PRACTICE
Write about the desert.
Write for fifteen minutes. When you're finished, post your practice in the comments.
Photo By Josh Summers
Here's my practice. Hopefully you can do better.
David strode out. Two steps at a time. The hard packed sand-dirt scraped under his feet. There was no heat. A temperatureless place. Christmas in Israel.
No thoughts except the sound of the dirt under his feet, and not even that after a while.
This was a place without roads. Who needed trails when the land stretched flat and hard in every direction? The Romans had marched this desert. The Persians. The Egyptians. Empires had made this desert their straight path and had marched across it to bring death and justice to the world.
But there were no armies here today.
He could not tell whether it was eternity or an instant (because how do you measure time when everything is the same), but he came up to the edge.
It looked as if God had stepped in the wet earth and left his footprint. The desert dropped off and there was no desert any more but mountains and a wide valley with a sea in the middle filled with the greenest water he'd ever seen.
Beyond was Jordan, the land of the Hittites, the Moabites, and the Ammonites.
It was December 25. Christmas. He stood one-thousand feet above the Dead Sea all alone. He lay his pack down and leapt into that green green sea.
The Desert
There was nothing. Nothing that Jacob could see that could help him find his way back. The horizon was a mirage of worthless bits of stone and sand being held together in a whirlwind of fire and heat. He did his best to clear the salt out of his eyes and refocus on something familiar, but it only caused his eyes to burn more intensely, leaving him temporarily blind.
For a time, he believed in the mirage. To him, it was as real as his own cracked and calloused hands. Hands he used to crawl and grovel in worship to the mirage, feeling his way towards any form of relief. He swam in the ocean of dust. He drank from the scorpion fountain. He would pay any amount of fortune to make love to the desert floor.
There was nothing. Nothing that Jacob could experience that would help him find his way back home. Nothing was a mirage. The mirage was nothing. But Jacob was something, someone, even though he was lost in the desert.
Who would rescue Jacob from the desert; from his desert? The mirage of lights was stripped bare, revealing the sin of deception. Who would rescue Jacob from the desert of his deception?
You love your scandalous images Tom. And I love that you love them. The scorpion fountain and the desert love making are great.
This line stuck out to me, “But Jacob was something,” although I’m not sure why. Perhaps the affirmation of his identity, even in the midst of the identity crushing desert.
It seems there’s something of a allegory you’re making here. I think with allegories, at least in modern fiction, the key is to make it work well on its own. For example, I just read the book House by Peretti and Dekker. The allegory was that the haunted house was their soul. It was kind of cheezy, but it worked because regardless of the “deeper meaning,” the house was freaking haunted and trying to kill them. Taste wise, I think it’s best to begin and end by playing by the allegories terms, and then only “show your hand” somewhere in the middle, and subtly.
I figure if I write about scandalous images, hopefully I won’t become one.
Yes, I was attempting allegory, but I wasn’t sure how to really do so in a 15 minute practice. And as you know subtlety is not me strongest attribute. But I did try and hint at allegory without saying out right what the desert mirage represented.
My sentence:
” The mirage of lights was stripped bare, revealing the sin of deception.”
was an attempt to give a cryptic hint as to what the mirage represented. Can you guess? Is this too cheezy?
Ha, I think that’s a worthwhile practice to have.
I think you had the right idea. I wouldn’t use the word “sin,” though. As soon as you do, you give it away. Besides, it’s too general. You want to be more precise with your words. So what is his “sin of deception”? What is he really struggling with?
I agree with the “sin” comment, but I think I got caught up in trying too hard to be cryptic in that sentence. The mirage was Las Vegas, therefore i used the words “Lights,” “Strip,” and “Sin” (as in Sin City). I know, lamo.
Ahhh I get it. Very nice, Tom! Love the tricky allusion. Very clever
The Desert
There was nothing. Nothing that Jacob could see that could help him find his way back. The horizon was a mirage of worthless bits of stone and sand being held together in a whirlwind of fire and heat. He did his best to clear the salt out of his eyes and refocus on something familiar, but it only caused his eyes to burn more intensely, leaving him temporarily blind.
For a time, he believed in the mirage. To him, it was as real as his own cracked and calloused hands. Hands he used to crawl and grovel in worship to the mirage, feeling his way towards any form of relief. He swam in the ocean of dust. He drank from the scorpion fountain. He would pay any amount of fortune to make love to the desert floor.
There was nothing. Nothing that Jacob could experience that would help him find his way back home. Nothing was a mirage. The mirage was nothing. But Jacob was something, someone, even though he was lost in the desert.
Who would rescue Jacob from the desert; from his desert? The mirage of lights was stripped bare, revealing the sin of deception. Who would rescue Jacob from the desert of his deception?
You love your scandalous images Tom. And I love that you love them. The scorpion fountain and the desert love making are great.
This line stuck out to me, “But Jacob was something,” although I’m not sure why. Perhaps the affirmation of his identity, even in the midst of the identity crushing desert.
It seems there’s something of a allegory you’re making here. I think with allegories, at least in modern fiction, the key is to make it work well on its own. For example, I just read the book House by Peretti and Dekker. The allegory was that the haunted house was their soul. It was kind of cheezy, but it worked because regardless of the “deeper meaning,” the house was freaking haunted and trying to kill them. Taste wise, I think it’s best to begin and end by playing by the allegories terms, and then only “show your hand” somewhere in the middle, and subtly.
I figure if I write about scandalous images, hopefully I won’t become one.
Yes, I was attempting allegory, but I wasn’t sure how to really do so in a 15 minute practice. And as you know subtlety is not me strongest attribute. But I did try and hint at allegory without saying out right what the desert mirage represented.
My sentence:
” The mirage of lights was stripped bare, revealing the sin of deception.”
was an attempt to give a cryptic hint as to what the mirage represented. Can you guess? Is this too cheezy?
Ha, I think that’s a worthwhile practice to have.
I think you had the right idea. I wouldn’t use the word “sin,” though. As soon as you do, you give it away. Besides, it’s too general. You want to be more precise with your words. So what is his “sin of deception”? What is he really struggling with?
I agree with the “sin” comment, but I think I got caught up in trying too hard to be cryptic in that sentence. The mirage was Las Vegas, therefore i used the words “Lights,” “Strip,” and “Sin” (as in Sin City). I know, lamo.
Ahhh I get it. Very nice, Tom! Love the tricky allusion. Very clever
Strangely enough, this turned into a fiction about a guy doing one of those sand marathon events.
The Marathon
Heat. The damned heat was far too much for me already, and I’d only been out there for a day. Somebody told me to take water, and I’d never been gladder to have taken advice from another human being. (I usually only listen to my own advice, and that leads me precisely nowhere, or to certain death, in a desert environment with insufficient water.) I’m not exactly sure what drove me to go there, but I know now that I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
There’s nothing much except a vast expanse of sand, but that means one thing which is vital in today’s technology obsessed world- you can’t get an iPhone signal…not so good for when you need to contact somebody, but when people want to contact you and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of it, it’s a sheer delight. Solitude is also prevalent out there, because not too many people are daft enough to parade around in 100+ degrees heat in the middle of the day. I really just wanted to do it to say that I’d done it.
It’s a lame reason, I know, but I don’t have a bucket list to put such things on, because thinking of my own ultimate demise does little but depress me in the end…no pun intended. A friend had originally asked me to accompany her on this journey into the Sahara for one of those sand marathons…I had no idea what I was getting myself into, and should have baulked at the first opportunity. However, I remained right up for it until the moment when she messaged me on Facebook a week before to complain that she had just come down with a violent bug, and probably wouldn’t be fit for any kind of marathon for some time….the most running that she’d be doing between her bed and the lavatory. Having been left in the lurch, and it being too late to cancel flights, and so on, I felt I had to do it anyway.
So, that brings me to the reason why I was in the Sahara in the blazing heat. Too hot, but then, a desert is never going to be temperate, never going to be tolerable for somebody who doesn’t go to Spain for fear of turning into a lobster.
Sand on all sides, I begin to run, finding it surprisingly easy going, but for the heat which is already starting to get to me- more water is in order, and I have luckily packed enough to last more than a month on the advice of another wise friend who had never set foot in a desert, but strangely enough had the common sense and presence of mind to know that I had to take a month’s worth of water to avoid the eventuality of becoming hopelessly lost in the desert and dying of dehydration. (I have to add that said friend had asked me a week before my trip whether I would perform the duties of the best man at his wedding- I suppose he had a vested interest in my being alive for the occasion, as a zombie best man would certainly raise a few eyebrows.)
The sand marathon idea hadn’t appealed to me at all at first, but once I got into the rhythm of the training, going to my local beach at least once a week to run around the dunes, it began to suit me. I’ve never been a particularly fit individual, but I’m starting to feel much more so in the wake of doing the sand marathon, and seem to have raised a fair bit of money for charity too, which is always good. I’m not going to say I’d do it again, though, because it would surely take it out of me, and I can’t guarantee that I would survive a second attempt. Still, my friend’s mistake in thinking that she could do it was my gain- I now know that I’m capable of a lot more than I would think myself so. It’s been a liberating process to train for this and eventually end up doing it- it’s an experience I would wholeheartedly recommend if you feel that you could do it. Sand marathons really aren’t for everybody, though- my former self can attest to that!
Hi Shady! Thanks for practicing.
First of all, you wrote this in 15 minutes?! Dear Lord, good sir, you write fast. My post is only about 200 words and it took more than 30 minutes (yes, I cheat)!
I like the idea of this. It’s definitely an interesting concept especially because it’s fiction, but you give so many convincing details. However, this piece itself feels more like a brainstorm. Which is fine. It is practice, after all. To turn this into a story, you’d have to resist your urge to delve into backstory. All but the first two sentences are backstory here. Which is, again, fine. When you’re writing something new, I think you have to begin to lay the foundation for the story by just exploring it from every side, letting your mind wander into it. Then you can stop, step out of brainstorm mode, and write a scene, or a set of scenes, that eventually becomes your story.
Strangely enough, this turned into a fiction about a guy doing one of those sand marathon events.
The Marathon
Heat. The damned heat was far too much for me already, and I’d only been out there for a day. Somebody told me to take water, and I’d never been gladder to have taken advice from another human being. (I usually only listen to my own advice, and that leads me precisely nowhere, or to certain death, in a desert environment with insufficient water.) I’m not exactly sure what drove me to go there, but I know now that I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
There’s nothing much except a vast expanse of sand, but that means one thing which is vital in today’s technology obsessed world- you can’t get an iPhone signal…not so good for when you need to contact somebody, but when people want to contact you and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of it, it’s a sheer delight. Solitude is also prevalent out there, because not too many people are daft enough to parade around in 100+ degrees heat in the middle of the day. I really just wanted to do it to say that I’d done it.
It’s a lame reason, I know, but I don’t have a bucket list to put such things on, because thinking of my own ultimate demise does little but depress me in the end…no pun intended. A friend had originally asked me to accompany her on this journey into the Sahara for one of those sand marathons…I had no idea what I was getting myself into, and should have baulked at the first opportunity. However, I remained right up for it until the moment when she messaged me on Facebook a week before to complain that she had just come down with a violent bug, and probably wouldn’t be fit for any kind of marathon for some time….the most running that she’d be doing between her bed and the lavatory. Having been left in the lurch, and it being too late to cancel flights, and so on, I felt I had to do it anyway.
So, that brings me to the reason why I was in the Sahara in the blazing heat. Too hot, but then, a desert is never going to be temperate, never going to be tolerable for somebody who doesn’t go to Spain for fear of turning into a lobster.
Sand on all sides, I begin to run, finding it surprisingly easy going, but for the heat which is already starting to get to me- more water is in order, and I have luckily packed enough to last more than a month on the advice of another wise friend who had never set foot in a desert, but strangely enough had the common sense and presence of mind to know that I had to take a month’s worth of water to avoid the eventuality of becoming hopelessly lost in the desert and dying of dehydration. (I have to add that said friend had asked me a week before my trip whether I would perform the duties of the best man at his wedding- I suppose he had a vested interest in my being alive for the occasion, as a zombie best man would certainly raise a few eyebrows.)
The sand marathon idea hadn’t appealed to me at all at first, but once I got into the rhythm of the training, going to my local beach at least once a week to run around the dunes, it began to suit me. I’ve never been a particularly fit individual, but I’m starting to feel much more so in the wake of doing the sand marathon, and seem to have raised a fair bit of money for charity too, which is always good. I’m not going to say I’d do it again, though, because it would surely take it out of me, and I can’t guarantee that I would survive a second attempt. Still, my friend’s mistake in thinking that she could do it was my gain- I now know that I’m capable of a lot more than I would think myself so. It’s been a liberating process to train for this and eventually end up doing it- it’s an experience I would wholeheartedly recommend if you feel that you could do it. Sand marathons really aren’t for everybody, though- my former self can attest to that!
Hi Shady! Thanks for practicing.
First of all, you wrote this in 15 minutes?! Dear Lord, good sir, you write fast. My post is only about 200 words and it took more than 30 minutes (yes, I cheat)!
I like the idea of this. It’s definitely an interesting concept especially because it’s fiction, but you give so many convincing details. However, this piece itself feels more like a brainstorm. Which is fine. It is practice, after all. To turn this into a story, you’d have to resist your urge to delve into backstory. All but the first two sentences are backstory here. Which is, again, fine. When you’re writing something new, I think you have to begin to lay the foundation for the story by just exploring it from every side, letting your mind wander into it. Then you can stop, step out of brainstorm mode, and write a scene, or a set of scenes, that eventually becomes your story.
Sweat dripped from every pore. The scorching sun made the perspiration evaporate as it came from my body. How long had I been walking around? Had it been hours or days? My feet felt like they had been lit on fire. My shoes were worthless. My body had not become accustomed to this torture.
No signs of life were to be found; would I soon be like my surroundings? My legs became rubber. My balance left me. My body refused to support me or go any further.
“It won’t be that bad once you pass out,” my mind told me.
I refused to listen. I knew if I hit the ground, I was a goner.
I kept inching forward with my blistered feet.
“Every inch I move I’m closer to safety,” I thought.
I noticed something unique in the distance. This shape did not remotely fit the desolate landscape.
“What could it be?” my exhausted brain thought.
I moved forward. The object became clearer.
“Could that be a tree?” I thought. No way. That doesn’t make any sense.
It looked like a tree. It was unmistakable.
I threw my body forward with every last ounce of energy I had. I stumbled forward and hit the hellish ground. My body was on fire. My lungs could not breathe the morbidly hot air. I passed out and drifted asleep.
Ouch. Poor guy.
I guess the question is, was it a mirage or not? And we’re left not knowing, but having a pretty good idea that he’s about to die. I wonder if you could heighten the suspense somehow by making it more ambiguous whether he really made it to the shade or not?
One thing you might pay attention to is voice, particularly when you’re writing in first person. So for example, you say
“I noticed something unique in the distance. This shape did not remotely fit the desolate landscape. ”
Would someone dying from dehydration and heat exhaustion use the word “remotely” or “desolately”? No probably not. And so your word choice and the tone of your piece can either separate your reader from the character’s situation or bring him closer.
You might say, “What is that? That thing in the distance? Could it be a tree? Could it be an oasis? Oh God please… let it be water. Let it be shade.”
Or something. I’m not very good at this so I avoid it altogether by writing in third person and creating a lot of detachment so the narrator watches along kind of pitilessly.
Interesting… I think that’s a great point about voice in the first person. I wasn’t sure exactly how to make it more ambiguous whether he really made it to the shade or not. Part of me wanted to have the guy wake up and it was just a dream. He had just fallen asleep on the beach.
It’s fun to think like this…to put yourself in a completely different place and to think like a character (or you) would think in a given situation.
Thanks for all of the feedback to think about. I feel like I’m ready to give it another shot..and I might just do that here in the comments. 🙂
Do it, man.
I would suggest avoiding the “just a dream” thing. It’s a little gimicky and cliched. Although you might be able to spice it up with some creativity.
It is fun. You’re right 🙂
Take 2!
Sweat dripped f rom every pore. The scorching sun made the perspiration evaporate as it came from my body. How long had I been walking around? Had it been hours or days? My feet felt like they had been lit on fire. My shoes were worthless. My body had not become accustomed to this torture.
No signs of life were to be found; would I soon be like my surroundings? My legs became rubber. My balance left me. My body refused to support me. I could not go any further.
“Just lie down on the sand and rest a while,” my confused mind told me.
I refused to listen. I knew if I hit the ground, I was a goner.
I made my bloody, blistered feet move forward.
“Just another inch….one more…one more…. I’m gonna live. It can’t end this way. Just another inch,” I thought.
I noticed something was sticking out of the ground in the distance. “What is that? Please let it be a tree.. or cactus…. water…. water… water….” my exhausted brain thought.
I threw my body forward with the last ounce of energy inside. I tumbled and hit the hellish ground. My body was on fire. I could not breathe any more of the morbidly hot air. I passed out and drifted asleep.
Jim, good revisions. It’s cleaner now, smoother. Good job 🙂
I like open endings. To me though, this seems like part of a book, like I’m going to find out what happened. I’m also struck here by the cruelty of the desert. We had a sermon once in which the priest made a lot of the fact that in Job (I think it’s Job) there’s this aching for shelter from the sun. Anyway, he said it’s hard for us to understand how much shade meant to the desert dwellers of old and how “close” they were to the elements.
Marianne, I think you are right-its probably part of something bigger. I tend to write songs, blog posts, and kids stories normally; practice here/short stories etc. are definitely more challenging for me. I love writing them, but I agree I need to learn a lot about pacing. Then again, it is just practice here and I can always expand it later right. 🙂 Thanks for reading and commenting, I appreciate it!
Sweat dripped from every pore. The scorching sun made the perspiration evaporate as it came from my body. How long had I been walking around? Had it been hours or days? My feet felt like they had been lit on fire. My shoes were worthless. My body had not become accustomed to this torture.
No signs of life were to be found; would I soon be like my surroundings? My legs became rubber. My balance left me. My body refused to support me or go any further.
“It won’t be that bad once you pass out,” my mind told me.
I refused to listen. I knew if I hit the ground, I was a goner.
I kept inching forward with my blistered feet.
“Every inch I move I’m closer to safety,” I thought.
I noticed something unique in the distance. This shape did not remotely fit the desolate landscape.
“What could it be?” my exhausted brain thought.
I moved forward. The object became clearer.
“Could that be a tree?” I thought. No way. That doesn’t make any sense.
It looked like a tree. It was unmistakable.
I threw my body forward with every last ounce of energy I had. I stumbled forward and hit the hellish ground. My body was on fire. My lungs could not breathe the morbidly hot air. I passed out and drifted asleep.
Ouch. Poor guy.
I guess the question is, was it a mirage or not? And we’re left not knowing, but having a pretty good idea that he’s about to die. I wonder if you could heighten the suspense somehow by making it more ambiguous whether he really made it to the shade or not?
One thing you might pay attention to is voice, particularly when you’re writing in first person. So for example, you say
“I noticed something unique in the distance. This shape did not remotely fit the desolate landscape. ”
Would someone dying from dehydration and heat exhaustion use the word “remotely” or “desolately”? No probably not. And so your word choice and the tone of your piece can either separate your reader from the character’s situation or bring him closer.
You might say, “What is that? That thing in the distance? Could it be a tree? Could it be an oasis? Oh God please… let it be water. Let it be shade.”
Or something. I’m not very good at this so I avoid it altogether by writing in third person and creating a lot of detachment so the narrator watches along kind of pitilessly.
Interesting… I think that’s a great point about voice in the first person. I wasn’t sure exactly how to make it more ambiguous whether he really made it to the shade or not. Part of me wanted to have the guy wake up and it was just a dream. He had just fallen asleep on the beach.
It’s fun to think like this…to put yourself in a completely different place and to think like a character (or you) would think in a given situation.
Thanks for all of the feedback to think about. I feel like I’m ready to give it another shot..and I might just do that here in the comments. 🙂
Do it, man.
I would suggest avoiding the “just a dream” thing. It’s a little gimicky and cliched. Although you might be able to spice it up with some creativity.
It is fun. You’re right 🙂
Take 2!
Sweat dripped f rom every pore. The scorching sun made the perspiration evaporate as it came from my body. How long had I been walking around? Had it been hours or days? My feet felt like they had been lit on fire. My shoes were worthless. My body had not become accustomed to this torture.
No signs of life were to be found; would I soon be like my surroundings? My legs became rubber. My balance left me. My body refused to support me. I could not go any further.
“Just lie down on the sand and rest a while,” my confused mind told me.
I refused to listen. I knew if I hit the ground, I was a goner.
I made my bloody, blistered feet move forward.
“Just another inch….one more…one more…. I’m gonna live. It can’t end this way. Just another inch,” I thought.
I noticed something was sticking out of the ground in the distance. “What is that? Please let it be a tree.. or cactus…. water…. water… water….” my exhausted brain thought.
I threw my body forward with the last ounce of energy inside. I tumbled and hit the hellish ground. My body was on fire. I could not breathe any more of the morbidly hot air. I passed out and drifted asleep.
Jim, good revisions. It’s cleaner now, smoother. Good job 🙂
I like open endings. To me though, this seems like part of a book, like I’m going to find out what happened. I’m also struck here by the cruelty of the desert. We had a sermon once in which the priest made a lot of the fact that in Job (I think it’s Job) there’s this aching for shelter from the sun. Anyway, he said it’s hard for us to understand how much shade meant to the desert dwellers of old and how “close” they were to the elements.
Marianne, I think you are right-its probably part of something bigger. I tend to write songs, blog posts, and kids stories normally; practice here/short stories etc. are definitely more challenging for me. I love writing them, but I agree I need to learn a lot about pacing. Then again, it is just practice here and I can always expand it later right. 🙂 Thanks for reading and commenting, I appreciate it!
This feeling struck Elisha. Taking note of the desert of dark and crack stone. She is not felling them. She only luxuriate the blue sky. The lights are dotting the whole landscapes. She struggles to wipe the broken heart stone.
“I will fly away to the lights,” She insisted
The stones feel breaking heart.
“You can’t just ignored me,” The stones begging.
Elisha smiles. She only heard a cryptic sound. She never turns away. Flying is only the options.
The stones keep all inside. The stone fall apart. Not even could dry the tears. Lights always make it fall apart.
This is quite poetic, Lida.
Beautiful line here, “‘I will fly away to the lights,’ She insisted.” That sentence feels something like hope.
And the idea that stones could beg, wonderful.
The last paragraph is a little difficult to understand, but they are breathtaking even so. I hope you will turn this into a poem and try to publish it somewhere. I think it could do very well.
This is like a poem to me also. The stone must be something hard and sad but the lift “makes it fall apart”.
This feeling struck Elisha. Taking note of the desert of dark and crack stone. She is not felling them. She only luxuriate the blue sky. The lights are dotting the whole landscapes. She struggles to wipe the broken heart stone.
“I will fly away to the lights,” She insisted
The stones feel breaking heart.
“You can’t just ignored me,” The stones begging.
Elisha smiles. She only heard a cryptic sound. She never turns away. Flying is only the options.
The stones keep all inside. The stone fall apart. Not even could dry the tears. Lights always make it fall apart.
This is quite poetic, Lida.
Beautiful line here, “‘I will fly away to the lights,’ She insisted.” That sentence feels something like hope.
And the idea that stones could beg, wonderful.
The last paragraph is a little difficult to understand, but they are breathtaking even so. I hope you will turn this into a poem and try to publish it somewhere. I think it could do very well.
This is like a poem to me also. The stone must be something hard and sad but the lift “makes it fall apart”.
Wow, such interesting responses here! I like how everyone had a different dessert in mind, although mirages do seem to be a theme.
I love the idea in Lida’s piece about sadness and light being able to break stone. (Especially the last couple of lines)
When I think of the desert, I instantly picture West Texas, especially the Fort Davis area, because my family and I love to vacation there. This is my tribute to the place I love.
West Texas Sunrise
She walks barefoot through the course desert grass, and her feet are the only things connecting her to the ground. She looks up at the millions of tiny lights floating above her, and she is suddenly reminded of those maps that show the world at night, man made milky ways stretching across darkened countries. She walks, but her eyes have not yet adjusted to the darkness. Sharp things jab at her ankles. She hopes they are not scorpions or tiny animal teeth. A chill runs up her spine. The desert is cold at night.
Suddenly, there is a light in the east. It is faint at first, but it grows in intensity until the sky is smooth and pink like the inside of a shell, and the stars have all but disappeared. The light is different here. Maybe it is the air that makes it seem thinner, needing to be painted on in layers. As the sun comes up she turns around to retrace her steps. This is what she came for. The distant mountains alight in a hazy purple glow, majestic and other worldly. The illusion lasts only a few precious moments, before the rock faces become gray again. She walks westward, away from growing heat, this time careful not to upset any scorpions.
Thanks for reading and interacting with everyone’s practices, Laura 🙂
I love your first line. Excellent. Both vivid and emotional. I instantly was there with you, feeling that grass on the soles of my feet, smelling the desert night.
Love this long sentence, “It is faint at first, but it grows in intensity until the sky is smooth and pink like the inside of a shell, and the stars have all but disappeared.” And what a great analogy, the shell.
“The light is different here.” It reminded me of something I wrote a few years ago. You might like it:
http://joebunting.theworldrace.org/?filename=the-day-we-were-given-our-teams-our-family-part-3
It’s a beautiful piece, Laura. I wonder what prompted her to be out in the cold desert till sunrise?!
I think she was prompted to be out there just to see the sunrise. Everyone needs to see the sunrise over the desert, the ocean and the mountains at some point before they die. I loved how she turned west to escape the heat soon after. Great job Laura.
This reminds me almost of a painting by Monet (although I don’t think he painted deserts). I love the shell analogy too. And at the end I like how this beautiful vision is only there for a few moments, a short walk.
I read yours too Joe. Did you mean the one about the making a planet ball of hands and saying a grace? I love the idea of energy being in small yet powerful as a planet of hands and as big as the earth and sky.
Thanks for reading, Marianne. I actually meant this part,
“The clouds are higher here…”
But I felt pretty lucky after that little metaphor.
Wow, such interesting responses here! I like how everyone had a different dessert in mind, although mirages do seem to be a theme.
I love the idea in Lida’s piece about sadness and light being able to break stone. (Especially the last couple of lines)
When I think of the desert, I instantly picture West Texas, especially the Fort Davis area, because my family and I love to vacation there. This is my tribute to the place I love.
West Texas Sunrise
She walks barefoot through the course desert grass, and her feet are the only things connecting her to the ground. She looks up at the millions of tiny lights floating above her, and she is suddenly reminded of those maps that show the world at night, man made milky ways stretching across darkened countries. She walks, but her eyes have not yet adjusted to the darkness. Sharp things jab at her ankles. She hopes they are not scorpions or tiny animal teeth. A chill runs up her spine. The desert is cold at night.
Suddenly, there is a light in the east. It is faint at first, but it grows in intensity until the sky is smooth and pink like the inside of a shell, and the stars have all but disappeared. The light is different here. Maybe it is the air that makes it seem thinner, needing to be painted on in layers. As the sun comes up she turns around to retrace her steps. This is what she came for. The distant mountains alight in a hazy purple glow, majestic and other worldly. The illusion lasts only a few precious moments, before the rock faces become gray again. She walks westward, away from growing heat, this time careful not to upset any scorpions.
Thanks for reading and interacting with everyone’s practices, Laura 🙂
I love your first line. Excellent. Both vivid and emotional. I instantly was there with you, feeling that grass on the soles of my feet, smelling the desert night.
Love this long sentence, “It is faint at first, but it grows in intensity until the sky is smooth and pink like the inside of a shell, and the stars have all but disappeared.” And what a great analogy, the shell.
“The light is different here.” It reminded me of something I wrote a few years ago. You might like it:
http://joebunting.theworldrace.org/?filename=the-day-we-were-given-our-teams-our-family-part-3
It’s a beautiful piece, Laura. I wonder what prompted her to be out in the cold desert till sunrise?!
I think she was prompted to be out there just to see the sunrise. Everyone needs to see the sunrise over the desert, the ocean and the mountains at some point before they die. I loved how she turned west to escape the heat soon after. Great job Laura.
This reminds me almost of a painting by Monet (although I don’t think he painted deserts). I love the shell analogy too. And at the end I like how this beautiful vision is only there for a few moments, a short walk.
I read yours too Joe. Did you mean the one about the making a planet ball of hands and saying a grace? I love the idea of energy being in small yet powerful as a planet of hands and as big as the earth and sky.
Thanks for reading, Marianne. I actually meant this part,
“The clouds are higher here…”
But I felt pretty lucky after that little metaphor.
So many stars. Pick the two stars closest together that you can see, and there are at least ten more between them that you can’t.
There are still places in this world where electricity does not exist for miles – for hundreds of miles. And sitting in the barren desert mountains of Afghanistan, the sky electrified me. The sky is just littered with stars, and the Milky Way is a bright ribbon slicing it in two.
I was staring at the sky of Abraham. I felt incredibly humbled, and at the same time, boldly empowered in my ownership of the world.
Love this Jen. It’s so funny how the desert can either be a force of death or more beautiful than any work of art.
I love how you start this. “So many stars. Pick the two closest…” It feels both awed and analytical.
Your last sentence feels a bit weak, “I felt incredibly humbled, and at the same time, boldly empowered in my ownership of the world.” I like to end on a powerful image, not on my feelings. I think it empowers people to walk away with that image and form their own feelings.
But this sentence was wonderful, “The sky is just littered with stars, and the Milky Way is a bright ribbon slicing it in two,” especiall because of the two that came before it.
Thanks Jen!
Good point on the last sentence – thanks!
I love that you picked up “awed and analytical” from the first part because that’s exactly the feeling.
The “poor” unlit places of the world with their magnificent views of the heavens comes to me from this piece. I like “littered with stars” too.
Thanks, Marianne!
So many stars. Pick the two stars closest together that you can see, and there are at least ten more between them that you can’t.
There are still places in this world where electricity does not exist for miles – for hundreds of miles. And sitting in the barren desert mountains of Afghanistan, the sky electrified me. The sky is just littered with stars, and the Milky Way is a bright ribbon slicing it in two.
I was staring at the sky of Abraham. I felt incredibly humbled, and at the same time, boldly empowered in my ownership of the world.
Love this Jen. It’s so funny how the desert can either be a force of death or more beautiful than any work of art.
I love how you start this. “So many stars. Pick the two closest…” It feels both awed and analytical.
Your last sentence feels a bit weak, “I felt incredibly humbled, and at the same time, boldly empowered in my ownership of the world.” I like to end on a powerful image, not on my feelings. I think it empowers people to walk away with that image and form their own feelings.
But this sentence was wonderful, “The sky is just littered with stars, and the Milky Way is a bright ribbon slicing it in two,” especiall because of the two that came before it.
Thanks Jen!
Good point on the last sentence – thanks!
I love that you picked up “awed and analytical” from the first part because that’s exactly the feeling.
The “poor” unlit places of the world with their magnificent views of the heavens comes to me from this piece. I like “littered with stars” too.
Thanks, Marianne!
The dark was so complete so colorless that there was no vision. He could only feel, cold, stone, steps beneath his feet, and warm, gritty, wind on his face. He waited there, with no eyes, by the entrance to the pyramid, until a moon rose just behind the monument. The glowing yellow disk was sliced by the angle a wall that stood between his eyes and the horizon. He wondered how many had seen this exact sight, had waited like he.
The moon rose above the tip of the pyramid to form a globe that lit the desert below it. Onto that lonely stage came another player, an ambling beast, long-legged, shaggy and humped. It shambled along bobbing on the dunes, the sea of sand. He laughed aloud. The animal so visceral, so imperfect, so real, held a passenger.
She was why he waited. She was that woman whose reality lay somewhere between the bloodless drama of the desert stage and the woolly hauteur of the camel. She was Cleopatra Queen of the Nile.
I really like your writing Marianne. It’s so clean.
At first when I read this, “He could only feel, cold, stone, steps beneath his feet,” I was confused and thought you had made a mistake putting the comma after the “feel,” but then I wondered if you were doing it on purpose. If you did it intentionally, I kind of love it. It feels like trodding.
Ooo I got chills at the end. Nicely done.
Thank you Joe. I am looking at it again and see several things I want to change. I think a semi-colon might do well behind feel. I wanted the fact that he couldn’t see to be emphasized. I just love what you are doing here. I was really not going to write yesterday but i’ve committed myself to this and when I did sit down to work on it, I was happy again. It’s odd that we so often don’t want to take time for our “art”.
I don’t like a semicolon there. Maybe if you put a comma after steps as well, it would tip us off that you’re doing it on purpose and maintain your rhythm at the same time.
I’m glad you decided to write 🙂 Thanks for commenting on everyone else’s practice.
The dark was so complete so colorless that there was no vision. He could only feel, cold, stone, steps beneath his feet, and warm, gritty, wind on his face. He waited there, with no eyes, by the entrance to the pyramid, until a moon rose just behind the monument. The glowing yellow disk was sliced by the angle a wall that stood between his eyes and the horizon. He wondered how many had seen this exact sight, had waited like he.
The moon rose above the tip of the pyramid to form a globe that lit the desert below it. Onto that lonely stage came another player, an ambling beast, long-legged, shaggy and humped. It shambled along bobbing on the dunes, the sea of sand. He laughed aloud. The animal so visceral, so imperfect, so real, held a passenger.
She was why he waited. She was that woman whose reality lay somewhere between the bloodless drama of the desert stage and the woolly hauteur of the camel. She was Cleopatra Queen of the Nile.
I really like your writing Marianne. It’s so clean.
At first when I read this, “He could only feel, cold, stone, steps beneath his feet,” I was confused and thought you had made a mistake putting the comma after the “feel,” but then I wondered if you were doing it on purpose. If you did it intentionally, I kind of love it. It feels like trodding.
Ooo I got chills at the end. Nicely done.
Thank you Joe. I am looking at it again and see several things I want to change. I think a semi-colon might do well behind feel. I wanted the fact that he couldn’t see to be emphasized. I just love what you are doing here. I was really not going to write yesterday but i’ve committed myself to this and when I did sit down to work on it, I was happy again. It’s odd that we so often don’t want to take time for our “art”.
I don’t like a semicolon there. Maybe if you put a comma after steps as well, it would tip us off that you’re doing it on purpose and maintain your rhythm at the same time.
I’m glad you decided to write 🙂 Thanks for commenting on everyone else’s practice.
The air was cold. The stars bright
Which way to go? How to tell? Mountains to the west. Home back east. Ahead desert. Cacti lifted their arms to the silent sky, asking for relief. Relief from dryness. Parchedness.
She looked for relief from uncertainty. Where to go, whom to look for. Whom. Her eighth grade English teacher would have been proud. It was the only that stuck. What a time for the correct English to crop up.
No one to go back to. No one to go forward to. Maybe she would just lie down and watch the stars.
She kept walking, hearing the crunch of the sand and the roll of the grains as her feet lifted and landed. Forward toward the mountains. Toward snow and people. Toward tomorrow.
Tomorrow never cmes to you, you go to it. So, on to the hunt.
This is very punchy and emotive. Have you read Annie Proulx. She writes like you do here. Short abrupt sentences. Lots of fragments. You’d like her. Check out Shipping News. It won a Pulitzer.
I think the part in the middle about the English teacher is a bit distracting. It would probably work if it was a longer piece though.
I like this. I think you do a good job of being vivid and interesting. I’d like to see more pieces in this style.
The air was cold. The stars bright
Which way to go? How to tell? Mountains to the west. Home back east. Ahead desert. Cacti lifted their arms to the silent sky, asking for relief. Relief from dryness. Parchedness.
She looked for relief from uncertainty. Where to go, whom to look for. Whom. Her eighth grade English teacher would have been proud. It was the only that stuck. What a time for the correct English to crop up.
No one to go back to. No one to go forward to. Maybe she would just lie down and watch the stars.
She kept walking, hearing the crunch of the sand and the roll of the grains as her feet lifted and landed. Forward toward the mountains. Toward snow and people. Toward tomorrow.
Tomorrow never cmes to you, you go to it. So, on to the hunt.
This is very punchy and emotive. Have you read Annie Proulx. She writes like you do here. Short abrupt sentences. Lots of fragments. You’d like her. Check out Shipping News. It won a Pulitzer.
I think the part in the middle about the English teacher is a bit distracting. It would probably work if it was a longer piece though.
I like this. I think you do a good job of being vivid and interesting. I’d like to see more pieces in this style.
After the day’s sandstorm, the night held an eerie stillness. I slept at an oasis, a lake so large there were enough trees growing there to shield me from harsh sunlight. I was enraptured when I saw the blades of pond grass poking through the sands. Apparently, the roots of these plants can stretch far enough to reach a distant patch of water. Or maybe they’re all connected under a giant network of roots, pumping water under a scorching surface.
The early evening still held the day’s warmth. It was luxurious, sitting near fresh water and date trees while watching the desert’s white and gold carpet. Frogs came out of the water and licked up the mosquitoes. I walked carefully. I didn’t know where a poisonous frog, a snake or a tarantula could leap out from. Even a mosquito bite could kill.
I put down my rifle, and improvised a tent like I was used to. In any case, I had to sleep on the grass. Temperatures fall during the night, but a dusty post-sandstorm sky warms the whole area. Like the small creatures of the desert, I burrowed into a cover to sleep.