gripping tight with cold tiny hands to the tip of it, bent over, a manic grin
plastered across his face and frozen stuck.
He didn’t see his little Princess waving at him down below, but the
antennae that told him everything under his green hat, tickled him, and he knew
that she was thinking of him. He dared a
glance below him where the forest was laid out like a thick lumpy black carpet,
and thought of her red toadstool house and decided to visit her for a cup of
tea in the morning.
The sun rose and lit Apple-tree forest like the embers of a
fire. Elfin’s rocket landed a few metres
away from her house and skidded towards the little doorway, leaving a long
narrow ditch scraped into the earth behind it.
He climbed off and found that he could not put his legs straight. Instead they were curved and shaking. He managed to wobble towards the red yellow-spotted
house, but of course she already knew that he was there. Out popped Princess Maya Maya from the soft
open doorway, with a little acorn cup of tea, and a smile as wide and shining
as the horizon as the sun rises above the sea.
Intriguing
I don’t have time to comment in depth, but this is LOVELY. I want to read more. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you!
Jax quietly slipped down the stairs, careful to make as little
noise as possible. Upon reaching the final step, soft piano music began to
reverberate throughout the house. Quickly she jumped off of the step and the
music stopped. She stilled, waiting to see if anyone stirred. She breathed a
sigh of relief and made her way towards the activities hall towards the servant’s
quarters. As she got close to the hall,
she heard the sound of things being dropped and shuffled around. She quirked an
eyebrow in curiosity and walked normally down the hall knowing that those
sounds would cover her footsteps.
She arrived at the room from which all of the sound was coming and peeked inside. Her mother
was glaring at a deep blue sofa that looked like it was trying to become green.
Her mother tore her gaze away angrily and the sofa rushed into becoming blue.
Her mother wheeled at the sofa and glared with more intensity. The blue began
to recede and soon, the whole couch was a lovely forest green. Her mother
beamed at the room, satisfied with her work. At least until she noticed a
forest painting was lopsided. Her mother nodded at the painting and it
immediately straightened.
Rolling her eyes, Jax crept past the door and rushed to the servant’s quarters. She tried the
door-handle. Unfortunately, it was locked. She smothered a curse word and tried
intensely to remember what would open the door. Ok, today is Thursday. Mondays the door is just open, Tuesdays you
knock 3 times and then 1 ½. Or was that Saturdays? Anyways, Wednesdays you sing
a lullaby, so Thursdays…you ask a riddle? “What travels all the way around
the world but stays in a corner?”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the creaked on its hinges and slowly swung open.
Surprise, surprise, surprise!