1. Rafiki

    Rafiki Active Member

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    Let's Write A Warmup!

    Discussion in 'Word games' started by Rafiki, Nov 5, 2013.

    Like in sports, I feel every writing routine should contain some form of warm-up. I'm here to share mine, but I'd love to hear yours.

    I use http://writeordie.com/ as the centerpiece to the whole thing. I set the timer for ten minutes and just start working. Initially it was stream of thought, usually some pseudo-intellectual musings on nihilism and the concept of mortality (ain't dat shit wack?)- but eventually it morphed into something strange. In the ten minutes I spend I write flash fiction. It's not good, and none of it is worth reading, but it's a story contained in about 3-5 hundred words. I've begun taking some of the work and turning it into full length short stories, spending weeks of time on an idea that took only 10 minutes to think up.

    Begin with a conflict, for that is truly the centerpiece to any story, and just write around it. When you're done, and if you feel confident, I encourage you to post it here- mistakes and all. None of it's going to be good, and that's ok; nothing written in ten minutes ever is. I'd love to read it, just make sure you stick to the core tenants of storytelling.

    1: Every story must have a conflict.
    2: Every conflict must have a resolution.
    3: There are no tenants of good storytelling- the above two are liars designed to force you into an overly structured box.
    4:#3 goes too far, sometimes a little structure is a good thing- but, yeah, if you want to go off the rails that's your business. You always were an individual, weren't you?
    5: Shutup #4, no one likes you.
     
  2. Rafiki

    Rafiki Active Member

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    Here's my ten minute story. Not looking for a review, just an example of a warmup.
    _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
    When the flight attendant dropped the peanuts in front of him, he nodded. His eyes slid across her in the way eyes do when they see something uninteresting. She was thrilled to not be recognized. While climbing off the tarmac in Phoenix she had seen him, sitting in that arrogant way he always did, flipping through a Skymall magazine. She'd nearly dropped the tray of drinks she was carrying.

    She'd avoided the section like it was cursed and buzzed about the edge of his vision, fulfilling requests when he went to use the restroom. She dreaded the inflight meal, for then she would be forced to confront him, and she just knew that he'd recognize her.

    Lunch finally came, and she'd never felt less hungry. She girded herself, straightening her dress in a little ritual of preparation, and walked along the aisle with her head held high. When she handed him the peanuts her sleeve pulled back, revealing an ugly purple bruise in the shape of four fingers and a thumb. Her hands shook. Her mouth was dry.

    But he didn't recognize her. Instead, he'd nodded in a generic fashion, and returned to his magazine.

    By the end of her circuit her legs were shaking. She locked herself in the bathroom and wept until her eyes were puffy and red.

    Watching him leave felt like she'd removed an old thorn that'd grown too far, and too deep, to remember where it'd come from, or to even know what it felt like to not have. But it was gone now, and in it's absence was overwhelming relief. When the last traces of his cheap cologne, bought at Sears on sale in a one liter jug, followed him from the plane, she waved, just a little. No one saw her do it, and that was just the way the flight attendant preferred it.
     
    Cailinfios likes this.
  3. Mckk

    Mckk Member Supporter Contributor

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    I really liked it, wouldn't have guessed you'd done it in 10min.

    Anyway, @Wreybies - shouldn't this be in Writing Prompts?

    I'll come back with my own warm up in a few mins.
     
  4. Jimbongo

    Jimbongo New Member

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    Here's mine. Let me know what you think. Add me etc...

    10 minute writing warm up



    Tom finished work as usual, feeling exhausted and looking rough. He broke into a sweat rushing to the train station and struggled to control his wheezy breathing. The sun was still high and it beamed steadily onto his neck and back as he power walked. He dodged through the crowded streets past single mothers, old age pensioners and a gang of wimpy looking chavs. As he entered the station something clicked inside his mind that something was not right. What was out of place?


    The usual advertisement televisions were showing a news reporter looking serious. Hundreds of people from all walks of life were fixated by the man’s every word. Tom made his way over to the nearest screen and tried to understand what the big deal was. “Ladies and gentlemen” the reporter sighed deeply. “I am sorry to say, but we have evidence that a terror attack has occurred on British soil. It is on an unimaginable scale and possibly the worst terror attack in history”. This time the reporter paused to gulp. Tom and the commuters stared in a shared silent panic. “The details are becoming more clear that a deadly man made virus has been stolen at gun point from a military laboratory. A group calling themselves AZZA have claimed responsibility. The virus is called X3 and has the ability to spread very quickly and take control of its victims. What I mean by this is that it causes extremely violent impulses of which there is no control.” A woman to Tom’s right screamed at the top of her lungs. He turned to see her face down on the ground, two men pinning her as her young daughter screamed beside them. “Nooooo” she begged as one man placed his fully weighted knee onto her tricep, grabbed her wrist and snapped her arm bones backwards with all his might. Blood poured out in a rapidly growing pool. Tom and many others stood in shocked paralysis. The second man was tearing at her dress and pulling pieces away with his bare hands.
     

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