Image Inspiration 6

the flat lands of avalon by diceglia on DA

Image Inspiration 5

morning glory by nigelhimself on DA

morning glory by nigelhimself on DA

Image Inspiration 4

galaxy by ellphotos on DA

Image Inspiration 3

at the end by dxbedition on DA

Image Inspiration 2

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Image Inspiration 1



342 by richys on DA



"Now Write!" excercise 2

Now Write! excercise 2, from Robert Olen Butler: "Through the Senses"

(warning! rough draft)
My eyes snap open and I gasp. The air in the room is heavy and tinged with the earthy tang of smouldering wood smoke. Still short of breath, I inhale deeply and let the crisp November air flow into my lungs. I hold the breath as I begin counting. When I hit ten I tighten my muscles and lurch forward to remove myself from my chair. I latch my clammy fingers onto the smooth pine edge of the nearby table. The surface is startlingly cold against the thick pads of my twitching didgits. My hands are not the only things twitching. All of my muscles seem bizarrely primed for action of some kind, but I fail to find any cause. Whatever it is has burried itself deep within the fog of sleep that still hangs at the edges of my eyes and conciousness.

I gaze around the room and take another long, deep breath to quiet the ball of anxiety that writhes just below the surface of my skin. The walls, shadowy white, feed into low slopes of stuccoed ceiling. The spans of open territory are few and seem to be doing little more than awaiting further instructions. The rest is lined with various pieces of furniture and mountains composed entirely of books and abandoned coffee cups.

On the far side of the room the curtains hang askew and a slender shaft of light falls in spectacular cascades upon the old green electric typewriter that takes center stage on the battered brown desk. An unmistakable breeze flits in through the crack that runs the width of the window and glides across the black keys. It makes the curls of smoke swirl and snake in the light, dancing over the keys like miniscule fingers seeking a new voice. I am drawn to it like a crazed moth, not caring if the flame burns its wings clean off so long as it can dance in the glow too. I cannot explain the pull, but find that my feet are obeying the unheard command. As I draw close I stretch my arm outand my fingers shoot forth to carress the worn edges of each lettered block that rises in rows from the metal frame.

.:: Incomplete ::.