Write about this!: June 2011

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Description

How much is too much?

When I write I want the writer to see exactly what I see in my head, which makes it a struggle for me to keep the description to an amount that wont completely bore the reader. For instance, I was writing about a plaque on the wall in my book and I had to stop myself from explaining that the plaque was a hard plastic square, with rounded corners, the top third of it was a faded maroon with white letters sticking out that read 'Human Agent Training', the bottom half a dull grey.

Really?! I am positive that my readers do not care about the specifics of that plastic square stuck to the wall, all they need to know is what it said. I try to keep a good pace and not get lost in the descriptions that don't add anything of value to the story. When I desperately want to go into depth on something I just know I can't, I like to make myself feel better by drawing a picture of it. Im no artist mind you, but just getting it on paper and out of my head makes the whole process that much easier.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

We have a winner!

After reading many submissions I have finally picked my favorite piece of writing from the May Contest.

It is a beautiful story by Entity Sylvir (http://www.writerscafe.org/Entity-Sylvir) called "The Pianist". It will be up on the right-hand side of this blog for the month of June. Congratulations Entity Sylvir for winning the first every Write About This! blog writing contest!

Thank you to everyone who submitted, I look forward to the June contest!

Writing Contest

Every month I will hold a writing contest. The guidelines will be set out at the beginning of each month right here! Anyone can send me a short story, poem,essay, quip, what have you that follows each months guidelines. I will review and choose my favorite, then post it here and it will be there for 1 month, giving credit to the winner and even mention your blog or website if you have one!

For the month of June the Theme will be, you favorite book.

You may send in a poem, short story, essay, or anything you can think of that has to do with your favorite book.

The writing may be no more than 2,000 words.

The deadline is June 30, 2011.

eMail your entry to WriteAboutThis@gmail.com

I will announce the winner and post their work the beginning of July.

May Contest Winner

Entity Sylvir

http://www.writerscafe.org/Entity-Sylvir

The Pianist

A warm, lilting melody wafted through the nightclub, nimble fingers dancing over crisp black and white keys as the song of the grand piano drifted down from the stage, filtering between the irregularly spaced tables to fill every niche and recess of the dimly lit room. The lone figure in the spotlight moved gently with the music, her long chestnut hair billowing down her back in loose waves and her wine red dress fanning out around her knees as she sat on the worn leather stool. It was not a complex song she played, with no difficult notes or intricate rhythms, but there was something about it that was so enthralling, so entrancing, as if each sound touched you, clung to you, whispered to you.

As the tune swelled, as the notes danced, and as music came alive beneath her fingers, the pianist began to remember.

She met him at a cheap, backwater club on a cool autumn evening while playing yet another of those low paid unambitious jobs that she hated but needed to make ends meet. While lingering together before and between performances he had mentioned that he had studied cello in France, and confided that he hated playing these gigs as much as she. Before they knew it a little small talk turned into enchanting conversation, which turned into an invitation to dinner.

The courting that had begun awkwardly in that dark corridor of the small backstage area continued. At first it was slow and sporadic, stuttered by difficulties of work and money, but despite the troubles it bloomed. From a strong passion their connection formed, their relationship transcending the coldness of a small yet barely afforded apartment and the bleakness of a life forever impoverished.

Then the idea of a duet was pitched, and suddenly they were no longer two starving musicians each struggling to make a living for themselves. Now, they did it together. A double act, a two part performance, working together, coping together, surviving together. For the first time in her life she wasn’t just a child from a broken family trying to leave behind her bleak origins. No longer did she have to struggle alone in a desperate attempt to make something, anything of herself. Now, she had someone there for her, someone to care for her, and someone to love her.

When he came to her with the song she was surprised to say the least; he’d never composed before or told her that he had an interest in composing. But as she took up the manuscript, as her hands danced over the keys in time with the rich earthy tones of the cello, as the song was heard for the first time, she was amazed. And by the time the majestic melody faded and the song came to an end, she was close to tears.

“It’s so beautiful.”

“I wrote it for you.”

“But why is it so sad?”

A pause, then, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

The next months were an agonising blur of waiting rooms, doctor’s offices, and hospital beds. Leukaemia, they were told, and less than a year to live. But it couldn’t be true, it wasn’t fair, not when she had finally found someone to share her life. He tried to resist, to fight, but the cancer won in the end. She will never forget the smell of the stark white ward, the dull beep of the monitor, the last look he gave her before he slipped away into a coma from which he would never wake.

She was there three days later, lying beside him, her head resting on his chest, when she heard his breath stutter and his heart falter. She was there, listening, as his lungs gave one last shuddering heave before finally falling still.

Once again, she was alone.

The final notes of the song died away to be met with silence. The audience sat wordless, unmoving, captivated by the spell of the music. But then one clapped, another joined, and it was broken. Applause rang out from the club as the pianist stood and gave her bow.

“Thank you very much, that was the lovely Si Waters on the piano,” the emcee said with a grin when the noise had died down. “Now Miss Waters, that was quite a change from your usual repertoire, is it your own composition?”

She shook her head. “No, I only arranged it. It was originally a duet.”

"And you told us before that it was your first time performing it, yet you also said that it was an old song. Is there a story there?"

Si hesitated. For so long the grief had consumed her, for so long she had been unable to play that song, and incapable of talking about what she had lost.

“Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t let this break you, otherwise the cancer will have claimed two victims. Move on, Si. I’ll be your past, promise me you’ll move on with your life, promise me you’ll let it go.”

There was a long silence, then, “He played the cello...”

Write about this!

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Description

Saturday, June 4, 2011

We have a winner!

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