Posted by kathrin on Aug 9, 2016
Better Writing Initiative is an exercise at improving writing techniques. Description uses a picture as inspiration to describe a scene, or parts thereof. It was dark in the club, and damp. The feeling of wetness was in the air, on the floor, and on the skin of the people around. I couldn’t see much of anything, bodies were just illuminated by flickering, erratic beams of coloured light. Sometimes, it would change to the music, other times it seemed to have nothing to do with anything at all. Finally, I found Martina again, dancing against one wall, all by herself. She was illuminated by the deep, red glow of a projector, who cast a screen from Metro 2033 onto her, with the words “FEAR THE FUTURE” in bold letters underneath it, and the “THE” shone right into her crotch – her hairy, naked crotch… My slave had undressed while I was gone, and stood there now, unashamedly, displaying her gorgeous, well-proportioned body for everyone, who could glimpse her in the dark, red, dingy light, in this remote corner of the club. So, essentially, only for me, but feeling, hearing and seeing all those other people around us, dancing, drinking, enjoying themselves, all of them potentially watching, potentially… wanting her. It heightened her excitement to the point at which her nipples stood on end on her large, heavy, slightly sagging breasts she was so proud of, her long brunette hair, a mere black shadow around her face, was flinging wildly from side to side at her moves and that crotch… that lustful, lusting, lascivious crotch that I had spend so much time in, the pussy she had dedicated to me, and me alone, the pubes that she had cultivated, just because I liked it, the strong, feminine thighs, her wide, well-rounded hips… all of that swung seductively and mesmerizing right between FEAR and FUTURE. It was, where I was headed. Image is by Rosario Gallardo and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic...
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Posted by kathrin on Jul 27, 2016
Better Writing Initiative is an exercise at improving writing techniques. Dialogue uses a picture as inspiration for a dialogue that might be happening between the characters. “Do you think they’re seeing us?” Medea asked, staring at the window. “Of course not,” Micie answered. “They never look past a glass pane. They’re stupid like that.” The woman sighed. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter,” she said. “As nervous as they are, they’ll see us long before we even get close.” “What’s up with you?” The cat purred annoyedly. “Where’s your hunting spirit? Your taste for the thrill?” Medea sprawled lazily on the sofa, pursing her lips. “How many do you think it takes?” she asked, ignoring the cat’s remarks. “Until you can fly?” Micie replied. “Well. I have it on good authority that it takes… hum… at least… thrice… five-ty. My aunt had told me, and she could fly.” “That’s not even a number,” Medea replied, rolling around bored on the soft pillows. “And I’ve never seen your aunt fly either.” Unflinching, the cat hissed. “You don’t even KNOW my aunt,” she said, not letting her eyes off the window sill. “She could fly from the ground up to the rooftop in one fell swoop.” “Jumping. It’s called jumping,” the woman groaned. “Anyone can do it. You can do it. Even I can do it, when I’m in cat-form.” Micie did the closest gesture cats could do to shrugging: She shook her neck. “All I know is, she could fly. And it took her four five-two hundred. You don’t need to eat them all at once, though. Just in total.” The witch rolled her eyes, and then cast a last glance at the windows, where sparrows had gathered outside, chirping and pecking the time away. If only she could remember the spell that would turn her into bird-form, she wouldn’t have to argue with her damn cat about how many birds she needed to eat in order to fly. Image is by Luca Rubbi and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic...
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Posted by kathrin on Jul 24, 2016
Better Writing Initiative is an exercise at improving writing techniques. Description uses a picture as inspiration to describe a scene, or parts thereof. Alice got up and stretched, opening a bottle of coke. It was warm and sunny on the clearing, though not too hot, so thankfully the thin fabric of her tent wasn’t sticking to her skin, even though she had slept naked. Well, not just slept naked, she camped naked. Or, at least almost naked, if the flimsy short pants counted at all. So far away from civilization, it seemed pointless to wear much clothing, after all. Who was going to see her? Andy, the asshole, who ran away two days ago? They had fought, again, over stupid little shit, as usual, but this time he seemed to have had enough. Took off with the car and all of her cash, leaving her out here stranded. Well, she thought, at least she still had the provisions and all the camping equipment. And besides, she was great at this, the outdoors, survival, finding her way in the wilderness, even without help or guidance. She might look like a city girl, with her red lipstick and high heels, the fake blonde hair and carefully applied makeup, but that was For all she knew, she would be running across Andy, getting lost on the camping trails, out of gas, desperate, hungry, who knows what. The thought filled her with a strange sense of satisfaction. Would she help him? Perhaps, she mused, taking a sip from the bottle, and then looked wistfully into the distance. Image is by Alice Bolton and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic...
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