Are you using photographs as a tool in your writing?
They say an image is worth a thousand words. So, if you’re looking to write 10,000 words you would need ten images. Simple math.
Jokes aside, photographs awake our feelings and associations in a direct and rare way; sometimes much more than reality itself.
Photography’s Magical Powers
No matter how good your imagination may be, looking at the setting, the character or the mood you’re describing can only enhance the task at hand.
Photo by Thomas Leuthard
It’s similar to playing music in the background in order to adjust yourself to the right frame of mind, only better. Because regardless of the strength of all five senses, sight is stronger than others. It portrays something real and tangible or “pieces of the world” in the words of Susan Sontag in her famous book ‘On Photography’:
What is written about a person or an event is frankly an interpretation, as are handmade visual statements, like paintings and drawings. Photographed images do not seem to be statements about the world so much as pieces of it, miniatures of reality that anyone can make or acquire.
The Writer’s Interpretation of Images
A nicely taken portrait can reveal much about the character – his/her vulnerabilities, moralities, moods and feelings, origins – and suggest a story behind it. By looking into the eyes of a photographed subject, you’re looking into this person’s soul. You, as a writer, are to catch this and put it into your art: words.
The ultimate wisdom of the photographic image is to say: “There is the surface. Now think – or rather feel, intuit – what is beyond it, what the reality must be like if it looks this way.” Photographs, which cannot themselves explain anything, are inexhaustible invitations to deduction, speculation, and fantasy.
Susan Sontag, ‘On Photography'
Give yourself the freedom to speculate, deduce, and fantasize. After all, aren’t writers supposed to live with their characters, be in their shoes, and transport themselves into an alternative reality? There’s nothing more encouraging in this journey than a visualized front to guide you through it.
If you’re feeling experimental enough, you can even opt for a mixed photography/writing book.
Treat photographs the same as the research you’ve done for your writing. Stick them on the wall in front of you and make them an unavoidable part of your writing process. It can be your visualized writing world.
Have you ever used images to help your writing?
PRACTICE
Write about the character in the image above for fifteen minutes. Where’s she from, what’s her story, where’s she going, what’s she doing… are all questions that spring to mind. When you’re done, post your practice in the comments. It’ll be fun to witness the variety of associations a face brings to everyone.
Oh, as always be kind and support your fellow practitioners with your feedback.
‘Shouldn’t someone be helping this poor boy?’, she thought. She had been preoccupied with visible and invisible possibilities of existence for long and now just yearned for a preternatural hand to caress this homeless boy selling small hand-made flower rings. The boy, chilled with the cool guts of wind blowing felt extremely cold and she was unable to extend a hand towards him, or put her coat around his shivering shoulders. What a pity, she thought. ‘Where will the bus be taking me, when he will still be handing his cap for one-penny changes’?
The girl in the picture doe have a concerned look. I like how you look toward where where she is looking and see this boy there. You head hop a little bit in the third sentence and it confused me. When it say the boy felt cold I thought she had put her hand on him and felt how cold he was because the POV initially belongs to her, but then it says she wishes that she could touch him and put her coat over him. I’m thinking is she touching him or not and that made me look back. Then I realized that the boy was feeling cold himself. You could probably just change the word “felt” to the word “looked” if you wanted to fix that and go further with the story.
That’s right, maybe the girl cannot get his feeling but can only perceive how cold he ‘looks’.
Thanks a lot Marianne.
I actually looked back at the picture of the girl after I read your first line. Love what you saw, very cool.
Thank you Margaret.
I would like to see you write more about this. Your characters are amazing. I hope the girl comes back and helps him with more than food, money and warmth. Maybe just with conversation and companionship. May I borrow your characters with your permission to use as a writing exercise for my writing class. Please let me know.
Thanks a lot!
Definitely, carry on. Feel free to use it and bring warmth to the little lad…
Thank you. It will be fun.
This is cool. I can definitely see this happening considering the girl’s concerned and a little sad look in the image. You should develop the story; I’d love to read more.
Thanks to you, Sophie, for the post and the image I just recalled my own concerned look yesterday when I saw the lad at an intersection.
Sure, I will. Soon.
Thanks again.
I keep a board on Pinterest called, “Visual Aids for My Novel.” I find pinning actors who look like my characters or landscapes and scenery that pertain to what I’m writing really helps. I often think of my book in terms of a movie, to help me better understand what visuals would be good to describe.
I love that idea. Thanks for sharing.
That’s fantastic Karoline. Thanks for sharing!
His laughter twisted her head around. Could he be here in Syracuse, this stark, cold city; this city that she had left him for? She tried to push the thoughts of exams and papers from her head to listen for him, to see if he had come to rescue her. She drew slow breaths to still her mind.
But of course he couldn’t be here. He wouldn’t rescue her and take her back to their childhood, to that place, that little southern town where they had been raised, where her memories were, where her life lived. He was angry with her for leaving him and his musical laugh, for going away to college.
She had said “I need to be better for us. I need to be able to get a job so we can get out of here.”
He had said “I don’t want to get out of here Chloe. This is my home. Look at this place. How can you want to leave?”
When he had said those words, pleaded with her to stay, the day was warm and sunny. The lake was glassy green-black until a fish jumped from its depths, and threw light, and ripples shivering over the surface. They had argued then, after the fish jumped. He had driven her home but not walked her to the door, and he had not called again, not since that time when the fish jumped and disturbed the lake, setting it to rippling and glinting with new energy.
The ripples of the day, of the water, of his laugh made her gasp slightly. That is when the photographer caught her.
I like the hallucination she is carrying with herself of his ‘musical’ laughter, of course if that is the case.
Thanks!
I loved this interpretation of the photo. The opening line especially seems to fit so well with the image. Great descriptions, especially of the lake.
Thank you Puja.
nice job! Love the small town imagery and the connection to the ripples on the lake and his laugh….
Thanks Margaret. I really enjoyed reading yours.
I love how you included an actual photographer! That’s so clever. Also loved the basis of her hearing him laugh, or thinking she heard him. That can happen so easily when someone is on your mind. Great job.
Thanks Karl.
I love this! You were able to get a lot of story out of this one photo.
Thanks I appreciate you taking the time to read it.
This is great Marianne. I’d like to think that it’s all photographer’s imagination and his interpretation. Makes it really fun 🙂
Thanks!
I like the opening sentence, the way you brought the photographer in, the recurring image towards the end of i the fish rippling the water.
Thank you Winnie
Both the beginning and ending sentences are gripping. I love the mix of being in the present and her memories. It’s mysterious, but not too much so. Awesome job! 😀
Thank you. I like that you put mysterious but not too mysterious. I feel like I walk a thin line between boring and over-the-top sometimes so this from you must mean I’m on the right track.
Wow- this is really good. The fact that you had this much depth in a few hundred words is really astonishing. I really enjoyed reading this
I have heretofore never used images to help my writing but now it seems so painfully obvious I think I should do it all the time. Thanks for opening that window, Sophie! My practice:
He sat on the stairs unblinking, eyes cast to the pavement. Paige stood there, arms crossed, tapping her foot on the ground. If he had an answer he withheld it. But she saw the wheels turning.
“I don’t know. . .” he said.
“Figure it out!” she said.
Now his head snapped into place and he stared into her eyes, his gaze throwing caution to the wind and piercing her own, and anger arose in his voice. “You figure it out! You’re the one without a plan. I knew what I wanted, and I wanted you. But you wanted to drag me along behind you like a puppy on a leash while you prance through life on your damn TIPTOES like a damn BALLERINA and let life throw everything at you so you can bat everything away as if life were throwing mosquitoes! You know what I saw in my future? You. I saw you, and me, maybe a dog or hell, a kid. I asked you what you saw in your future. Do you remember what you said?”
Paige’s eyes glazed over with a sheet of slick tears. She tried not to blink lest her eyelids push a stream down her cheek and he’d know how she hurt.
He continued, “You laughed that careless, childish laugh of yours. You said, ‘Oh, I don’t know. Money, art, my name at the top of a European Top Ten list.’ I asked you, ‘You’re sure you don’t see anything else?’ I waited for you hopeful, foolish, that you would mention me. You didn’t, and I’m done. I won’t be dragged around behind you anymore. I’m taking the leash off. Find someone else to walk.” He looked at her, wide-eyed, waiting for a rebuttal, daring her to respond.
Paige took a step backward. Had she known he’d felt the way he did she wouldn’t have acted so selfish. If she could go back in time she would answer
his question differently. She would paint a picture of a quaint home life with Evan and a puppy. She would be fat in the belly, ready to burst, in fact, and his hand would rest on the top of their unborn child. The dog would lie in front of a fireplace ablaze, his eyes closed, exhausted from spending all day at the park. She would be looking into Evan’s eyes and he looking at her tummy. If she could paint that picture for him he would change his mind, for that she was certain. For now she had to run. She had to turn and run before tears squirted
from her throbbing eyes.
There are some really interesting images in this, like that of the narrator being pulled along a leash by a “ballerina”-like Paige.
That is so sad. It does look like she is kind of squinting her eyes like might be trying not to cry. I like the part where he is listening, hoping she will include him in her vision of the future.
I like this, Karl. I was there with the guy – you write really strong dialogue!
I’m glad you like it, Margaret. My goal was to get to the point where she stops in the middle of the street and looks back to him (as she appears to be doing in the picture) and end with a car horn honking at her, or something. That blasted timer cut me off, though. Haha.
I wonder if they will get back together. This seems like the spiral downward of a romance. I hope they get past their mistakes and hurts. Both seem so likable. Yes, your dialog is so good.
Thanks, Cat! A little compliment goes a long way.
she’s caught, aware for the first time that their dreams don’t mesh. I wonder what will become of them.
She will literally paint the picture I described and he will be touched, and they’ll get married.
Just kidding, I don’t know what happens to them. I don’t usually write about love. . .it’s not a topic that interests me!
Oh you made me sad. 🙂 I love his dialogue, so believable. It sounds like they are on the same page, only she hasn’t expressed herself well. I bet they’ll get back together.
Powerful stuff, Karl. I like how her “figure it out!” opens the flood gate and lets him spill out his side of the relationship. And her response is to run – makes me wonder how many times she’s run before? Thanks for sharing!
Thx, Sophie. Great photograph – love her face. Is she you? 🙂 I stared at her long enough for her to tell me this story…
Her mother hugged her fierce and pressed her cheek against hers, still soft
as the downy back on a newborn chick. She whispered in her ear seconds before she boarded the train. “Act like you belong”.
She said it would help her believe she was a part of the fabric the city, that it would keep her safe if she looked like she knew where she was going. But after 3 months of auditions and rejections, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be any thread that made up the fabric of New York City.
She had walked hundreds of miles on darkened streets dark teeming with
people who swallowed the light of day. The buildings, crammed tighter than sardines, were so tall they stole the sky. That was what she missed most about home. The sky. Her endless prairie sky full of possibilities each time she looked up. And her stars. The ones she’d been naming since she could talk. The only stars New Yorkers knew made them walk backwards when they spotted one. Leopnardo DiCaprio. Gwyneth Paltrow. Not one of them shone like home…
I love the last line of this!!! I like all of it but the last line is my favorite. I also like the idea of the buildings in NYC blocking out the sky. I love visiting NYC but think I would be claustrophobic if I lived there. I wonder if that’s why people like to live in penthouses, so they can see the sky.
Thanks, Marianne. I ‘m with you about NY. I LOVE to visit but wouldn’t want to live there…
This is brilliant. Also, the star filled sky warms my heart. I loved the comparison.
Thx so much.
I love this Margaret, ‘buildings stole the sky’. Maybe a small journey into the wild with a ravishing starfull, hence meaningful, sky can complement the rest of the story.
What she names is what means to her.
thx, Parsinegar!
That’s a touching first paragraph. I like your description of the streets of New York and the absence of a beautiful sky. I imagine New York is too bright to see many stars. . .poor girl.
Well done Margaret! I especially liked – being part of the fabric of the city. And the non-sky is probably something a non-New Yorker immediately notices and doesn’t like.
Oh, and it’s not me in the photo, but thanks! 🙂
As she was walking away she heard in the distance someone shout her name. She turned around but only seeing a mass of bobbing heads and only to hear the wind whipping by her ears. Deep down inside she kept picturing him running after her, telling her not to go.
All she could think about was him and the things he said to her the night before. Some true, some she was sure not. It was probably just the heat of the moment. The moment is where she lived. Not thinking about what was going to happen the next day, month or year but right then and there. To live in the moment with no worries was magic. To feel wanted, needed and desired like that felt euphoric. She licked her lips, still chapped from the night before. Remembering….
But today it was time to go. Off to new things. Who knew what would be waiting for her on the other side of her journey. She knew she had to leave, to discover herself. Her life would never come full circle if she didn’t go at this alone.
Moving across the world for a fresh start in a new city, career and life was a scary though. What would become of her? Who would she meet? Where would her dreams carry her?
Determined to continue living in the moment she cannot help herself but to look behind and remember…
good introspection and internal dialogue.
Great use of the image as stream of consciousness.
“Put that camera down. I can’t go anywhere without you snapping that thing at me.”
Thomas laughed, but continued clicking pictures. The wind caught her hair just right as the slanting sun rays highlighted the blond ends and soft texture. Her initial look of surprise morphed into one of cute annoyance. He just had to share those oh so kissable lips with the world.
Sadie stalked forward with her hand blocking the lens. Thomas snapped one last shot before safely hiding the brand new $2000. camera behind his back while scooping her into his left arm and planting a quick kiss on her lovely lips.
They walked quietly down the street hand in hand a few minutes before he untangled his grip. “I just want to snap a picture of that facade. The architecture here is fabulous.”
Sadie smiled and shook her head. “As long as it’s the buildings.”
Thomas looked her up and down. “You truly don’t know how beautiful you are.”
Sadie blushed and then relaxed while Thomas zeroed in on a couple of gargoyles ten stores over their heads.
Just realized the photographers name was Thomas too. How funny. Loved this exercise. I have collected many pictures of the Dust Bowl to help me with my story. I love imagery.
This was so cute! 😀 I loved how you managed to fit photography into a visual exercise. 😉 I wish it had been a bit longer, though. I would’ve liked to learn more about Thomas and Sadie.
Thank you. The girl had an expression on her face very similar to my beautiful daughter in law when she is photographed unexpectedly. That was my inspiration along with a photography walk in downtown Portland a few years ago snapping pictures of old buildings and weird cars. Shooting in the city in early or late slanting light is great fun. All kinds of wonderful shadows.
It’s always great when you can get inspiration from real life experiences.
Great! You shift the focus from the girl to the camera. From the emphasis on the dollar value of the camera I was half expecting to read that someone had snatched the camera off his shoulder and he was about to lose the photographs he had taken of Sadie.
Thank you. That would have been a great way for the story to go. My only thought was that the owner of the picture had a very expensive camera so I made my character just a little too enthralled with both his new toy and Sadie to respect her boundaries.
$2000?! Good Lord that’s a lot of money!
The girl is beautiful, isn’t she? I like the relationship they have.
Since this is based off my son and his wife, I had to throw in their camera and besides the camera that took this picture was pretty spendy, I think.
Oh I almost forgot–I was expecting him to say, “Just kidding” at the end and snap another picture of her instead of the building. 🙂
That would have been fun.
I love this. It’s very similar to the story I had in mind from the image. I can’t believe you used Thomas unconsciously. 🙂
If I had figured out what I had done sooner. I would have used your name for the girl. The girl’s expression reminded me so much of my daughter in law. Thank you for the great article and prompt.
You’re welcome. Great practice.
I love the interplay of these characters, Cat. Nicely done – thanks for sharing.
Thank you for the encouragement.
You’re describing the girl in the picture to a T!
Thank you. Everyone is so encouraging.
This was so much fun! 😀 Thank you for the great post and exercise!
My practice is a little long (I may have done more than just fifteen minutes), so don’t feel pressured to read it all.
I turn a corner. The men are just a few seconds behind me. That was all the time I needed. I dove into a shop, hoping the large crowds of Christmas shoppers would offer the concealment I needed.
The shop was warm and noisy. Everywhere I turned–if there was enough room to run around–I could hear excited whispers of, “Emma’s going to love this!” or “The kids will be so surprised!” The word “Christmas” was whispered around me, like some sort of magical chant. The shop probably would’ve been comforting if I hadn’t been running for my life.
One quick glance out of the window told me that I need to sneak out of here and fast. The men in black, armed with concealed guns, tasers, and clever poisons were coming in. I ran for the emergency exit.
Ignoring the ‘Alarm will sound when opened’ sign, I rushed back out into the cold.
The alarm gave me away, I was sure of that, but the men would have a decent time trying to escape the panicking crowd that I had left behind. This gave me enough time to run for the apartment building just one block down.
Clutching the blue, battered notebook to my chest, I pounded the elevator button. I was taken to the third floor.
“Three, three, three,” I whispered to myself, searching for the correct apartment. The Boss moved so many times, I could hardly remember which apartment was his. “Three-hundred and thirty-three. Three–”
I found it and raised my fist.
Knock. Pause. Knock. Knock. Pause. Knockknockknock.
The door was flung open by a heavily armed bodyguard. I held up four fingers and he let me in.
“The girl is here to see you, sir,” the bodyguard called out. The Boss strode in from his bedroom and sat down in a chair behind his glossy desk.
The Boss looked extremely menacing, for a man of only 5’1″. He was completely bald except for a bushy, black, handlebar mustache and a pair of eyebrows that were, if possible, even bushier. No one knew his real name, or the color of his eyes, since he always wore a pair of black sunglasses.
“I assume that you got the codes, since I told you not to come back unless you had them,” The Boss said.
I drop the notebook in front of him.
“All twenty-six of them, as promised.”
The boss raised his eyebrows and picked up the notebook. He flipped through a few pages before letting his mouth stretch into a wide smile.
“Well done,” he said. “I admit, I didn’t expect you to succeed.”
Neither did I, I thought. I smiled a little.
“So,” I said, tracing my finger along the desk. I looked up at The Boss, whose hands were clasped together in front of him.
“So . . .”
“The money.”
“What about it?”
I let my nails scratch the desk as I clench my hand into a fist. I should’ve expected him to pull something like this.
“You promised five-thousand dollars if I got the codes.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was already shaking. “My sister and I were depending on this money. We need it!”
The Boss stood up and I jumped. He didn’t look angry, though it was always hard to tell with his mustache blocking most of his mouth and his glasses blocking his eyes.
“I said you could have the money if you got the codes and managed to do it without getting seen,” he said. “But, unfortunately for you, I know that you were seen as you pulled your little stunt. They no doubt managed to follow you here, or very close to here. You did not do exactly as I asked.”
I took a few steps back and hit something large and solid. Two bodyguards stood right behind me. My stomach twisted into a painful knot.
“Then just let me go,” I said as forcefully as I could manage. “My sister and I will leave you alone. We swear–”
“I can’t let you go,” The Boss said. “No, I’m very sorry, Alexis, but you and Julia know too much about me and everything I do to walk free.”
“We’ll sign some sort of contract,” I said, getting slightly panicky. “You can check in on us. Have somebody track us. We–”
One of the bodyguards claps a hand over my mouth. I let out a muffled scream, but no one will hear me. The two bodyguards managed to grab my flailing arms and start to drag me away. The Boss raises his hand and, for a split second, I think he was about to strike me. But all he does is remove his sunglasses.
“Goodbye, Alexis.”
The bodyguards drag me out of the apartment, but not before I see the color of The Boss’s eyes. They were hard and cold, and an icy blue.
What a great imagination. I can really see this story evolving from the picture we were given. I love it, and yes I read the whole thing.
Thank you! 😀 I have a hard time keeping things short. 😉
Magic Violinist. It’s been a while since I’ve read anything by you and your improvement is astounding. You always wrote extremely well but here you are just smooth as glass, no problem with following this from beginning to end. It’s like reading a book. I think you rely more on action that character but that is appropriate for your genre. I love this. You are am amazing kid!
Thanks, marianne! 😀 Ha ha, I’m still trying to balance the action and the character for this kind of genre. 😉 I’ve been trying to branch out from fantasy a little bit (but not too much)!
Great plot!
Thank you! 😀
Awesome writing! I love how you ended it with the color of his eyes. That was such a perfect last sentence.
Thanks! 😀 It took me forever to get the last sentence right.
Wow, you’re gooood girl! I did read it all -how could have I not? The story reads so smoothly and I think you should definitely write it all. I love how you used the boss’s eyes to make a final effect. Bravo!
Thank you! 😀 Now I’m obsessed with looking up images on Google for my writing prompts!
Haha, glad to hear that! 🙂
Same problem here. Once the story gets going it drags you along and finishing within the time limit is difficult.
The time limit is just a suggestion, feel free to let yourself go. The more you write, the better. 🙂
What? What what WHAT? I want to shout till the word resounds off every glass surface and weathered brick, down this road we once shared. My voice would ricochet from your favorite pizza parlor–the one with the stupid plastic chairs shaped like musical notes–to the thrift store where we bought fur-lined jackets, one for me, one for your sister. I should have left this awful jacket back in the loft; it’ll remind me too much of you when I’m apartment-hunting in Washington Heights with Sonya, as far from you as possible because I know the real reason you don’t like the place is your weird aversion for Dominicans.
“What?” I finally demand from you, hoping I look more imposing than the typical 5’2 blonde.
“Baby…” you say again, and I almost throw my bag at you. Really, that’s as creative as you get? “Baby, don’t. Let’s talk about it. Come on, we’ll grab a bite at Tony’s and just talk calmly. You don’t understand, she’s just—”
I turn back around so I’m no longer facing you. “GoodBYE, Jeff.” And I leave this road and the memories you’ve gutted behind.
This is interesting. The dialogue is so spare but completely believable. I wish it were longer but I know we have a time constraint. Well done.
wow – love your voice here. Strong. Believable.This is a fast paced piece with a finish equally strong. The last line is great! Well done.
Well done. I wiped my face a couple of times thinking I could feel the spit from her angry words!
‘”What?” I finally demand from you, hoping I look more imposing than the typical 5’2 blonde’
That is awesome. I love how you gave her a height. Is Tony’s the pizza place? Good thing she’s ditching him is he’s too dumb to know she hates it!
This is amazing Puja! Such a strong voice and so real and out there. Bravo!
I don’t use photography in the way you mention. I use photography as an alternative creative outlet when I’m burned out on writing. I’ll spend a weekend taking pictures and it recharges my creative juices and the writing flows stronger.
Me too Dan. Glad to have a kindred spirit 🙂
“You have no idea what it’s felt like to be trapped in YOUR family for the past
umpteen years!” she spat at me. “You have no idea how I’ve waited, counting the days until I turned 18, and I could legally just leave you and go looking for
her.”
Hattie spun around and walked away, her boots slapping the sidewalk. My eyes stung with tears, and I fought to catch my breath as I watched her leave. Hattie knew where her birth mom lived. She’d followed her on the internet for the past 5 years, or longer. It wasn’t until the past year or two that she started
threatening to leave us the day she turned 18, when probation laws expired and the law no longer forbade them contact.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” I finally called after her, unable to
move, my body weighed down with grief.
Hattie stopped, one hand grasping the sign pole for balance. She turned around, and I saw those deep brown eyes looking right through me.
“I’ve never hidden anything from you, Hattie, “ I called as I walked toward her.
“I’ve always told you about her, about why we adopted you.”
“Yeah, and all I kept hearing from people was how lucky I was to have you. Well I have my real mom out here. I need to go to her. I need to hear her side of the story.”
“Just be careful, Hattie. I don’t want you to get hurt,” I managed to force out over the lump in my throat. “Things aren’t always what they seem.”
Hattie turned to leave but stopped again. She reached into her purse and took out an envelope. She held it out to me. Tears pooled in her eyes. I walked up and took the letter. I reached out to Hattie, aching for her embrace, but her dark eyes shot through me, and she turned and walked away. I stood there on the busy sidewalk, yet all alone, looking at the letter in my hand.
Such a good story. I could feel for both Hattie and her mom. The envelope was a nice touch – made me want more…
You pulled a lot of drama out of that intense look in the photo.
Good beginning, makes sure the reader will want to know all the why’s, and wherefor’s.
Wow, that’s a big story. Way to go.
I am assuming that we do not go back and edit our work? Just post what we have in 15 minutes? (Yes, I am very new here) Ok, here is my first pedestrian attempt at writing practice here…
Writing Practice- Photograph “Jeanie”
Things were not always so wonderful for Jeanie. The world in which she had been raised was a
lonely and forlorn existence. Jeanie
left her small town nearly four years ago at the age of fifteen to chase her
dreams all the way to New York City.
She arrived by bus with a single suitcase, one thousand dollars in cash,
and a phone number for a potential job. Nervous
but excited, Sophie found a payphone that wasn’t shattered and made the life
altering call.
Stacie Eans answered the incoming via her desk in the
reception area of Newave Model Incorporated.
She spoke briefly to Jeanie, whose Southern drawl coerced a delighted
grin from Stacie. Just another newb off
the bus, the honey sweet voice hinted.
Stacie kicked back in her chair recalling her own fanciful first days
within the city. She took pity on the
young girl on the other end of the line, so unsure and probably under qualified. Penciling her in, Stacie suggested
an affordable nearby hotel so that Jeanie wouldn’t be late for her six a.m.
appointment. She stressed that this was a one-time shot, and
Jeanie needed to look polished and well dressed.
Jeanie turned to face the city ahead of her, staring up in
trepidation at the surrounding skyscrapers.
She had to get all the way across the immense city and to
the hotel before nightfall. Unsure of herself, she tried
her hand for the first time at hailing a New York City taxi.
How exciting for Jeanie. I like how you gave her a Southern accent. One question – who is Sophie?
And welcome! Just keep posting stuff like this and you’ll be fine 😉
Oh! That was a complete flub. Must’ve saw the name of Sophie Novak while I was writing and inserted it accidentally. >.<
Welcome! I hope you enjoy the practices and community here. I liked the story; it awakes reminiscent feelings always. Don’t worry about editing, unless you’re more comfortable with it – it’s absolutely your choice.
Olga caught herself in a window as she walked by. She tried not to look like she was looking. A confident, normal person wouldn’t look, would they? She
always looked a bit more serious than she expected, small creases at
the bridge of her nose emphasizing the arch of her eyebrows. Still
she looked mysterious—and pretty perhaps—with the wind turning
her fine, blond hair. She pushed her attention back to the street and
marched with finality toward the bank.
“I’d like to close my account, please.”
She was escorted to a back room where a bank manager put her through some rigamarole, what else could he do, losing a customer, but soon she had a
cool $3000 in her pocket, her meager life savings, but hey, what’s
life for if not for living. “No more serious face,” she said to
herself and turned on her heel. “I’m ready to go to the airport.”
I love the tone of the practice, and the way you solve her seriousness.
I love the picture of her checking out her reflection in the window. How many times have we all done that? Well done!
Another one that could be the beginning of quite a story. I like your writing it’s very easy to read and doesn’t have a lot of superfluous words. Good writing IMO.
Is he driving by this morning? There’s so much I didn’t tell him last night. Couldn’t, actually. Every time I opened my mouth to ask, my brain jumped out of gear. He won’t think I’m chasing after him. After all I catch the bus here every morning.
If he’s interested in what I did tell him, he’ll surely see me, and stop, and offer me a lift.
Then …
“Is that why didn’t finish your degree course You opted to do missionary work instead.” Perhaps I shouldn’t have used that line. The question is: was he too modest to talk about it, or was that a line he used on me? Because he clammed up after that.
Granted, the way his eyes misted over and he shook his head showed I’d touched a tender spot. Should I have put a consoling arm round his shoulders, and offered him a Kleenex? Him, a hulking six-foot college sports star.
There’s one thing I won’t tell him. That I was Milly’s best friend. What she told me about her brother I wont dare repeat.
I have a gut feel about people, can feel their aura, and he doesn’t seem at all like that..
I was at her side when she died in hospital. Unless I first ask him why he wasn’t there, why he hadn’t said goodbye to his twin sister. I’ll never be able to get past that barrier that existed between him and Milly. .
Quite a story. Great work. What happens next? 🙂
Thanks Sophie. I’ll try and expand on this situation. Perhaps: she finds she cannot get him out of her mind.
That’s good. Or that the twins had such a special relationship that the loss of the twin sister made him unable to maintain a normal relationship.
This really sounds like the beginning of a good story. I like the way she feels that he isn’t as bad as his sister (and the narrators best friend) said he was. What’s behind that makes me want to read more.
Erin scanned the traffic, looking for an opening. The cafe was across the street and she didn’t want to be late. The afternoon sun warmed her neck; there were still at least two open tables outside. She wanted that particular one where she could face the sun before it disappeared behind a building.
A small break in the traffic on this side. Erin trotted out to the middle of the street. As she glanced back the other way a familiar shape passed. That wasn’t him, was it? A car coming the other way slowed for her, and she darted across to the cafe. Looking back across the street, she looked for the figure again. No one there now. Had she been imagining things? Now she had a chill the sun couldn’t warm.
Erin walked over to the open sidewalk table, the only one open now, and sat down. Her back was to the cafe’s glass and she had a good view of the sidewalk on both sides of the street. If she had really seen Mendron just now, she doubted he would try anything in public. She had her phone ready just in case.
She heard footsteps slowing to her left and looked up to see Pim approaching, smiling. She returned a quick smile and pulled out a chair for him, then returned to scanning the street.
“What’s wrong?”, Pim said
“I thought I saw Mendron, but don’t know for sure.”
“Over there?”. Pim was looking across the street also.
“Yeah, I was starting to cross over, and just saw something behind me. When I looked again there was nothing. Maybe I’m seeing things.”
“He could be around, though.”, Pim said. “Do you want to go inside?”
“No, the sun feels good. It was probably nothing. And anyway, if he’s around, there are too many other people around, you know?”
“Yeah, you’re right”, Pim said, sitting down and looking for the waiter.
You’ve built quite a tension here Paul. Who’s Mendron? A stalker? An ex? An ex stalker? Good job.
Thanks, Sophie!
They say the fog is at it’s thickest when visibility draws thin. She would say otherwise. That the fog is invariably thickest when everything is clear and the clouds rise and spread to reveal the density of life. Today revealed more than a horizon’s worth of possibilities. Paths weaved their way through the city, either of purity or of wickedness, and despite the uninvited overcast she could see all their ends as though each had it’s own sun.
The clairvoyance bestowed upon her made the choice even harder. She stood at the curb waiting for an inspiration. Sick of making decisions when she knew all that was to come of them, she prayed for a muse to convince her of a deviant outcome, to fool her, put her in danger, or at least lead her into a predicament of unknowing. There was, somewhere, a chance for blissful atonement, but getting there seemed harder than it’s worth. First she would have to commit a wrong – something she’d never been able to bring herself to do.
As though in answer to this, there was a boy. He was about her age, not much taller, and would almost have been androgynous if it weren’t for some developing facial hair on his chin. As he walked past, he stared at her, an event, the first in a long time, that she hadn’t foreseen in her day. She’d pre-noted the curb, the clouds, what clothes she would wear, what time she would arrive here and now, but not the boy. It confused her greatly, not only as to how she couldn’t have guessed his passing, but also as to why he would be looking at her.
Her iPod was filled with slow pop songs, anything minus the club or dance beat, that aroused an atmosphere inside her she said was the only thing in her life to bring about the feeling of question and delight her. Everything else had been monotonous and routine, especially by the time she came to her unprecedented sense of foresight, except the songs and this boy. He made her think twice about why the songs she’d listened to day in and day out while following nothing but her feet to the correct destination puzzled and tickled her senses. She thought about the moods and lyrics of the playlist, and came to the realisation they all spoke of this moment.
Love need only last a second for it to be pure, as the songs had told. And in not knowing where or how we will find salvation, in ourselves, which she had found impossible, or in someone else, which now she hoped was true, we find ourselves atoned.
Her furrowed brow softened, the reflection of a sudden thought relaxed her face as she turned around to follow him. For the first time she was lead somewhere uncertain, by someone completely unknown. It excited her, and whether she was in her right mind to or not, it no longer mattered.
Wow, this is amazing. The amount of clarity you have is amazing, and now I’m really, really curious about this girl. Would I be taking a leap to say she has super powers- premonition or something?
Thanks, Bear! That’s the vibe. I wanted to leave it open to interpretation as to whether she actually has super-natural powers or just -feels- like she does because her life is so routine.
I have a hard time remembering physical characteristics about my characters especially eye color. So what I did was made myself a wiki I can access online and I add all of the features, back story, genealogy, etc. as well as a photo so I can refer to it. I also added a timeline which has been super helpful.
The icy air whipped through the air, scratching and pawing at her as she crossed the street. She wouldn’t have minded so much if she wasn’t late, but she was, and as her hair whipped around her face, she wanted nothing more than to chop it off. That’s what she got for listening to her mother. “You’ll regret it if you cut it, honey. This, this is you.” Sure.
A car beeped angrily nearby, and she hastened her pace. She was going to be extremely late now, but there was nothing for it. All these people were around her, jostling and pushing her, and she couldn’t just shove past them. It was almost funny how she was in New York City, the hub of the world, the brightest of the bright when satellites took night pictures, but she had never felt so alone.
She kicked a can aside as she walked down the busy street. Her being alone was hardly her fault. No, it really wasn’t. It was Jason’s fault- or more specifically, the woman he would rather be with than her. Well, it wasn’t her fault she wasn’t blonde, skinny, and next-door-neighbor cute with dimples and a button nose. But still, Jason didn’t care. Fine. He could have fun in California with ‘Susan’. That was alright with her. He could take his sorry ass, and his football-loving maniac friends, and his smelly feet, and his beer, and his stupid fluorescent red coat that he loved, and go away. Let him die of skin cancer in California.
She walked fast- hopefully the subway wouldn’t be too busy. Storefronts full of Christmas toys, fake snow, and toy trains came and past. She was sure they were playing annoying jingles inside that she couldn’t get out of her head for months.
And then, she saw it. A flash of red so familiar and distinct in one of the windows. She whipped around, trying to find the jacket that she had seen in the reflection. Or the person wearing it.
But as she looked on to the throngs of people traveling in packs of grays and blacks, she saw nothing. Maybe that was all there ever was.