Rune Posted March 21, 2003 Report Posted March 21, 2003 (edited) Weekly Writing Theme - Spirit Deadline - 3/29. You may start submitting works at any time by replying to this thread. If the deadline passes and you still want to submit something you wrote that is fine too. It's mainly just to inform people when a new theme will be created. This isnt a contest, just a sort of creative exercise. Comments: Comments can be added to this thread as well in response to someone’s work. Just be sure to specify who's work you are commenting on. Questions: Questions about the theme should be limited, mainly because it is open ended. The word 'Spirit' can be interpreted in many ways, including non religion and fantasy ideas as well. It is up to you as the writer/artist to determine what you want to write about. The only requirement is that the word Spirit is the main theme of the piece in some manner or another. A new theme will be created on Friday of next week by me so be sure to look for it! If you have an idea for a future theme, drop me a PM. Ill add it to the list and just randomly pull them as the weeks go on. Remember the theme must be just one word. BTW This is entirely in development. If you have an idea to make it better just lemme know. Ill be glad to change it for however people want it. Edited March 21, 2003 by Rune
Cerulean Posted March 21, 2003 Report Posted March 21, 2003 Spirit A juniper kiss melts the ice and scents my thoughts with lemon blossom.
Falcon2001 Posted March 22, 2003 Report Posted March 22, 2003 Merciless tearing wind through the trees Rustling the winds, picking at the bushes Changing-Everchanging, never the same The form and the context remain stable But stability leaves the boundaries unseen Order inside of Chaos, the wind I love My spirit is wild, untamed, and free
Peredhil Posted March 22, 2003 Report Posted March 22, 2003 "Yo Tut'" "Yo Ram'" "Anything happening yet?" "Naw. Haven't had any excitement since we watched the High Priest make an asp of himself." They both snicker at the old pun, proving once again that their brains were indeed hooked out from their noses after death. "Want some sacrificial wine?" "Naw, I'm trying to lay off the spirits." Gales of laughter follow this one. Over in the corner, beyond the sarcophagi, Ali shuddered in horror at the mummies banter. He'd been hiding in the interior of the large urn for several hours now. Horror! They'd made the same jokes four times now! In the same order! Their screed was enough to drive a tomb raider insane. Peering through the slot where the lid and terra-cotta rim gaped slightly, he looked at the disheveled mummies perched on their golden tombs. Their wrapping had loosened in the millenia of their undeath, allowing tantalizing peeps at sarcomatoid sarcous. Ali hoped they'd saunter back on their appointed rounds, sashaying around the Sphinx, seeking intruders. He wanted the famed Platinum Ankh! He wanted the potent spirits, the sacrificial wine, which essence was so powerful it apparently could make an undead drunken, bemuse mummified minds. He wanted to get out of the urn, urinate, and grab the goods, and abscond with his ill-gotten loot. As they continued to drone on in eternal repetition, his spirits sank lower than the sand surrounding the Sphinx, a stupendous depth since the Sphinx was buried in soft sands surrounding it's powerfully carved sand-stone statuesque for right up to its crown. The skirring sands has skived off the small etchings, but the main bulk of its body remained. Judging from his stealthy explorations, if the Sphinx were to be unearthed from its sandy surroundings, it would be so tall as to require three men and a boy to see to its top, each view as high as he could, and the next picking up where he'd left off. And in its bowels was the abode of the bodied spirits making bad jokes in archaic Egyptian in front of him. He briefly considered leaping out and letting them feast on his flesh to end this mind numbing spirit breaking torture, however, he was too staunch a soul to succumb to the temptation, holding rather to the spirit of his quest - to silently spirit away the swag! Finally the mummy pair strode away, taking their endlessly fueled spirit lamp with them (how did its alcohol continually burn without consumption?) Leaping from the urn, he hastened to the first coffin. Sliding its lid to the side, the sight he saw was so horrific, it took care of his bulging bladder with incontinent ease. The SPIRITS had wandered away - but their remains remained! The smell was enough to overpower three men (and a boy). His spirits sank further as he sank his hands into the pultrid mess, sifting through the wrappings, searching for the Ankh or Wine. His spirit nearly fled its shell as his heart leapt spasmodically when the hard hands reached up and grasped his arms, so cold as to burn. His shriek of terror told the sentry spirits that another tomb raider had come. "I do hope he is a strong one." "I'm sure he will be, he make it this far." "Oh good! When we distill his spirit, it makes the wine so much stronger..." With terrible twin smiles they turned and headed back to the burial room.[/i]
WrenWind Posted March 23, 2003 Report Posted March 23, 2003 Spitit of a Different Kind The hair on the back of my neck rises, the room feels soo cold. In the air a mist begins to weave and sway taking a loosely human form. I don't move or react for I have called this spirit to make amends. I hope. Even if it takes my life. The cost of the summons is great; my blood flows from sliced wrists onto a totem. The Spirit flows closer until it touches me. An icy cold fills me, surrounds me yet I feel no malice here. The guilt I feel was not mine to carry. No forgiveness is required. Spirit kissed, I lay on the floor in a pool of my offering and live to tell the tale. Wren
Vlad Posted March 25, 2003 Report Posted March 25, 2003 /me can't write stories to save his life, so here goes Disclaimer: If anybody shares a name with a person in the story, it is NOT about you. Get over yourself. There's other things to life... Spirits Thursday evening is the most boring day of the week. The thoughts of a perfectly sane mind, in a perfectly insane situation. Time ticks slowly, like alcohol dripping through your veins, but only when you watch the clock. The moment you turn away, little demons from afar come and tinker to their heart's content. Sam knew this well. Too well, in fact. Ever since her best friend, Rachel, committed suicide, Sam had been overly sensitive to everything. Secrets lurked everywhere, and Thursday was simply one of them. But Sam didn't mind, she used this time to relax. To remember her friend's life and the times they had together. This was also the only day she wore her blonde hair down. Rachel always wore her hair down, but that wasn't what people remembered about her. Nobody remembers a tall, fair skinned girl that wasn't exceptionally beautiful. Rachel wasn't ugly, by far, but she had a way of disappearing when she needed to. Getting away from all of life's troubles. She would simply stay calm and quiet, and nobody would notice her. Even Sam had difficulty finding her when she was like this. Rachel has a gentle soothing voice, one that didn't seem to belong to this girl. But it did indeed belong to her, and she used it like many others have done before. There was a small bird, with an injured wing, that hopped up onto Rachel's windowsill one misty morning. It looked in the room, and saw a quiet disarray, jumbled items, but rather clean. This house was apparently suitable for it's new home. After a small peck, Rachel opened the window and let the pitiful creature in. She loved the bird as one could love a bird, so she let it in to her life. The bird, which she named Roxy, was the sole alcove of her existence. It brought her peace, and harmony, and even helped her will to live. But this feeling was not mutual. Her feathered friend resented the cage. If you have wings you are meant to soar, and Roxy's wing had already healed. But the bird didn't have a choice, and everyday gazed out upon the sky, yearning to be free, to do what it was meant to do. The bird gave Rachel the confidence to succeed in life, to not vanish from the scene when things get moot. Rachel developed friends and gained popularity. But with this popularity came a newfound shallowness to her. She even went to her first party because of the bird. She began to ignore the meek, and feast with the mighty. No feast is fit for a king, unless it has the all-important spirits. Rachel was at first hesitant about drinking, there was so much to live for, and she could always hide, but the dim lights and jovial mood dissolved away the iron shell. First one slender bottle was opened. The pale beauty extracted, and smiles broadened even more. Then another glistening shine, releasing a few of everyone's burdens, but making those that remain just that much heavier. Rachel's cares had gone away, but at a terrible price. Roxy died that Thursday night, trying to escape from her cage. Rachel died from alcohol poisoning the next day. They never saw each other, but looked the same. Roxy, with fiery red feathers, curled up, by the latch. Rachel, in a scarlet dress, still clutching a goblet in her hand. Sam looked at the clock, and saw that it was getting late, but missed her friend too much to care. Taking her last deep breath, she brought a goblet to her lips... Special thanks to WrenWind for being my proofreader!
Rune Posted March 27, 2003 Author Report Posted March 27, 2003 A huge thanks to all that have particpated so far. ^__^ The replies are wonderful and hopefully helped someone somewhere have a good time writing about something they might have not normally written about. If anyone would like to comment on something that is posted feel free to reply to this thread. Any other suggestions or words of wisdom are welcome as well.
Cyril Darkcloud Posted March 30, 2003 Report Posted March 30, 2003 A little late, but this has been taking shape in the Writers' Workshop for a couple days. Spirit Once my knees, new to being pressed against the floor, would feel the texture of the carpet and gritty fragments of outside carried indoors by restless feet. Behind closed eyes I would pause in sudden awareness of the jointed embrace by which tongue fits into groove. The weighty touching between flesh and floor disturbed my knees, provoking them to change position with the awkwardness of those who try to remain unnoticed. Time brings callouses, however, and my knees no longer avoid the pressing touch of weight upon rug or the bite of bits of dirt beneath body. And this morning, behind closed eyes, my heart shied away from the prayerful bite of trifles held under the weighty press of calloused knees.
Rune Posted April 4, 2003 Author Report Posted April 4, 2003 Thats wonderful Cyril. It was really neat to see it in progress as well. Thank you for your submission!
Rune Posted April 4, 2003 Author Report Posted April 4, 2003 Oh and by the way there is no late. You can submit works to any of the themes at any time.
wyldpatienz Posted April 4, 2003 Report Posted April 4, 2003 Cerulean, I'm not quite sure I'm doing this right since I'm new here but I did want to comment on your haiku. I think haiku is one of the most difficult forms of writing because you're attempting to capture so much with so few words and you've done this admirably. There's a "gentleness" that combines with the essence of nature and the expectation of Spring(I don't know if that was your intended subject but that's how it came across to me...) Its a beautiful flow of words.... Tyler
Rune Posted April 4, 2003 Author Report Posted April 4, 2003 You did great wyldpatienz! You can comment on any of the pieces here in this thread
wyldpatienz Posted April 4, 2003 Report Posted April 4, 2003 Cyril, Very nice writing. I picked up a rather haunting air of sexuality in your words...I don't know if you meant that or if its..well...me,lol,but I found it to be an interesting mix of spiritual devotion, sexuality, and a sense of doubt about faith in general. The combination of these 3 make this a beautiful piece of writing, well worth another read. Tyler
The Big Pointy One Posted April 4, 2003 Report Posted April 4, 2003 Another Tyler? *Ominous music* But I am also Tyler... *Ominous music again* ...the plot thickens... Err, whoops. Sorry. Spam. Me = bad. Sorry. *Stick bows humbly and runs away*
wyldpatienz Posted April 4, 2003 Report Posted April 4, 2003 WrenWind, A nice, short powerful piece of writing. The final sentence is beautiful, I love the words "spirit-kissed"... Nice piece, Tyler
wyldpatienz Posted April 4, 2003 Report Posted April 4, 2003 The Big Pointy One, Could you be me???? That would sure explain alot..... The "Other" Tyler No more spam from me either, I promise...
wyldpatienz Posted April 4, 2003 Report Posted April 4, 2003 Vlad, Wow....that word just about says it all. I don't know why you don't think you can write short stories, this is a beautiful piece. The parallel between Rachel and the bird created a forlorn sense in the feeling that they both craved freedom and the third person narrative made the story flow in a pure but sad fashion. A beautiful piece of work. Tyler
wyldpatienz Posted April 4, 2003 Report Posted April 4, 2003 Peredhil Lol...ok,ok,I love corny humor...(I've actually seen "Mars Attacks!" 4 times) so I loved the opening, 'specially the line about having their brains hooked out through their noses. Ok, I also like macabre humor as well. The interesting thing about this piece was, at first, the mummies aren't threatening in any way really, they come across as drunken bumbling fools. But your ending showed a quick turn of events, giving a peek into the true nature of the entire tale. A nice quick sense of horror in the final paragraph. from the small bit of conversation I can tell you have a good command of dialogue and you're not afraid to use familiarality(is that a word? hmmm.... )in your speech. The casual tone of their interaction goes really well with the story. Good job. Tyler
wyldpatienz Posted April 4, 2003 Report Posted April 4, 2003 Falcon2001, I love the use of adjectives. I know they can be used too much but you don't have to worry about that in this piece, you've got a good balance. I thought, at first,that your writing(its not quite a poem or a short story so I'll just use "writing")was going to be a descriptive slice of nature but the line "But stability leaves the boundaries unseen..."definitely made it more personal and spiritual. A very good, tight, piece of writing. Tyler
Rune Posted April 10, 2003 Author Report Posted April 10, 2003 Thanks for takin the time to comment on everything Wyld!
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