Story with emotion

Question

Simple challenge...write an emotional story, be it comedy, tragedy, horror, etc...it needs to be packed with emotion. And there are only 3 rules:

1. Try to avoid using passive sentences. Use active sentences instead. This is the difference between using action verbs and using forms of "be" verbs. An example: rather than saying "The paper was completed on time." say "The student completed the paper on time."

2. No using emotion words. Don't use words like sad, happy, scared, excited, love, pleasure, etc. Rather than SAYING how someone is feeling, SHOW it. For example, rather than saying "She was hungry." you could say, "Her stomach growled, reminding her it had been a long time since lunch." or, for more intense hunger, "Her stomach gnawed at her backbone." and if someone is  starving, you could say "Her stomach declared war on her backbone. They engaged in a fierce battle, and the rumbling sounds of combat escaped audibly from her midsection." Three distinctly different ways to show different  types of hunger.

3. Keep it under 400 words.

Have fun kids! Blow my mind with some awesome writing and not just half-baked good ideas.

Comments

Between rocks and hard places........hee hee posted it in the wrong spot was supposed to put it in respond......so i edit .....loved the challenge Midnight now I can go to bed.....crap its ten to four ....lol.....deb

Answer 1

When the news came about the bombing in Grinalia, her insides twisted into a knot so tight, she didn't think they would ever untangle.

Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered, apart from getting in touch with the one person she connected to in her whole life.

A part of her wouldn't believe it. It was impossible because living without him was so unimaginable it couldn't possibly be happening. 

But she knew. Even as her hand reached for the phone, shaking like a seismograph sitting  dead center of an earthquake, she knew better than to expect a reply. 

He was there on business. A trip she asked him not to go on, not because she ever imagined something like this could happen, no. It was because she had made plans for a weekend getaway and felt like he was abandoning her. She let him go in the end, of course she did. Her protests were just for show. She knew that if he had any choice in the matter he would have stayed with her.

Now, she wished she fought harder. It seemed selfish at the time, but now she wanted nothing more than to be selfish. The phone rang. Once. Twice. The time between the rings seemed to stretch on forever and her mind kept wandering, thinking of ways he could have been spared. And every time another ring sounded, her heart stopped for a brief moment. Every single time it got tricked into thinking that the sound was that of his voice. It would stop and listen, eager for another syllable and, within a fraction of a second it would be disappointed by the recognition of the dial tone. 

How many rings was that? No matter. I will wait for more. I have to.

As the operator's voice rang from the other end of the line, her face turned white like the marble of ancient temples. The phone slid form her hand onto the soft carpet, soundless. In that moment, everything she'd known, everything she lived for suddenly came crashing down around her. Images of moonlight walks, of waking up side by side with the sheets crumpled under their feet, of children - Mary and Timmy - chasing the dog in the back yard; they all shattered like a million windows in a bomb explosion.

Explosion. She saw the image now. The image no one should ever have to see. One that would haunt her forever.

Comments

Spots - I think you did a great job meeting the rules of this challenge. I think the entire story covers probably about a minute of time, but is packed with enough emotion to cover a few hours. You did wonderfully with showing the emotion rather than just telling how she felt. There are still a couple places where you used passive sentences rather than active, and a couple places where it was more telling than showing...but that adds variety to the flow of the piece. Overall, very well done. Packed with beautifully illustrated emotion.

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Thanks. As soon as I saw the challenge, I knew it was right for me. It's the sort of thing I would frequently incorporate into roleplaying so I found it quite easy and enjoyable. I might do another one if I have time.

Answer 2

THIS

This wasn't anything, oh it was very far from anything This was everything.

It was all i desired all i ever needed but alas i could not have it. Chasing, running, stalking, for This, but it was always one step ahead. So many people had it that I came to a point at which anything and everything in my way would be destroyed.

THEY

They could not see me. Without This, They could not see me. I was a dead flower in a meadow of life. I was alone. Isolated and forgoten. The feeling of one thousand blunt stainless steal knifes coming at me at all sides was unstoppable. The knifes were stained from stabbing my heart and i could not stop that. They... took everything from me. Threw my undamaged heart into an eternal flame so it could remind me of what i lost.

REVENGE

Revenge is what they deserved. Revenge is what They suffered from. I conjured up a never ending flame and oh so quietly placed it on the gasoline trails that led thought the whole town. As the fire traveled the more This got farther away. This, was the train I was planning to board after the fire but as soon as houses caught to the flame the train left. I finally understood what This was and why They did not see me.

THIS was Life and THEY were the living

Comments

Joemon, you're new here, and I don't want to scare you away by being to critical. So I will say this first: I do like the story idea you have going here...

However, it seems you read the challenge title without reading the rules. Rule number one was to avoid passive sentences...this story has about 3 times more passive sentences than active sentences. Rule number two was to show the emotion rather than tell it. You did a lot of telling within the showing.

Also, it seems there was a lack of proofreading here. I see why you capitalized This and They, but there are places where it's hard to tell where one sentence ends and then next begins and there are a lot of run on sentences.

The intention of this challenge was to encourage good writing, not just half-baked good ideas. What you have here is a half-baked good idea. I'd like to see it rewritten to follow the rules.

By the way, welcome to ThinkWrite, and please don't be hurt by my constructive criticism. Ask anyone here, I'm a bitch...but I think I'm a lovable one.

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Lovable bitch? Sounds like a cool username, Poet. ;) Though, if you ask me, I'd say you were pretty nice.

Hi, Joemon and welcome to ThinkWrite. I have to agree with Poet here, you have a good idea, but for some reason it didn't impress me. On first glance it looked like something that would make an impact, but it didn't. I'd really like to see you try and have another go at it. Poet knows what she's doing and you're going to get something back for the effort you put in to follow her rules.

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I totally agree with you. I know I have some major problems with my writing and I can't tell the difference between most things grammar. Half the time I spell grammar wrong. But just for the criticism I'll give you my special Abe Lincoln smiley. =|:^)*

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I liked the uniquness of your approach.  It's a vague puzzle and as far as having something that could be expanded, it's got lots of room.  Try a chapter 2.

Answer 3

I take a drag of my cigarette, trying to calm my breathing as my heart and mind race. Thoughts chase each other about, each one more gut-wrenching than the last. The nicotine leaves my hands shaky as caffeine runs through my bloodstream.

Coffee sloshes onto the table as I pick up my cup with a trembling grasp.

Memories flood my mind’s eye. Memories of kissing and touching and the most intense sensuality I’ve ever experienced. Blue eyes locked with hazel in a stateless escape from questions and judgment and hurt.

Reality overrides the memories and crushes me in a consuming fog. Sobs wrench themselves out of my throat and tears pour down my face. I hear the coffee cup land on the table with a dull thud, spilling the hot liquid across the table and my lap. I barely feel it.

I wipe the snot and tears off my face and continue to cry, less forcefully now – my breath coming in small, whimpering gasps.

You crushed my heart in one small sentence, and I let you do it.

I look down to the floor through my tears. I can see you still, just as beautiful as the day we met. Your hazel eyes stare at me. If I just look at your face, I can pretend you’re still with me and that you feel the same way I do. If I keep my gaze from the blood stains on your chest, I can pretend you're staring at me too.

I can’t stare too long, my dear. Someone’s bound to notice you’re missing…I must clean up before they come looking.

Comments

This was originally submitted in the current ThinkWrite challenge. When I reread it, I realized that it almost fit this challenge perfectly. I edited it to remove emotion words and most of the passive sentences...you can read the original in ThinkWrite LXI and see how I edited it to use more active sentences and show emotions rather than just saying how she's feeling.

Answer 4

Comments

Between rocks and hard places........

Its hard to gather moss when there are no rocks to place them on.

She had a wrist that was doubled the size of the other one and growled frequently at her for attention. She rubbed periodically and twisted her hand in intricate indian symbols to lessen the dragging pain.

It was lonely streets tonight at 2 am dark shadowed gutters holding slithers of unknown origin.Street lights winked periodically as if to determine her speedy direction by the winks of light that illuminated the darkness for seconds only.

"Wheres my rock when I need it" she mutters knowing full well where her rock was.Her pet, her rock, would be between egyptian cotton sheets with some old bag who constantly smiled and had no opinion of her own..... this old haggard individual had her rock, her pet, her desire that hag had plundered her passion.To add insult to injury was probably riding her rock, her pet her passion, while her own wrist growled and stturred staccato twinges up and down her arm.She rolled her wrist more viciously the twinges grew sharp and heavy

She was between rocks at the moment, her heart beat quickened, racing with desire bound by passionate memories to never forget her rock, her shelter, her one and only, had survived many storms raging ones, slow building long lasting delapidating storms and droughts of weathered emotions.Her rock had been beaten down by all that was the cyclone of her existance, the importance of  always being there, the madness and mayhem she wreaked havoc on a daily basis, had driven him to rush head forward into jigsaw puzzle weekends, bridge tournaments and into weekly missionary sex with the buzzard co worker..

He has his regrets he knows he fucked up he should have stayed..he misses his unexpected wild thing.....but it is still going to be 2 am on lonely street for her, she with a growling wrist and she will always be between rocks and hard places.........she rolls the growl from her wrist and James Brown helps the beat with Papa was a rolling stone......her mind is clear....Life is too short to be worried about buzzards and moss, rocks and hard places, growling wrists and winking lonely streets .....especially with James Brown beats......everything just seems easy as Sunday morning with James Brown.

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This is good, deb. Major punctuation abuse going on, but tangible with emotion.

Answer 5

I was thrown up on the shore like seaweed. Onto a strange island there was faint music floating around yet the island seemed empty. Moments later as I was chewing a banana a strange monster came up to me silently speaking...

Comments

This makes no sense to me at all...and every single sentence is passive, missing the entire point of the challenge.

Answer 6

My heart pounds like a hammer on nail. My legs are pistons, driven by nothing but desperation.

Tick. Tick. Tick

The frigid air rips into my lungs. The tears freeze on my cheeks.

Tick. Tick.

Twenty feet. Almost there.

Tick.

I hurl myself forward, clutching at my goal.

Boom.

Too late. I look at what I clutch in my hand. It is a porcelain doll. The sole possession of my daughter.

Comments

Good job with following the rules throughout most of this short piece. You show the terror and despair well...my only critique is the last couple sentences. It changes from a very active, vivid, "showing" sort of story to a passive "telling" voice. Is there any other way you can show us this porcelain doll without telling us about it? I loved this story...I could feel the desperation you described. Over all, very well done.

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I kind of like the change. The "Boom" is the breaking point and after that the mood swings. The passive emphasizes that and, to me, it fits. Nicely done.

Answer 7

I wrote this in a hard time It is under a psudonymn I do write a for this site a bit under another name please dont try to figure out who I am that would be unhelpful.

 

I've got a serious problem. I'm in love with someone, who by her own admission loves someone that she shouldn't, a guy who is obviously mentally challenged because when she let him know, he didn't jump at the chance to be with someone that amazing. 

I don't know what she'd do if she knew what I now know, the truth is I dont feel betrayed, I don't feel used, I feel lost. Im completely utterly lost. I should be mad at her, mad at him, but for some stupid reason im mad at myself. For some retarded failure at my part I sympathise with my (no more better term than) competition. Towards her I feel what I've always felt. She is AMAZING she is so pretty, so strong, so smart, so loving, so everything i've ever wanted in a friend she is perfect my day changes when I see her, touch her hand, taste her lips. I Love Her!

But she is lost in the affection she holds for a man that she can't be with. Not that he wouldn't take her back he can't be that dumb, but that he isn't good for her. Yes Im biased very much so but... He tried to cage her, tame her, change her, he couldn't handle her freedom. Now she wants to find that freedom in him. 

I love her, and I dont know if she reciprocates these feelings. I don't want to smother her. I don't want anything but the best in her life If thats with this guy she can't get over, then ill deal with it. Im gonna be the one who feels that pain, I will not hold onto something that dosen't want to stay. 

But im NOT giving up until she blatently tells me to.

Answer 8

“Leave your message after the tone.”
“Hello, Aunt Betsy? It's me, Nita. I know you're there because you're sick and I know you can't go out. Maybe you can't reach the phone. I'll talk for a minute so you can get there, okay? 'Kay. I hope you feel better. Have you been to the doctors, or are you back in the hospital? I hope not. I mean you just got out a couple of weeks ago and to be back so soon, but Uncle Jay said you go in and out a lot. Do they know what's wrong yet? It must be so uncomfortable for you to have to spend time in the hospital. Does Uncle Jay visit you when you're there? I wish you could visit me like you used to. Remember how you would tell me all about your students and the kids? I'd be sitting there eating and, boy, did you bring good food. I loved the stuff from Taco Bells. What they make here is so bland. Maybe you could visit me again and bring some soft tacos with hot sauce. I know you can't come 'cause you can't drive anymore. How did you get so sick so fast? I may have done it to you, you know? Do you think I did? I mean I made you worry about me when I talked about being sent to jail and you got mad at me. I know you weren't really mad. You just wanted me to stop listening to the voices that said I was going to Steuben County Jail. I know this place is more secure. I even know how to get out of SCJ. My friends told me that there is a back exit they don't cover all the time. If I do go to SCJ, I'd get out that door and come to you. I know you're the only one who would take care of me. They know I was sick when I stabbed Steffie. I loved my baby when I killed her. I just didn't want Ben taking her from me and the voices... Anyway, I guess you can't make it to the phone and your machine is going to cut me off soon. I love you, Aunt Betsy. I'll call you tomorrow night. Or call my social worker and tell him when I can call. Love you. Bye.”

Answer 9

I waited for him all night, and by dawn he still has not come.

The bedroom, foreign to me, feels more like a jail cell.  The soft sheets seem to be sucking all the warmth from my body despite the two wool blankets.  I stare at the ceiling, the triangles of bright light slanting in above the draperies.  I imagine my own husband, my own children at my home, the home where I am no longer welcome.  They will be drinking orange juice and eating toast and possibly—probably— fighting over who gets the comics first. I hope they are being good. My husband is in the kitchen, shouting at them to be still, to eat, wearing only his pajama bottoms as he butters the toast.

Is she there, while I am here?

Footsteps sound down the hall.  Heavy.  It is he.  I get out of the white bed and pad across the concrete floor to the silvery mirror on the wall, brushing my wild dark hair out of my face, wiping the tears from my red eyes.  The floor is cold, the roughness hurts my feet. The whole room is cold, painted in greys and blues and whites, like a winter sky.  I run back to the bed and climb in.

The door opens silently.  Any squeaky hinge in this estate would have been repaired in an instant.  I tuck the sheets around myself, a cocoon, and pretend to be asleep.

There is no movement beyond the doorway.  I crack open an eyelid.  It is not him at all. It is a woman I recognize, from paintings and photographs I saw downstairs, on the way up here last night.  I had thought she was a long-dead ancestor, with her large hooked Roman nose and black hair, studded with grey, piled up on her head in a style no one wears any more.  She wears a high-necked black dress, an enormous pink cameo pin stuck into the throat.

She sees I am awake. I get the feeling she doesn’t miss much.  “You are cold,” she says, her voice rich and deep as mahogany, in an accent I can’t place.

I nod.

“I will turn on the heater.  We are used to the cold here.”  She smiles without showing teeth, her hand on the crystal doorknob.  The door shuts as quietly as it opened.

“He will be here soon,” she says through the wood.  I hear a lock clicking into place.  I sink down lower into the blankets until my head is covered.