Writing Forums

Writing Forums is a privately-owned, community managed writing environment. We provide an unlimited opportunity for writers and poets of all abilities, to share their work and communicate with other writers and creative artists. We offer an experience that is safe, welcoming and friendly, regardless of your level of participation, knowledge or skill. There are several opportunities for writers to exchange tips, engage in discussions about techniques, and grow in your craft. You can also participate in forum competitions that are exciting and helpful in building your skill level. There's so much more for you to explore!

The description game (1 Viewer)

indianroads

Staff member
Board Moderator
Describe one of the following:

  1. Being in a forest on a warm summer day.
  2. Riding a motorcycle or driving a car with the windows down across the desert in mid-summer.
  3. Sitting on the beach.

It doesn't have to be perfect or even pretty. No one gets graded or criticized.

Then add another scene for someone else to describe.
My entry: #1.
He leaned against a massive redwood tree stump, noticing that the ax marks were still visible even though the tree was fallen nearly a hundred years ago. Its ancestors surrounded him; dappled amber sunlight fell between their branches, painting the forest floor with shifting patterns that danced to the creaking song of the trunks swaying gently in the warm summer breeze.
 

TuesdayEve

Friends of WF
The morning began warm but sunless. Rain was
in the forecast and gray clouds had rolled in over
the city during the night guided by the southern
winds. Sundays are the best time for a ride and
today was perfect for the windows down.
Heading West on I90, the sun struggling behind
me, windows open with my arm resting on the door,
and the 80mph wind vortex spinning threw the car.
Long strands of hair flying across my glasses,
sometimes stinging my face then suddenly swirling
above my head. I love the wind.
 

Taylor

Friends of WF
The sulphury smell of the ocean and the squawk of the seagulls above, put my mind at ease as I watch the familiar repetition of the waves. A spectrum of rich cerulean blues, leading up to a delicate seafoam green. I dig my feet into the warm sand and watch the tiny crystals glisten as they roll over them. The sun feels good. There is no place I would rather be...

4. A busy cafe






 
Last edited:

indianroads

Staff member
Board Moderator
The sulphury smell of the ocean and the squawk of the seagulls above, put my mind at ease as I watch the familiar repetition of the waves. A spectrum of rich cerulean blues, leading up to a delicate seafoam green. I dig my feet into the warm sand and watch the tiny crystals glisten as they roll over them. The sun feels good. There is no place I would rather be...

4. A busy cafe

Nice!

The rapid staccato of Italian conversations swam about him and the air was scented with the warm and pleasantly pungent smell of rich coffee. He stepped closer to the bar, where the hissing espresso machines delivered their heavenly brew into tiny ceramic cups. “Un cappuccino per favore,” he muttered, hoping to be understood. The barista nodded; his cigarette was balanced precariously on his lip, and whenever he spoke, ashes flew.
After receiving his order, he sat at an outdoor table, sipping the mild, comforting coffee, while watching shoppers stroll along the ancient cobblestone road, smelling and tasting past centuries with each sip.

Note: I started this thread because it's an exercise I do when riding my motorcycles.

5. A night camping in the woods.
 
Last edited:

indianroads

Staff member
Board Moderator
The morning began warm but sunless. Rain was
in the forecast and gray clouds had rolled in over
the city during the night guided by the southern
winds. Sundays are the best time for a ride and
today was perfect for the windows down.
Heading West on I90, the sun struggling behind
me, windows open with my arm resting on the door,
and the 80mph wind vortex spinning threw the car.
Long strands of hair flying across my glasses,
sometimes stinging my face then suddenly swirling
above my head. I love the wind.

Beautiful. Perfectly captured the moment.
 

Foxee

Patron
Patron
Nice!

The rapid staccato of Italian conversations swam about him and the air was scented with the warm and pleasantly pungent smell of rich coffee. He stepped closer to the bar, where the hissing espresso machines delivered their heavenly brew into tiny ceramic cups. “Un cappuccino per favore,” he muttered, hoping to be understood. The barista nodded; his cigarette was balanced precariously on his lip, and whenever he spoke, ashes flew.
After receiving his order, he sat at an outdoor table, sipping the mild, comforting coffee, while watching shoppers stroll along the ancient cobblestone road, smelling and tasting past centuries with each sip.
Ooh, love this. Scents are a great thing to stir into description.
5. A night camping in the woods.

When the lady screamed in the dark I stopped breathing and wished very hard that there was more between my precious self and the scream than thin nylon. The moonlit material wafted in the damp breath of the woods. A popsicle in flannel, I tried to sink even further into my sleeping bag and then felt not good at all to be lying down when something was making the woman scream.

The scream came again, I could smell my own sweat mingled with last night's campfire smoke. The other sleeping bag rustled and that was the one thing that kept me from bolting or maybe just dying right there from being so scared.

Cold stuffy air in the tent felt wet, laden with condensation. Rocks and pebbles had long since seemed to be working their way through the layers below me.


Next up: Describe a long wait for a bus.
 

TuesdayEve

Friends of WF
It’s too early. Too early for the birds, too early
for the sun, too early for anybody to be waitin’
for a bus. The 251 is late. I could’ve slept in
another 10 mins....so nice and cozy, good dream,
flying over the mountains.....I gotta change my
alarm, it’s too abrupt. Something soothing, nothing
obnoxious. Note to self, new alarm, check out
music library. Bob James and Grover, yea. Or
maybe somethin’ folky.
I could use another cup of coffee....no cars on the
street..... weird. Where’s the bus?


Next: Hot air balloon ride
 

TuesdayEve

Friends of WF
Cloudless sky, bluer than Newman’s eyes, filled the panorama as far as the foothills gray. The balloon rose, carried by a Southern wind higher than the wide winged Eagle; we soared above the plains. Here, in the still, cupped in God’s hand, feeling, knowing, eternity.

Next: a birthday party
 

Foxee

Patron
Patron
Laughter rippled through the room on snatches of conversation. Jim, the grandfather, sat at the far corner of the table in his wheelchair, faded eyes serene and hands folded across his thin frame. Decorations of tacos and dragons swung in the breeze from the open patio door and children gathered around the cake that had been iced blue and red with six candles. Every one of the kids buzzed with interrupted energy and mild impatience, after all this wasn't their birthday. Josh, though only about three feet tall, was huge with importance in his dragon-costume, the head of which had been discarded on the couch. His blonde hair stood straight up all over his head and his soprano voice was ratcheted high with excitement as his mother lit the candles.

The hubbub dipped to a brief hush before the obligatory chorus of 'Happy Birthday' arose from the assembled guests, Josh's eyes huge and blue, taking in the guests, the cake, the shining candle-flames, the decorations. The song stumbled over various versions of 'Josh' and 'Joshua' and ended up with cheering and clapping as the dimpled boy blew the flames away to be replaced by wisps of smoke.

"And many mooooore!" someone yodeled, because there is always one.


Next up: Describe an embarrassing encounter in a coffee shop.
 
Last edited:

indianroads

Staff member
Board Moderator
Embarrassing encounter in a coffee shop:

It had been a long day on an acid high and they were crashing hard and about to fall out. He sat next to a girl he met earlier that night at the counter of a Denny’s Restaurant less than a mile from his rented room in ‘Little Tajuana’. His motorcycle was parked outside, or at least he hoped so, memories of their arrival were fuzzy and tangled.
Dishes clattered jarringly from the kitchen, and the cook’s spatulas scraped unpleasantly across the greasy grill. He stared down at his half-filled cup of coffee; the rich aroma cleared his mind slightly as he took a sip.
Lori touched his arm. “How long have we been here?”
Crap. He had no idea; they could have arrived just moments ago, or might have been there for hours. As he shook his head, a policeman eased down on the stool beside him.
“Looks like you kids are havin’ some fun tonight,” the officer said.
What was the right answer? They were higher than a kite and the cop probably knew it… unless he wasn’t really there… but the hallucinations had mostly ebbed, so he must be real… unless he wasn’t. “Yes?”
“Ok. Do you live nearby?”
“In Little Tajuana, yeah.”
“Ok. You’re gonna walk home then and come back for your bike tomorrow. If I catch you riding, we’ll have a different conversation, do you understand?” The large man stood up and stared at him. “And take care of my daughter, she needs to be home by noon.”


Next up:
Going through airport security.
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Top