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[lumpenproletariat]

I dredged this up while searching, and thought I'd put it here for you to read...written for the category of highly descriptive writing...

 

 

As I removed myself from the plush leather seat, the sun faded peach color reminded me of an early evening sunset. I tilted my head curiously at the much worn seam that ran along the side of the seat, and I trailed my hand over it, it felt new, but my other senses belied my soft touch, as I could tell it was merely past its prime.

 

My firm, protective rubber sole made no noise as it touched the sealed smoothness of the sidewalk, and yet, in stark contrast when I moved onto the pebble laid path, my first step on the church properties, the crunch underneath my shoe reminded me of childhood car rides on gravel roads. The lush open scenery, being free of the cities harsh cramped reality. Then, the next crunch brought me back to that reality, and I continued my short journey to the front of the church.

 

It was almost as if I smelt something acrid in the air, and that pulled my head up, but that was inconsequential, as I still did look to my right, and I saw the church cemetery. It barely registered in my head that the repetitive crunch of steps had stopped, as I stood frozen, looking, pondering about the long gone. The air above the tombstones seemed to thicken, and seem deeply darker somehow. The spirits of people, only left to be remembered, it was as if they there, to see why all these living people were gathered. I forced myself to cut the hypnotic stare with a definite blink, and swung my head the other way. I was taken aback. Before me, in what seemed a perfect paradise, were the church gardens. I did notice that the immaculately green grass was unspoiled by weeds, and each pansy, pagonia and perfect lily were flat white, as if they had been synchronised for the wedding. The named flowers were dotted along the edge of the grass, leaving a sizeable flat area for no predestined use. However, going against that fate, the younger delegates of the wedding had turned to playing on this verdant grass.

 

As they played without care, the dresses and suits caught my eye. They seemed out of place on children, too big for bodies that are too small. So instead I looked to the people filing out of cars behind me, and those that were assembling in front of me. The suits looked fresh and crisp, like how the air smells early on a cloudless morning. They made my eyes my cold, and new, like the first deep breath of morning air. I knew those suits only came out on special occasions, I knew because my suit rarely left its pristine plastic covering too. I grasped the collar of the suit in fist, and the velvet seemed to crush below grip, just as a fallen autumn leave would. I pulled the soft fabric up to my nose and inhaled, the smell of washing power infiltrated my nose, definitely a barely used suit I thought to myself. Opposite to this, the bridesmaid dresses seemed to… fit in place somehow. They looked as if they could always be worn, and had always been worn. They did not have the harsh crispness of the popular black and white suit, but the refreshing purple was neither old nor soft, it was perfect harmony.

 

I took more steps forward while thinking about clothing, but before much time had passed I was forced to look up again to check my bearings. Before I knew it, I was nodding in appreciation at the huge heavyset wooden doors. The carvings on each were as lifelike as the young man standing next to me. The large cross, that would only be complete if both doors were fully shut, flooded my mind with old memories of Sunday school, and church sermons. I passed through the doorframe, easily twice as high as myself at its highest point, and as I turned to look back, I also looked up. I saw what I had failed to notice from outside – a huge stained glass window. It pictured a huge large-than-life saint, my Sunday school memories too poor to put a name to a face. I circled my gaze clockwise, and was greeted by a plentitude of more figures, each immortally cast in glass, until I reached the predominant window, that of the picture of Christ above and back from the altar. That particular window was a symphony of colors, and looking at it made me feel different somehow, more vulnerable, as fragile as glass.

 

People were beginning to find their seat numbers, and sitting, all expertly choreographed weeks before so there would be no empty wooden seats, barring emergencies. With the silent final rush of people coming though the doors, I instinctively switched back to thinking about the looming few hours, the proverbial butterflies were merciless in their destruction of my stomach as I made haste up the isle. I didn’t even have time to notice the hardwood floor, except to think the lush varnished colour indicated Kauri – meaning this was a very old church in relative terms. I quickly offered greetings and thanks to my close friends and family that were at the altar with me, and I exchanged a nervous glance with my best man, having it returned in kind did nothing to help my woeful butterflies. What seemed like suddenly, the bride music started playing, its soft chorus seemed to lift my feelings, the familiar tune making me more relaxed. I couldn’t help but smile.

 

 

I got 11/20 for being too descriptive...go figure <_<

[Peredhil]

Too descriptive???

 

I think this ROCKS!

[Brute]

A most excellent post, Lumpy! Thanks for sharing with us. For what it's worth, I think yer teach is crazy.

[Gyrfalcon]

...

 

Someone have that teacher explain to me how you can *lose* so many points for being descriptive? As for being 'too descriptive'? I think it's great as it is- all the description helps you see the cemetary and those arriving, smell the air, hear the hushed silence as they enter the church...

 

I think your teacher is silly. ;P

[Archaneus]

I am shocked at the stupiddity of that teacher, wait a minute, aren't most teachers just strange individuals anyway? ~shrug~ This was very good.

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Let's not be too hard on the teacher because he, or she, makes a good point.

 

This is a very promising piece of writing with a number of very fine descriptive touches. In more than a few places, however, the the description has an "over the top" feel about it as if the writer is trying too hard. Specifically, the use of adjectives and adverbs, which are in themselves weak words, frequently has a cluttered feel about it. This is a common and entirely natural thing when the heartbeat of a bit of prose is a very fine attention to detail. In fact, it is a rather good problem to have and it is also one that it is rather simple to solve with a bit of attentive rewriting. This is a discipline that every writer needs to learn, and needs to keep re-learning -- I struggle with it quite a bit as well.

 

Reading the piece I felt that it had the makings of a 20 out of 20 and was frustrated to see that it did not quite get there -- parts of it are simply striking. If the only feedback you received was a low grade and the vague comment of it being too descriptive, that is a shame because with a little work this could be something very good.

 

Let me reiterate: This is a work of real talent, Lumpen. It's also a piece of writing that needs to be worked on a bit so that the talent which produced it can fully express itself.

[lumpenproletariat]

I agree with you first paragraph Cyril , it did go over the top in places, but, it was at the urgence of the teacher that I was doing that

 

Thank you immensly for the honest reply though

[The Big Pointy One]

Whether it's too descriptive or not, it's still a great piece of writing! Being one that has his own troubles with being descriptive, it's nice to see someone who can as inspiration, if nothing else I like how you present the situation; although I can't say I've been married, I think you captured how it's like for just about any groom out there. Gah, I can't think of any other good comments, so I'll just leave it with a 'well done, friend!'