Tuesday 4 June 2013

Random page exercise

Open any novel at a random page and choose from it a sentence of around 15 words, give or take. Using each of the words in the sentence in turn, create new sentences. As an example, if your sentence was "My cat has fleas", you might write a piece that read "My, how the time flies when nothing but the moon measures each moment. Cat or dog, there is something outside making a disgruntled yelp that turns my blood cool as midnight. Has anyone told you how amazing you look in this yellow glow? Fleas may be small, but the pinpricks of moonlight in your eyes are smaller." Keep going until you've used up all the words or run out of time. Don't get too caught up on trying to create a narrative flow with your sentences. The idea is simply to create a series of sentences that may, or may not, relate to each other - often, inexplicably, flow happens. If not, it will still be delicious.

2 comments:

  1. It wasn't that bad a day, it wasn't that big a bottle, it stood there mocking him, daring him, seducing him.


    Had it really come to this, dirty glasses queued, head tight and heavy, another day passed

    come to think of it (which he did rarely) when was the last day not like this, when had he asserted himself over his inner demons, when did he last say no.

    To be honest with himself, when had he last said no to anybody or anything, let alone a bottle, his dear dear friend the bottle

    him and his bottle, a warm cooperative embrace made in a pale hell of average, of not being stupid enough not to think, not being clever enough not to be stupid.

    after a while, he realises that he doesn't say no to himself that often either, perhaps here is the rub.

    another day wont hurt, and tomorrow I will try...

    half a bottle later, the great plans evaporate into the haze of smoke, and drift off to becoming mementoes of good intentions.

    week after week, year after year.

    of course, one day he would get his finger out, would change, would say no.

    drinking was as much a part of him as his arm, soma a priority

    disgust in himself didn't really help much, drowned semi-effectively, always to ascension well before the usual three days had passed

    And why not eh? He wasn't doing anyone any harm, maybe a little to himself, but not much, he wasn't a heavy drinker by many standards, no, there was worse, much worse than him.

    desultory efforts to stop soon faded like the memories he was burying slowly in the sands of time and wine.

    Investigation, planning - well, that was for those with time, he knew not where his time went.

    that he should stop was not in question, it was just a case of when, it would be soon

    he pondered wether he could maybe take something else to lobotomise his pain, his emptiness, his empty now - that might be better.

    was there anything wrong with this, who was he to judge, not outside many normal distributions

    wasting away the hours like a pink floyd track on shuffle

    his aim unknown

    time his enemy and friend

    From I am legend

    "It had come to him, after a half week of drinking, disgust, and desultory investigation, that he was wasting his time."

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  2. Well I chose a book I know well having reread it not that long ago. I think I may have partially failed, as I could not ignore the narrative I know this short passage is part of

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