If anyone knows any good cures for writer's block, I will pay you in baked goods.
There is a moment, a silent moment, and it hangs in the air between them like the rapidly descending night of a dark December, like a blanket, water-soaked, straddling a clothesline or a tree branch.
One doesn’t dare break it; holds breath, crosses fingers behind back, looks over Two’s shoulder, at Two’s feet, at a spot above Two’s head, suspends all thought and simply waits.
Two glances to the side, glances at One, glances, confusedly, down at slightly dishevelled shirt, glances at One again, and wonders what the tension is.
Seconds pass, and One’s face is turning a peculiar shade of blue and Two is beginning to worry about health and safety and sanity, and still the moment lingers in the way that rich and musky perfume applied too liberally leaves a trace of itself long after the wearer leaves.
Two considers the gap between their fingertips, considers a brush of hand on hand to see if One will wake from this comatose state, to see if One needs help at all. One considers the gap between their fingertips, considers a brush of hand on hand and nearly faints imagining the touch and the delicious goosebumps bound to spring up in its aftermath.
The silence is almost painful, now, suffocating, as if the blanket had been thrust over top of them and the wet folds had trapped them and stifled every breath, sucking up every last drop of oxygen as it weighed its oppressive folds over lids and lips and nostrils.
One takes a shaky, gasping breath to test lungs, and is shocked by how loud it sounds. Jumps a little, eyes wider than the night sky and as full of starshine, and lets out an awkward, reluctant burst of laughter, shattering the silence into shards of inky glass that threaten to cut as they fall.
4 comments:
I approve greatly. My only moment of twinginess is the following:
"...and it hangs in the air between them like the rapidly descending night of a dark December, like a blanket, water-soaked, straddling a clothesline or a tree branch."
Two entirely different images. One is a rapidly falling night the other is a cloth. If it were just night, then that might work, but you've given the reader a sense of time here that breaks the suite... but apart from that, wonderful.
And as for writer's block--mine usually evaporates about eight hours into Tuesday.
http://marg09.wordpress.com/2010/01/19/ten-tips-for-writers-block/
This held such a wonderful tension all throughout! I actually held my breath all the way through and when it shattered at the end I realized how oxygen deprived my brain was and had to read it again :P
I, unlike Bernard, thought that the opening image was the most exquisite. For some reason, I thought that it was very un-Jess-like, but in a good way, as in a you-are-surpassing-yourself-to-be-a-better-writer-and-evolving way! I think because they were each such distinct images, and melding them together gave the blanket image not only a suffocating feel, but an icy, frosted, clammy sensation as well, adding so much beautiful tone to the piece. The water-soaked blanket in itself was wonderful because it really gave the sense of just weighing everything down to an awful uncomfortable level. All the images in this piece were beautiful, but that was my favourite.
As for the One and Two - I like it, but I think the idea could still be pushed. Right now I am a little uncertain about it. If you want to use such generic terms to describe them, I would suggest that you could make them character-specific in order to identify them and flesh them out. I think having them more "alive" would add a lot to the piece and make it even stronger. That and perhaps a reason for the silence (maybe I'm just asking for too much here :P). I just felt a little like at the end the silence goes away, but I still wasn't sure why it had been there to begin with, so I thought the ending felt a bit unfinished. Actually I think the reason for the silence is even more important than the characters.
Anyway, it had beautiful visuals and sensory imagery! You have such a way with words :)
As for writer's block, it always helps me to get out of the academia mode - whether that be by reading some stuff for pleasure (for me, poetry's done it lately), listening to some new music, watching an artsy film or TV show, or looking up artists and poets. My creative writing teachers give us prompts - my one for prose fiction last week was find a song title and write a short story about it, which was great. I've done it before and honestly it's the best. You have endless possibilities :) my one for this week is to choose a random sentence in a novel or something and do a 15 minute freewrite, never stopping writing even if it doesn't make sense, and then afterwards review it for sentences that you like or that surprise you and then try and work those sentences into a new piece. If you want some poetry prompts, I could give you some, but I don't know how down with that you'd be.
Oh and I have to go to an art exhibit for my poetry class so if you want to get out and be inspired, you may join me!! We have to look at sculpture :)
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