Här ska vi skriva objektivt, alltså i tredje person. Jag valde att försöka skriva om mitt förra alster. Är inte så nöjd, men det skulle in ikväll så va fan...
The face of the girl sitting at the table turns red. She blinks her eyes fast, like something is irritating her. Her friends around her talk, but she doesn’t say a word. Suddenly she stands up, almost like on a given signal and she makes her way from the table to the staircase. Her feet slowly take one step after another; her hands grip the banisters tight. The wooden floor creak a little as she walks towards the open door, with a beaming light shining out of it. A few men are in the room, some sitting down and a few standing up. One of them, a young man wearing a knitted white sweater with black dots, hands the girl a cracker of some sort. She accepts it and shoves a large piece of it in her mouth. Her eyes roll a little while she chews. The young man with the knitted white sweater asks the girl:
- Do you want to get some fresh air?
The girl doesn’t respond, she just keeps on chewing. The man stretches out his hand and grabs the girl’s, leading her out on the small wooden pier where they dropped anchor earlier. The wind blows into her hair, it sticks in the corners of her mouth and makes it hard for her to see. His eyes are fixed on her, but hers are flying all over the place. The girl fidgets with her hair, to try to get it to stay in place. The young man takes a deep breath, reaches out for her and pulls her close to him so fast that she almost trips. He waits until she turns her face up towards him, then he pulls his arms tighter around her and kisses her.
onsdag 19 september 2007
torsdag 13 september 2007
First draft - assignment 1.7
Här skulle vi försöka med sinnena beskriva en "thrilling or anguishing event from your childhood or adolescence". Njut av första utkastet och kommentera!
A sudden rush of blood colors my face crimson red. I’m the red traffic light in the middle of the rush hour, steadily shining for everybody to stop and notice. The sleeping beast inside me wakes up, stretches and yawns greedily at the familiar feeling. It seems it is thinking “Long time, no see”. The wandering of my eyes seems hazy and confused. As in one of those daytime TV-shows, the edges of my reality are blurred. A sparkling spider web of mist hangs before me like the dusty curtains of my grandmother’s windows. I try to let my eyelids wash the web away, but no matter what I do it remains, grey and twinkling as if decorated by soft summer rain. I see the people talking around me, their mouths are moving silently, like sand flying through the desert. What I hear is only the roaring of the beast inside me, pounding my heart steadily as if using it as a typewriter, directly connected to my brain. The beast spells out “Danger danger!” and I know what the danger is. The beast growls, it’s hungry and I have no choice but to feed it.
The air suddenly fills with a scent, a thick creamy scent that lingers through the room like smoke. I draw my breath and realize that I’ve been holding it. I get up from my seat, following the scent so familiar to me. My feet are floating but heavy. The narrow stairs in front of me look steeper than ever. My hands grasp for control and slides around the banisters. My fingertips feel every inch of the dark brown polished wood. My mouth is dry but wet at the same time, I’m not sure if I’m able to produce sound, less yet speech. The scent intensifies, mixing with the smell of freshly made coffee. Up here, I can hear the ocean splashing against the rocks outside. A seagull cries out in and the beast inside of me responds with the same agonizing sound. The spider web turns golden from the beaming light that shines through the open door in front of me. The scent is concentrated now; I can’t smell the coffee anymore. The mixture of the saltiness of the sea, masculinity, salt sweat and sugar fills my senses. My heavy floating feet stops me just outside the open door, where I find the source of the scent. A knitted white sweater with ugly black dots, way too big, jeans and a messy rug of long brown hair down a skinny back. A dry nasty cracker filled with something white, even nastier, is offered to me. I don’t really want it, but the beast forces my hand to take it. The saliva vanishes from my mouth like when you pull the plug in your kitchen sink. The cracker grows in my mouth like sawdust made wet. I feel sick.
The knitted white sweater with ugly black dots grabs my hand. The sweater’s hand makes me feel like I put my hand on an iron. A dead jellyfish feeling runs through mine. The beast inside me laughs and types with its claws, my heart bleeds from the wounds it makes. The chill moist air from the sea hits me, my hair blows all over the place, but I can’t feel a thing. It seems my senses have all concentrated to my hand. I can feel the heat, taste the skin, the scent, I hear the pounding beat from the beast, all this through my hand. Two pale blue ellipses pierce through the spider web and suddenly everything becomes painfully clear. The TV-show edges vanish, my vision is now clearer than it ever was. It’s as if I’m standing in a Kodak moment, already developed and framed. Two knitted white sleeves with ugly black dots move slowly towards me and the beast. It roars with pleasure and anxiety as the thick creamy scent devours my entire being. Our lips meet. My senses are filled and destroyed.
A sudden rush of blood colors my face crimson red. I’m the red traffic light in the middle of the rush hour, steadily shining for everybody to stop and notice. The sleeping beast inside me wakes up, stretches and yawns greedily at the familiar feeling. It seems it is thinking “Long time, no see”. The wandering of my eyes seems hazy and confused. As in one of those daytime TV-shows, the edges of my reality are blurred. A sparkling spider web of mist hangs before me like the dusty curtains of my grandmother’s windows. I try to let my eyelids wash the web away, but no matter what I do it remains, grey and twinkling as if decorated by soft summer rain. I see the people talking around me, their mouths are moving silently, like sand flying through the desert. What I hear is only the roaring of the beast inside me, pounding my heart steadily as if using it as a typewriter, directly connected to my brain. The beast spells out “Danger danger!” and I know what the danger is. The beast growls, it’s hungry and I have no choice but to feed it.
The air suddenly fills with a scent, a thick creamy scent that lingers through the room like smoke. I draw my breath and realize that I’ve been holding it. I get up from my seat, following the scent so familiar to me. My feet are floating but heavy. The narrow stairs in front of me look steeper than ever. My hands grasp for control and slides around the banisters. My fingertips feel every inch of the dark brown polished wood. My mouth is dry but wet at the same time, I’m not sure if I’m able to produce sound, less yet speech. The scent intensifies, mixing with the smell of freshly made coffee. Up here, I can hear the ocean splashing against the rocks outside. A seagull cries out in and the beast inside of me responds with the same agonizing sound. The spider web turns golden from the beaming light that shines through the open door in front of me. The scent is concentrated now; I can’t smell the coffee anymore. The mixture of the saltiness of the sea, masculinity, salt sweat and sugar fills my senses. My heavy floating feet stops me just outside the open door, where I find the source of the scent. A knitted white sweater with ugly black dots, way too big, jeans and a messy rug of long brown hair down a skinny back. A dry nasty cracker filled with something white, even nastier, is offered to me. I don’t really want it, but the beast forces my hand to take it. The saliva vanishes from my mouth like when you pull the plug in your kitchen sink. The cracker grows in my mouth like sawdust made wet. I feel sick.
The knitted white sweater with ugly black dots grabs my hand. The sweater’s hand makes me feel like I put my hand on an iron. A dead jellyfish feeling runs through mine. The beast inside me laughs and types with its claws, my heart bleeds from the wounds it makes. The chill moist air from the sea hits me, my hair blows all over the place, but I can’t feel a thing. It seems my senses have all concentrated to my hand. I can feel the heat, taste the skin, the scent, I hear the pounding beat from the beast, all this through my hand. Two pale blue ellipses pierce through the spider web and suddenly everything becomes painfully clear. The TV-show edges vanish, my vision is now clearer than it ever was. It’s as if I’m standing in a Kodak moment, already developed and framed. Two knitted white sleeves with ugly black dots move slowly towards me and the beast. It roars with pleasure and anxiety as the thick creamy scent devours my entire being. Our lips meet. My senses are filled and destroyed.
måndag 10 september 2007
Creative writing
Läser en kurs i Creative Writing på Malmö Högskola. Mina alster kommer publiceras till allmän beskådan här. Läs och kommentera!
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