This first assignment from YW4J is to write a "seasonal poem" about your favorite season. Believe me, I'm no poet...but I thought I'd give it a try. Freestyle, no less...this is the first time I've experimented in that style:
Skeletal arms, reaching outward
Grasping at the barren sky
Beauty gone and beauty come
And no one yet the wiser
Sun relents and loses his hold
The earth grows cold and fruitless
Wringing out its final cry
A harvest of life from death
Well, the poem is meant to be about fall--harvest season--if you can't tell. :-)
Little Red Riding Hood lived with her 30-year-old mother in a small cottage in the woods. Ivy climbed and weaved around the cottage. One day she set out to bring her grandmother a basket of food. Mother packed a fresh loaf of bread, a few slices of bologna, and a thermos of hot, steaming cocoa in the basket. Red Riding Hood left the cottage and wandered along the path through the deep, dark forest. Her stomach fluttered at the shadows. Suddenly, from behind a tall fir tree, a dark, shaggy creature with pointed ears and a mouth full of sharp teeth appeared. It was a wolf!
My Character in Setting: (I used one of my own)
Muriel's legs tightened around her horse's belly. They were approaching a motley gathering of tents, driven into the ground in no particular order. Firelight flickered on the mottled canvas, casting shadows of the soldiers as they moved about. She tightened her hold on Kessa's reins. Dare she go nearer? To be recognized would be instant death. Unless...
Straining her eyes, Muriel leaned forward in the saddle. Her gaze roved quickly over the camp, alighting on a tent set somewhat apart from the others. In all appearances it was identical to the rest, but it was the chestnut horse tethered outside its door that drew her attention.
"Aston," she breathed in satisfaction.
There was no going nearer, of course--not while any soldiers were in sight or sound. Determined to fulfill her mission, Muriel dropped lightly to the ground and moved a tentative step forward. As she did, the tent flap lifted and a young boy backed out, nodding his head vigorously in response to some unheard command. Muriel watched him thoughtfully--a servant, perhaps?
With youthful vitality, the boy ducked beneath the horse's neck and took up a brush. He set to work grooming the animal with a will, humming snatches of a tune under his breath as he went.
Muriel left Kessa's reins dangling, and the horse lowered its head to graze while its mistress moved off into the darkness. She skirted the tents nearest her, working her way towards the boy with the horse. As she came within sight of him, she drew her cloak over her head, allowing it to cover her face.
"Excuse me. I desire a word with Sir Caedmon."
(Yes, I switched characters for this assignment...Cael was getting too much attention! This was quite fun to write, though, since in the book the scene does take place from Cael's point of view.)
Before: It rained all week during our camping trip.
After: The tent was halfway up, with Dad in a tangle of poles and canvas, when the rain started. Mom's face took on her usual expression when things don't go her way--eyebrows arched over innocent eyes, mouth closed against any complaint. She opened an umbrella and stood watching Dad's progress. As for the rest of us, we'd never seen such an opportunity! Who would hunker under an umbrella when there were puddles to stomp in, rain to be caught on your tongue, and mud to squish through your toes?
Eventually, Dad did get the tent up. We all trooped inside, wet through and grinning--except for Mom. We knew she was in the depths of motherly misery, so none of us mentioned what we were all thinking:
If only it would go on like this all week!
Before: Katie saw a scary sea creature at the aquarium.
After: Katie watched anxiously, wide-eyed, as a black shape moved swiftly through the tank. She leaned closer to her father. Suddenly a dorsal fin protruded, slicing through the water like a knife. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she clutched her father's arm. He leaned down and began to say something in her ear, but his voice was drowned out by a sudden explosion in the water. Katie's eyes flew open as the majestic killer whale thrust itself into the air and breached onto its side, disappearing into a mountain of foam-tipped waves.
Before: As I entered the cave, I found the object of my search—the lost treasure chest of the Ancients.
After: The stone walls of the cave were slimy to the touch, smoothed by the torrent of the river that was now nothing more than a rivulet of water at my feet. I clicked on my flashlight and directed the beam further down the tunnel. It came to an abrupt halt only a few yards past where I stood, the trickling stream continuing somewhere beyond.
I moved forward slowly, my sneakers slipping on the damp floor. There was something else--a strange irregularity in the ground. I knelt down beside it and probed the area with dirty fingers. It was exactly as the legend said! Bracing myself, I heaved up with all my might, slowly dislodging the stone lid of the hidden compartment. Beneath lay the chest, its brass fittings black with rust.
Here is my "really cool very awesome fabulous" ship:
Given the very limited amount of detail, I'd say it's probably a ship in the fog... :-)
A Tour of My Bedroom
The room looks precisely as it did when I pulled myself out of bed this morning--from the wadded blankets on my lower bunk, to the clothes hanging haphazardly from the stair-stepped dresser drawers. Watch your feet--I wouldn't want you tripping on those Justin ropers! My desk, at least, is in some sort of order: the books are stacked neatly on the shelves, general categories on the left and an impressive collection of Civil War reading on the right. The same can hardly be said of my sister's desk, sitting caddy-corner across the room. The closet ought to stay closed, but from my seat at the computer I can see the clothes strewn across the floor and shoes piled against the wall. There is one small consolation, though: from my desk, I can always take a glance at the Prince Caspian movie poster on the back of the door!
The hot air, laden with smoke, closed in about him. Cael rubbed his sweaty hands on his jerkin, fingers clenching nervously at the leather. He dared not speak, for there was no choice but in legality. In his mind he hated the man who could so easily evoke the answer he desired. His heart thudded a rapid rhythm, fueling the anger in his chest, as he fought to give his reply...
Distant, moody, and flirting dangerously with rebellion, Caedmon has never been the prince his father hoped for. Since he was a child, he has preferred to go by the pet name of Cael, and for the most part he avoids his royal life. He much prefers to spend his time on horseback, often taking his sister with him on his rides. Strangers look upon him as untrustworthy because of his reputation as an insurgent, but in truth he is not one to take his duties lightly. He works with a will at anything he believes to merit the attention. Although not one to step up to a position of leadership, he functions well at the head of a following. He is ever fascinated with the art of swordplay, and over the years has become proficient with the broadsword. Because he is left-handed, he often has an advantage over opponants who have not faced a left-handed adversary. In a duel, his competitive edge is difficult to overcome, and even worse is his stubborn refusal to accept a deafeat.
(I'm afraid I'm rather lacking in this area--I usually make a point of not describing my characters, at least not in depth, since I know that when I read I like to picture the characters for myself.)
I believe Cael has dirty blond hair, but I'm not quite certain...
He is left-handed
During The Blade Unbroken, he is sixteen years old.
Personality Traits:
Stubbornness ranks high on the list--whether right or wrong, Cael is like to stick with his first impression.
He is very quiet. Sometimes he finds more comfort in silence than in kind words.
Due to the fact of his nobility and his proficiency with the sword, pride often comes into play.
He tends to be bitter towards those who wrong him.
His older sister, Muriel, is his greatest object of affection.
He is fiercely loyal to whatever cause he takes up.
He is quite responsible.
At times he can have a quick temper--he resents having someone else's will forced upon him.
Likes:
Swordplay and a good bout of fencing.
Earning respect and admiration.
Horses--early-morning rides with his sister.
To be accepted.
Finishing a job well done.
The smell of leather.
Being outdoors.
Dislikes:
An overbearing leader.
To be out of place.
His sister's girlish affections--he wishes he were the elder of the two.
Dishonesty
Having things kept from his knowledge.
His father's plan for Eordain.
His sister's relationship with their father. He resents the love they share, that he does not possess.
Being unable to act when he knows something must be done.
"Good" Character: David Balfour (Kidnapped) ranks as one of my favorite "good" characters. He is young and rather naive--trying desperately to be brave and manly in an extraordinary set of circumstances. Even though his pride often stifles his better qualities, he always comes around in the end.
"Bad" character: The Joker (from the new movie Dark Knight) is without a doubt the villain of all villains. He kills for the sake of killing, lies for the sake of lying, and tries to drag as many down with him as possible. He seemingly lacks motivation, which cements him in my mind as a purely evil character.
Character: David Balfour
Setting: Scotland, the year 1751
Problem: David's uncle has stolen his estate and title, and arranged to have David kidnapped to prevent his reclaiming it.
Plot: David meets the daring Alan Breck, with whom he escapes a future of slavery. Together the two make their way across the Scottish highlands in an effort to return David to his inheritance.
Solution: David and Alan arrive safely and prove that David's uncle has stolen his inheritance. At long last, David is the laird of his estate.
Hello, everyone! This is a new blog for me (writer4him) to put some of my writings, as well as Mrs. Marlow's writing lessons. Hopefully you'll be hearing more from me soon!
I am the sort of person who can stand on a balcony for as long as time allows, enjoying the rain on my face and completely alone with my thoughts. I soar with the wind when I am on the back of a horse, galloping alone through a pasture at sunset. I am quiet by nature, but my heart speaks through my pen. These are my writings.
