i recently decided to try to start writing creatively more often. mm...scratch the more often. more like try to start. anyway, i'll be posting personal works of creative writing occasionally here. feel free to leave criticism, praise, proposal of marriage, etc etc. photos may find their way here eventually as well.
hmm...if anyone manages to find their way over here, i think it would be cool if you guys could give me writing assignments or something in the comments. it could be a topic, a style, anything. well, maybe not anything. my poems are, well, a little lacking, and i probably won't be able to mimic any specific authors very well. but i could try if it really means a lot to you.
My Comments: i'll be starting out by posting old works for now, since i'm still taking class right now, and as a warmup and to gather general criticism of my writing style. i wrote this piece as an assignment in creative writing class in grade 11, the assignment being to emphasize the five senses as much as possible. obviously, a descriptive writing assignment.
Smooth, satin gloved hands passed down the translucent forest green bottle. A faded ecru handwritten label identified its contents. In the background, the gossips giggled and tittered under the colossal oak trees by the lane. Men, in their tenor and bass voices, discussed politics and baseball by the sweet sound of the fountain. Overhead, seagulls shrieked in harsh, shrill voices. All this sound, however, was reduced to a monotonous hum at the back of my consciousness as I watched the bottle slowly make its way towards me. My cold, clammy hands grasped the neck of the bottle desperately. Under my tenuous grip, the glass was cool, smooth and comfortingly solid. Grasping the polished stainless steel corkscrew on the table beside me, I opened the bottle. The bottle itself smelled musty after years of storage in the cellar, but the liquor it contained had a fresh, crisp, fruity scent that reminded me of autumn. When poured into two crystal flutes, the champagne looked as good as it smelled; a clear, rich molten gold that echoed the colour of the wedding band that had been placed on my ring finger mere hours before. A flash of silver caught my eye. I looked up, startled, and realized that what had caught my attention was a silver bow decorating a carefully wrapped present, sitting on top of the pile of gifts generously given earlier. The light pine table sagged under the combined weight of the presents. Carefully, I smoothed my ivory satin skirt; the fabric was smooth under the callused pads of my fingers, the tiny glass beads like pebbles on the smooth sand of a beach. We toasted, my new husband and I, and we downed the sparkling champagne. It seems to me that both colour and the sweet aroma of the champagne had well represented its taste; sharp on my tongue, a sharp burst of sweet flavour overwhelmed my tastebuds before the liquid slid down my throat. Later that night, standing at the seaside cliff, I flung the bottle out to sea. I lost sight of its trajectory in the pitch-black velvet sky, studded with diamond stars, until I spotted a faint splash of white sea foam. The sound was ripped away by the wind that was billowing the pearl coloured skirt around my bruised and beaten legs.