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Thursday Night Write

April 8, 2010

Time for Thursday Night Write! I fell in love with this week’s prompt on site and have a feeling there are lots of stories there…

And now for a rule refresher; give yourself no more than thirty minutes (don’t cheat!) to write something inspired by this image. Post 500 words or less of it for comment. Be sure to comment at least one other post as well.

I also want to say thank you to Mary at Kiss My Lit for interviewing me via Skype Tuesday. Take a look-see if you want to read my rambly, off-the-cuff answers (copied straight from our chat)!


31 Comments leave one →
  1. jessicatroxell permalink
    April 9, 2010 12:44 pm

    wait can we do it today i saw someone who do it today?:)

    • michellezinkbooks permalink*
      April 9, 2010 1:39 pm

      Of course, hon! You can play all the way up until Sunday night!


  2. jessicatroxell permalink
    April 9, 2010 12:43 pm

    ugh i missed it:( i was in anderson last nigh:(

  3. April 9, 2010 1:06 am

    Okay, here we go. 🙂


    Many would be surprised to learn that winter is not my favourite time of year. True, it is a very beautiful time of year, with all the snow and the ice and the skeletons of trees – and the little matter that I am winter itself.

    I might rule over the cold, but my love is of the in-between times, when everything comes back to life, or when the world paints itself in reds and oranges and golds. The tree I am standing beneath is a beautiful example of that, and it pains me that my presence causes the leaves to shrivel and fall faster than normal.

    When she comes the balance will be restored, and we can enjoy each other’s company beneath the shade of this tree.

    My favourite time of year is not winter – or summer – because it keeps me away from her. My sister, my best friend, the other half of me. Six months of the year we are apart, residing in ice palaces on mountains and in lush underground gardens on opposite sides of the world.

    But when everything begins to come into balance for those six other months – ah, that is what the humans would call heaven. Autumn and spring are the times when we can be together, as sisters should be.

    When neither winter or summer the seasons have sole control in a hemisphere, but share the planet, Winter and Summer the sisters can be reunited.

    And that makes autumn and spring my favourite times of year.

  4. April 8, 2010 11:32 pm

    Here! Enjoy and please comment~

    The forest that I had been so in love with since I was a child was burning. The world was ending, and it hurt me so, both physically and painfully. Not for my family, who had been killed in an accident years ago, but the trees that had become my family was burning. The crimson blood leaves that used to trail across my shoulders, that knew my life story almost more then myself, were burning, and the ropes that used to hold those loving leaves were now leaving trails of blisters and blackened skin as they burned.
    I could hear the screams, the sounds as the fire spread. The shamans had come to end our peaceful little world, and the people that lived in my village would pay for it. But I didn’t care for the people. I cared for these burning trees, and the way they had caressed me through my childhood, and into my teenage life. What I refused to admit was breaking my heart, but I kept walking, willing to burn with the rest of my family.
    The truth was this: I’m a shaman, whose identity element is of fire. The shamans had planted me into a foster family to get a spy from the inside. But I had still loved my parents, my younger brother, who had all died in this very same forest that was my family. And I was the one to start this fire.
    My flame that had started this fire.
    My flame that had started the end of my family’s lives.
    My flame that would burn me to my rightful death.
    Crimson tears found their way down my cheeks from my black eyes, making my deep red hair stick to my cheeks. The blistering and blackening skin were healing fast, and the heat didn’t affect me as severely as to a regular human it would, but the tears stayed, and my hair was being blown around with the oxygen that was dying in the wrath of this ugly fire.
    Up ahead I could see the mirror surface of the large lake that would be the end of the fire. It wouldn’t get past it, and the fire would die with my forest. I strode towards it, now determined to do an impossible thing. I grabbed one of the many buckets that were used to transfer water to the village and filled it up before throwing the water onto the black and crimson fire.
    “On this day of Hallow’s Eve, I wish to parish with my fire!” I cried, and pulled my element back into my body, something strictly prohibited in my kind. The fire came back into my body, and burned me from the inside out. I fell into the water, my screams the only sound in the ringing silence.

  5. April 8, 2010 8:56 pm

    ok, i whipped this up really quickly and i reeeally want to share something i wrote today during school, but i cant resist the prompts (dont know if its an oak, but it sounded good ) so ima just write both. Hope all is well with yall!! Any comments are welcome!

    Youthful Ignorance

    I miss the days
    of runnin’ free and wild,
    through the
    ever-growing-taller grass,
    slick and cool with dew,
    cooling my baking feet.

    my house, my “castle”,
    a giant oak
    my look out post.
    Fighting dragons
    and wizards –
    more like
    dragonflies and lizards.

    *SIGH* Oh, how
    I miss
    the youthful ignorance
    of the real world
    and the imagination
    I wish I
    still had, to escape it.

    For now
    I fight true monsters
    Bullies, bitches, skanks.

    From them
    is who
    I protect
    my friends.

    No imaginary
    castle under siege
    for me.

    Oh, the real world.
    How it burns,
    makes my stomache

    I wish
    I still had
    my youthful ignorance
    great imagination
    to escape this
    wretched real world
    One Day

    One day
    I will be in the sunrise.
    I will walk in streets of gold.

    One day
    When my shell is empty of soul,
    And my carcuss is in a 6foot hole,
    I will wait for you.

    Do please, take your time,
    For I am glad that I
    Took mine.
    There is no hurry,
    And don’t you cry.
    You can always see my smile
    In the rain or snow flurries.

    Because one day,
    I will feel no pain.
    I will always be happy.
    One day I will be in the sunset,
    Smiling down upon you,
    As I wait in streets of gold.

    • Aley S. permalink
      April 8, 2010 9:07 pm

      I love these. So beautiful, and they flow so well.

      I love how the first poem makes this transition from childhood, where you’re a knight or a princess or whatever and your biggest problem is defeating the enemy, to adolescence, when you have to fight a totally different kind of enemy, how life was so much easier when your greatest foe was an imaginary dragon.

      The second one for some reason reminds me of The Yellow Brick Road, and I mean that in a good way =] (esp. since Wizard of Oz used to be my fav movie LOL) It almost seems like it could be a really great acoustic song. Great job!

    • April 9, 2010 1:08 am

      I really liked the first poem for the most part, but I have to admit the *SIGH*, with the asterisks and everything, sort of threw me out of the poem there. I got what it was trying to do, but I can’t help but think there must be a smoother way of inserting that thought.

    • Rebekah permalink
      April 9, 2010 4:38 pm

      Wow, Meagan. Your poetry always makes me speechless. I love the top one, by the way. It’s so true….

  6. April 8, 2010 8:41 pm

    For two weeks in a row, I’ve been continuing on the same story. I’m not going to start from where I left off since it was a night scene and the prompt picture this week is in the day. So, I’m making a prologue. So, if you like this, go back and read my stuff from the past two weeks 🙂


    VENETIA (seventeen with long, brown hair, golden brown eyes, and a brown school girl’s clothes with torn stockings) sits under a gossamer, red leaved tree with a leather notebook in which she documents her thoughts. B.G.- a broad, yellow paneled house that converted to a school. Venetia looks out to the nearby trees and writes peacefully. SAFIA (seventeen with an olive complexion and dark, curly hair) enters and stands beside her.

    What on earth would possess you to come to school this early? Did you forget to finish your lessons?

    No. Things get so hectic living above my father’s law firm, so I like to come early and soak in the scenary. In the morning, there’s a certain grace and beauty that you cannot see in the city.

    But it must get frightfully lonely!

    I find the solitude more inspiring than all of the clamor spewed by our fellow students.

    They’re not all rambunctuous!

    Enter-a group of boys (varying between forteen to eighteen) run into the nearby field. They start to play a very noisy game of cricket.

    I beg to differ!

    Venetia stands up. After she does so, the ball lands on top of her notebook, sending her stuff tumbling into the leaves. ANDRICK (eighteen with dark, curly hair, green eyes, and wearing a slightly unbuttoned oxford, and relaxed brown pants) runs over to retrieve it.

    My apologies ladies!

    Usually, when one apoligizes, he or she intends to amend their ways. Somehow, I doubt this will be the last time this will happen.

    Yes, because it’s not the first time this has happened!

    Andrick is kidding, but Venetia looks annoyed.

    Well, here are your things. Good day!

    He runs back to his friends. As she reorganizes her things, she spots a golden chained, red jeweled amulet. At first glance, it is beautiful. Looking further, Venetia feels an eerie aura stemming from it.

  7. April 8, 2010 8:31 pm

    Five years ago….

    I danced under the tree trying to grab onto a branch. The town was blossoming into what might be the best spring yet. I jumped higher after I fiddled with my auburn braid that fell flat against my back and then leaped into the air, catching a hold of a branch. I hoisted myself up and smiled.

    Trees were my best friend. I could talk to them and they’d listen and respond . They never asked me to repeat myself because they weren’t listening or to shut up. This tree was probably the one I loved the most. Its bright red leaves smiled at me when I greeted them each morning before heading off to lessons and after I got back from them. Sure, other trees listened to me, but none responded in a way I could easily comprehend.

    “Oh, Cherry,” I sighed. I’d name the tree Cherry after its leaves. “Mother thinks I’m insane. She repeats over and over that trees cannot and will not talk,” I complained. “I feel like an outsider. Even though this town is filled to the sky with imagination, no one just seems to believe that everything talks in its own way,” I said.

    Cherry began to wave her branches that hung low to the ground.

    “You’re right. Maybe I should just live out here. After all, if I did, then I wouldn’t have to go to school and be called ‘Tree Freak’,” I sighed. “If only mother would let me. She’d go bonkers if I stayed outside after dark. If only I could spend one night under the moon with you,” I spoke wistfully.

    “Arthur is your friend too, though,” Cherry seemed to say.

    “Well, he is, but he calls me Tree Freak behind my back. I’ve heard him,” I responded. “You’re a truer friend.”

    “That means a lot, coming from you,” Cherry said.

    “I’m sure it does. I have to admit, I’m not the most polite girl in school,” I admitted and Cherry sounded like she laughed.

    I continued to sit there, in my tree, conversing with Cherry about life and school until the sun began to set.

    “I’m afraid I have to leave now, Cherry. Mother will be displeased if I’m late for dinner,” I said, jumping down to the grass and hugging the tree trunk. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

    The next morning, I skipped out of the house in my school uniform. It was a red and blue plaid skirt, a white blouse, and a red tie. I absolutely hated it, but at least I could wear flip-flops.

    “Cherry!?” I shrieked. My tree was gone. Tears streamed down my face.

    “It was just a tree, Lanae,” My father called, standing in the doorway. I spun around.

    “Just a tree? Her name was Cherry and she was my friend!” I yelled.

    “You need real friends,” My father responded calmly. “Cutting down the tree was for your own good.”

    “I hate you!” I screamed before running to my lessons like a good little girl.
    This kind of takes place before the piece I wrote for TNW two or three weeks ago.

  8. Corrine permalink
    April 8, 2010 8:29 pm

    Hi, this is a spoof of warriors. I didn’t know it was a prompt so the prompt is at the end. thanks

    My name is Wildshadow. I am a rogue. When I was young my mother died, killed by her own clan. That’s why I left. I was only 6 moons at the time. See I want to live in a peaceful world. With no twolegs or fighting. No monsters or Thunderpaths. All my old clan mates thought I was crazy and they said things like “You’re not a Warrior. You’re a Kittypet.” So I ran. I went to the Moonpool, and I asked Starclan for help. They gave me the gift of fire.
    From that day on I used it for safety. After that I knew it was impossible to have a peaceful world.
    I was a monster. All Warriors were scared of me. So I lived where I wanted and ate what I pleased.
    One day I find a camp, filled with young, strong, and curious Warriors. I had never seen such a thing. One golden tabby said “Who are you, I’m Mapleleaf.” So I was wondering what is so special about them that they live here. “My name is Wildshadow,” I said, I was shocked that they were so scared of me. They all ran for cover but not Mapleleaf. Then she said “I hear you have the power of fire. Is that true?” Before I answered I say a big oak with red leaves. I then knew it was leaf-fall.

    • April 8, 2010 9:10 pm

      This is really good 🙂 i like it alot!! Keep up the writing!

  9. April 8, 2010 7:44 pm

    i’m a roving thief.

    if you give me the chance, i’ll rip your heart out as forcefully and painfully as possible. i’ll leave you gasping, clutching your hand over those strawberry gashes as the blood soaks your clothing and pools around you. while you are on the brink of death, i’ll look over my shoulder, give you a wink and a toothy grin, then i’ll steal away into the night.

    and yet i’ve already sold your heart to the highest bidder. what, did you think i was going to keep it? oh no boy, i don’t believe in love. i don’t believe in the elation that is found when you find your soul mate, because it’s just not there. love is just a trick our minds play on us, and when we are truly happy, it rips everything away in the blink of an eye.

    i thought i had everything all figured out, but it seems that i knew nothing. just when i had fallen as deeply as possible in love, my prince turned evil and sent his dragon after me. i had just barely escaped on his horse and galloped into the forest. i remember that the trees were just changing colour, exchanging bright greens for soft reds, oranges and yellows. even though there was pain galore from that night, all i have to do is remember those trees, and some of the hurt disappates.

    but don’t worry, dearie. unlike him, i’ll be back for you. i need to take those pretty teeth of yours to make a necklace and matching earrings, and i do believe that your collarbone would make a gorgeous bracelet if it could be bent into the right shape. the ribbing in this corset would be made from your slender ribs, and who wouldn’t want their very own set of aquamarine eyeballs in a small glass bottle?

    oh darling, don’t look at me like that. you make me seem like a cannibal, but i’m just merely a teenage girl.

    • April 8, 2010 8:02 pm

      CREEPY!!! You’re gonna give me nightmares! You have great detail in this piece. And the last line is fantastic!

      The middle section where the narrator talks about her prince sort of brought me out of the scene a bit.

      Well done… AGAIN!

      • April 8, 2010 8:12 pm

        yeah, i had added in the middle scene about the prince after i finished writing this piece because i felt it was a little short. the original doesn’t include that paragraph at all. i was inspired when my mom was listening to some great big sea or some other such band, and it had a line similar to the first one ; i’m a roving thief. :]

      • Aley S. permalink
        April 8, 2010 8:17 pm

        I love how totally unexpected it is…I had this mental image in my head of something totally Dickensian, a kid roaming the streets, but instead you made it something completely differen- tragic and haunting and sad. I really enjoyed it =]

    • Corrine permalink
      April 8, 2010 8:30 pm

      Wow I really liked that. The first sentence was great!! it really makes me want to keep reading. Nice Job

      • April 8, 2010 9:07 pm

        hehe, thankyouu aley and corrine :]
        i wanted to try and write something like that, a street kid’s sotry or something, but it didn’t turn out. somehow, thief reminded me of stealing someone’s heart, and that turned into this story. it’s amazing what can happen when you’re only running on four hours of sleep lol.

      • April 8, 2010 9:08 pm

        Oh my gosh!! i love LOVE your letters!! Especially the last two sentences, just AWESOME!!! they made giggle a little 😉 You write with such great detail, i could picture her riding away into that forest of changing leaves, just beautiful!!

      • April 8, 2010 9:19 pm

        thankyouu meagan :]
        i feel as though i may just continue on writing letters, everyone seems to like them.

  10. April 8, 2010 6:59 pm

    I’m inside the groundskeeper’s home trying to listen to what he and my father are discussing, but I can’t focus on a single word. Staring out one of the windows in his office, thinking what it must be like to be a living thing amongst the dead is when I notice him by the tree. Although I know he wasn’t there a moment ago, he looks like he’s been there all his life, like he’s part of the tree, just another branch reaching out to something or someone we never see.

    There’s a tug at my soul, a need to run out there to him. I know what he is. I know who he is and that should stop me from wanting to see him. It’s not that he’s gorgeous and irresistible, making all the girls swoon because he doesn’t. His dark coffee colored hair could use a decent cut and an introduction to a hairbrush. I doubt anyone would notice him if they passed him by on the street. He’s the type that blends into the scenery, the background, the world.

    If it’s true that the eyes are the windows to the soul, then looking into the eyes of the soulless should be frightening. It should make a person run in the other direction. It should be the first clue that the boy who understands you better than anyone you’ve ever met, isn’t a boy at all.
    And yet, if they looked into his eyes as I have, they’d understand.

    He tells me his eyes are changing. He tells me that it happens to them all. He wants me to remember who he was before all of this. He wants me to hold onto the memories he won’t be able to keep once it happens. He wants me to tell his story when his eyes are no longer blue, but consumed by the blackness.

    My boots crush the leaves as I approach him, making him look up at me. His smile warms me while the pain in his eyes breaks my heart. I don’t know how to stop this from happening. The swirl of the blue and black in his eyes look like a child’s marble. I sit down in front of him. I take his hands in mine. They’re cold like the air that breathes through the red leaves of the tree we sit under.
    He is not soulless.
    He is not a dark creature of the night.
    He is not some romantic storybook hero.
    He is not alive.
    He is not dead.

    He is the in-between.
    He is my death.
    And his name is Grim.

    • Aley S. permalink
      April 8, 2010 7:11 pm

      I love the ending, the what “he is not”, then the move towards “he is” (I think there’s a name for this aside from repetition, but I’m staying away from anything school related LOL).

      It feels like a scene out of a novel or a movie. I love how the man isn’t a stereotypical handsome Disney prince, but rather ordinary, a little spooky and strange. I love the comparison to a child’s marble, the idea that he was “another branch reaching out to something or someone we never see”!

      Beautiful =]

    • April 8, 2010 9:04 pm

      I just love how you write!!!! your grim stories are just… WOW and AMAZING. just such vivid detail, i love how you speak of his eyes. Realy great 🙂

    • April 8, 2010 9:08 pm

      i love reading anything about grim, it drew me in so many weeks ago and then i was hooked. :]
      keep up the awesome writing!

  11. Aley S. permalink
    April 8, 2010 5:27 pm

    Ack! I’m four words over…

    Trees don’t talk, as a rule of nature. Young children pretend so, but it’s their imagination that responds. Sometimes an old man, in his loneliness, may turn to a nearby sapling and start railing about politics, but of course the dear has nothing better to do.
    It seems unfair that nature cannot respond, to protest or even to hold conversation during afternoon tea. When I was young, I stumped my nanny by asking her why God did not give all things the the ability of speech. She’d sat there, wrinkly eyes squinting at me.
    “Because it isn’t what God wanted!” she had barked. I was young then, nowhere near being a lady. Nowhere near meeting my family’s expectations.
    What would the tree say? Probably it would talk your ear off about the War of the Roses, when really there was more than one, and they certainly weren’t lovely at all. Maybe a young girl read it Jane Austen on warm evenings in the middle of May. I can imagine it laughing about the young boys who liked to swing through its trunks like the primates of Africa.
    So, needless to say, I felt obliged to carry on a tradition of talking to the tree. I probably looked like a great fool, particularly to the Hudson boys across the way, but I did it anyway.
    I explained my family- lawyers, my father with his strange affinity for old teacups. I broke one once, and when my mother brought out the paddle he held out is hand and simply stared at me, the most sullen look in his eyes- it was even worse than a beating.
    As I grew older, I started climbing the tree’s great arms and reading Oscar Wilde aloud so that it may hear me. We gawked at the doings of Dorian Gray, and every now and then I would tell the tree about how my mother believed Wilde was a scoundrel and that decent people of England have no business reading his claptrap. Father was too busy with his legal cases and teacups to care one way or the other.
    I conversed about my betrothed, a young man named Charleton Blarestone. He was kind, I suppose, but a bore. I showed him the tree once, and as I scrambled up the branches I heard him cry out. I then turned back to him, holding out a hand. But he had glowered at me and stood there, vehement. So I left the tree. And in doing so, I left my childhood behind.
    Perhaps this is why God did not give the rest of his Garden the ability to speak. He knew it was dangerous. He knew that, if a tree could talk, young girls would sooner stay enclosed in their branches than go off and marry men, and boys would stay savages over becoming bankers or lawyers or politicians. We all must grow up and abandon our imaginations, abandon the idea that the words I whispered to the trees were ever even heard.

    • April 8, 2010 6:10 pm

      Wow! That was beautiful. You painted such a vivid and honest picture that I felt like the girl in the tree and not outsider looking in.

      I love these lines: Trees don’t talk, as a rule of nature. Young children pretend so, but it’s their imagination that responds.

      So I left the tree. And in doing so, I left my childhood behind.

      And the entire last paragraph. 😉

      Nicely done.

      • Aley S. permalink
        April 8, 2010 6:54 pm

        Thanks Danielle! =D

    • April 8, 2010 9:00 pm

      Wow, i truely LOVE this!!! it is absolutely amazing and it feels so… true! Especially the last paragraph. Just amazing.

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