posted
Here's a thought. We take a descriptive paragraph that we wrote at some point and extract what we feel is the single most descriptive sentence from the paragraph.
We post the extracted sentence and add some context and comment as to the intent of the paragraph.
Then we challenge each other to write a descriptive paragraph, honoring the context and intent.
Then, after a reasonable time, say a week, we post the original paragraph and compare it to each other's paragraphs to see how we interpreted things differently.
I'm leaving for Scotland tomorrow and won't be back for a week or so, I'll kick this off, and if there are no replies, I'll realize this was pretty lame and I'll go hide somewhere.
Some say that it has at most the sad dignity of a beggar woman, walls like skirts mired in the mud and grime, squatting astride a rocky ground, stretching out its gates to passersby for coin.
Context:
Description of a walled city, fantasy setting.
Intent of paragaph:
To present the city as grimly utilitarian, with no immediately redeeming features to those who see it for the first time.
posted
I like the idea... so I'll respond with a first post.
She wandered through the streets trying to hide her disgust at the stench and utter lack of appeal in the entire city. She thought of many ways to describe it, each one worse than its predecessor. She thought of the way an old friend of hers had described it: Some say that it has at most the sad dignity of a beggar woman, walls like skirts mired in the mud and grime, squatting astride a rocky ground, stretching out its gates to passersby for coin. She nodded at the thought. It was a pretty accurate description. Blocking out the smells once more, she turned the corner.
Tell me how I did I guess, and if I followed the guidelines correctly. Feel free to be as critical as you desire.
quote: He looked across the muddy plane. The city was almost invisible to they eye from a distance. Dark smoke drifted up from the city like a dingy sign. If he had not visited this waste of a city before, he would have thought someone was burning it down. Maybe they should. Slate grey walls wrapped the city, keeping the dangers out. He new better, the dangers were within. Like a carcase of a dog that the fleas refused to leave, nothing of value could be found inside.
posted
Hey! I remember this! Does this mean you're working on that story again? Cool!
OK. Here goes:
The city wasn't much to look at a hundred years ago. Now, well. Some say that it has at most the sad dignity of a beggar woman, walls like skirts mired in the mud and grime, squatting astride a rocky ground, stretching out its gates to passersby for coin. As for me, I wouldn't go so far as to give it even that much credit.
posted
djvdakota: I'm willing to go along with yours, but I think you should wait until the original poster posts his original paragraph & all, this way it will be a bit more organized.
Posts: 2 | Registered: Dec 2004
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posted
I walked the streets of the city. Some say that it has at most the sad dignity of a beggar woman, walls like skirts mired in the mud and grime, squatting astride a rocky ground, stretching out its gates to passersby for coin. What I saw made that description kind. The towering stone buildings seemed to suck the warmth from the sun overhead, casting the streets into shadows. Merchants hawked their goods in strident voices amidst a rumble of wagons and cursing drivers. The town’s folk scurried about their tasks with their heads down and their eyes focused only on the street before them. Every so often there would be a spot of color, a hint of carving above a doorway. Such things only made me think that the city might have been beautiful once. But if so, those days were buried far within the past and forgotten by those who lived here.
Posts: 652 | Registered: Feb 2002
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posted
Hi all! I'm back from Scotland. Here's my original paragraph, which pales by comparison to yours, I must say.
quote:Nowhere is there provision for elegant design or elements designed to please the eye. It is quite simply a defensive citadel, offensive in appearance and crudely realized. Melchor said that “Brute force and fear built the City, and it stinks of both.” Some say that it has at most the sad dignity of a beggar woman, walls like skirts rooted in the mud and grime, squatting astride a rocky ground, stretching out its hands to passersby for coin.
quote:She wandered through the streets trying to hide her disgust at the stench and utter lack of appeal in the entire city. She thought of many ways to describe it, each one worse than its predecessor. She thought of the way an old friend of hers had described it: Some say that it has at most the sad dignity of a beggar woman, walls like skirts mired in the mud and grime, squatting astride a rocky ground, stretching out its gates to passersby for coin. She nodded at the thought. It was a pretty accurate description. Blocking out the smells once more, she turned the corner.
Sonata Luna
Well done! You wove the description in with her actions, thus describing the city without it sounding like too much description, which is hard. You certainly met the intent of this excercise. No only that, but you also wove that akward sentence of mine into your writing.
My only quibble (which is not really a fair quibble as this is just a fragment) is that there are too many 'she's.
quote:He looked across the muddy plane. The city was almost invisible to they eye from a distance. Dark smoke drifted up from the city like a dingy sign. If he had not visited this waste of a city before, he would have thought someone was burning it down. Maybe they should. Slate grey walls wrapped the city, keeping the dangers out. He new better, the dangers were within. Like a carcase of a dog that the fleas refused to leave, nothing of value could be found inside.
LD
"If he had not visited this waste of a city before, he would have thought someone was burning it down. Maybe they should." Hah! I like it. Pithy and to the point and it vividly introduces the character of the individual. I also like how you forecast the potential for more danger within than without.
For quibbles, 'plane' should be 'plain' and 'carcase' should be 'carcass'. (and why DOESN'T Hatrack have a spell-checker built in?) Also, you didn't incorporate the sentence into the paragraph, but you DID capture the essence of a grimly utilitarian place. Good show, old man!
quote:The city wasn't much to look at a hundred years ago. Now, well. Some say that it has at most the sad dignity of a beggar woman, walls like skirts mired in the mud and grime, squatting astride a rocky ground, stretching out its gates to passersby for coin. As for me, I wouldn't go so far as to give it even that much credit.
Another pithy one!
No coins, no credit, I'm starting to feel sorry for my poor old city. You sure did a lot with a few words! I had thought that the sentence I chose would be hard to weave into a paragraph, but apparently that hasn't been much of a problem.
My only quibble, really, is for myself. Why didn't I do a better job when writing my paragraph? Yours are so much more immediate and place the character into focus early on.
quote:I walked the streets of the city. Some say that it has at most the sad dignity of a beggar woman, walls like skirts mired in the mud and grime, squatting astride a rocky ground, stretching out its gates to passersby for coin. What I saw made that description kind. The towering stone buildings seemed to suck the warmth from the sun overhead, casting the streets into shadows. Merchants hawked their goods in strident voices amidst a rumble of wagons and cursing drivers. The town’s folk scurried about their tasks with their heads down and their eyes focused only on the street before them. Every so often there would be a spot of color, a hint of carving above a doorway. Such things only made me think that the city might have been beautiful once. But if so, those days were buried far within the past and forgotten by those who lived here.
Wow! Well done, GZ. I have no quibbles at all. I like the detail about the hints of former color. It adds dimension to the city, gives it a bit of history. I like the way you integrated the sentence into it, flows well.
posted
Interesting to see what our choice of perspective does to our choices within our descriptive paragraphs. There is a distance to the original (which may only a function of its length/fragment of a whole status), where some of the samples inserted a stronger POV. A good reminder on how close those two things can be linked.
I think it is interesting too how, while all the examples do capture some of the flavor of the original, some are distinctly different in the end. To be true to the full tone of the original, it seems to me the focus is on the rocks and mortar part of the city, and how that personifies the whole (Something done very beautifully in the pulled out sentence), than say how its inhabitants characterizes it.
posted
Yep, after reading y'alls paragraphs, I was struck by the detached and distant tone of my paragraph. To put it in perspective, here it is in its context.
quote:The City could not be more different. It has been described as just a gray Keep on a rock, surrounded by a wall, two rivers and a ditch. However, it does qualify as one of the great defensive fortresses of the West. A curtain wall circumscribes most of the rocky island that the City occupies. Nineteen round towers fortify the wall, two at the east (and only) public gate and the remainder somewhat evenly dispersed along the circumference. Two more, taller, stand inside the gate and overlook it and the great City Square. Man-high walls break up the interior of the City into wards.
Five more towers ring the rocky elongate ridge at the heart of the City. They are joined by a great wall and together they form the central Keep and defensive heart of the City of Silver.
Nowhere is there provision for elegant design or elements designed to please the eye. It is quite simply a defensive citadel, offensive in appearance and crudely realized. Melchor said that “Brute force and fear built the City and it stinks of both.” Some say that it has at most the sad dignity of a beggar woman, walls like skirts rooted in the mud and grime, squatting astride a rocky ground, stretching out its hands to passersby for coin.
[This message has been edited by mikemunsil (edited December 26, 2004).]
posted
I must have missed something somewhere. I like the closer in pov, just the way I like to do things. It does have drawbacks, but it does give the ability to throw in character thoughts on occasion without labeling them as thoughts. I like that style of writing.
One of the nice things about writing is how easy it is to use metaphores to describe things. Of course we all have to watch for the cliches...they have to be original metaphores. All in all, it is interesting to see different ways people handle it.
posted
See, now there goes mike again, denigrating himself. He's just so danged humble.
Honestly, dude. You write brilliantly, IMO. You just need some practice. And I think your working with a writing group--particularly the one you've formulated--is going to get you there FAST.
posted
The original is nice, and still depending on how the rest of the story is constructed around it, may be clearly from a POV, so it may well not be as distant as it seems in fragment form. Even if it isn't, in the right story context, distance works. This more a choice of style than anything.
Posts: 652 | Registered: Feb 2002
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quote:Bright spots of blood stained the snow like red stars in a white sky, converging, gathering, blending into a crimson pathway leading to the river.
Context: A group of soldiers have come upon refugees fleeing, completely unprepared, from an allied kingdom. The bloody snow is the result of worn out shoes and bloody feet shredded by icy roads. Shoulda made that clearer for Mike. Or should I? <shrug>
Setting: Medieval-type alternate universe.
Intent of paragraph: To show the suffering of the people, thereby the cruelty of their conqueror. AND to show these soldiers what their own kingdom might expect if they fall to the conqueror as well.
[This message has been edited by djvdakota (edited December 28, 2004).]
[This message has been edited by djvdakota (edited December 28, 2004).]
Bright spots of blood stained the snow like red stars in a white sky, converging, gathering, blending into a crimson pathway leading to the river. Herrin squinted as his gaze followed the bloodpath into snowglare. Were those bodies piled up at the bank? Yes. "'fore God!" he swore. They were dead, then. All of them. And the children, they were piled up separately. Raising his head Herrin howled in rage "Whoreson! Liar! You will pay for this!"
[This message has been edited by mikemunsil (edited December 28, 2004).]
posted
Now I have to say that I would never use that many adjectives in a single sentance....
quote: Bright spots of blood stained the snow like red stars in a white sky, converging, gathering, blending into a crimson pathway leading to the river. The prints of many feet marked a trail that anyone could follow. The scouting party followed the trail of blood, wary for signs of danger. Their search ended when they reached a huddled group of people. None of the survivors had made any attempt to start a fire. Thier fear reached the mounted troops as they sat staring down at them.
posted
May I play too? Sorry it's more than one paragraph. I got excited.
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Varrin's horse labored through the snow, as he raced with his comrades to tell the king about the army at their border. A flash of color caught his gaze. Bright spots of blood stained the snow like red stars in a white sky, converging, gathering, blending into a crimson pathway leading to the river. He whistled to Henrik and nodded at the trail of blood.
The older thrall's jaw tightened at the sight. "Take Gennar with you."
With the ease of long practice, Gennar heard the order and pulled his horse out of formation to Varrin's side. Neither thrall spoke as they followed the trail down the bank to the river. At the water's edge, a group of refuges clustered, like fallen leaves still tinged with autumn color. A boy turned to face them. He lifted a hoe in hands wrapped with strips of rough wool. Blood stained the snow at his feet.
posted
Mikal saw them first. At his startled cry, I looked over to see the ragged group weaving along the roadside. They trudged along, not even looking up as we approached, huddled within mismatched layers of clothing and pulling only one listing handcart among the lot of them. It was a common enough sight, and I was about to reprimand Mikal for his unnecessary outburst when I saw the ground behind the refugees. Bright spots of blood stained the snow like red stars in a white sky, converging, gathering, blending into a crimson pathway leading to the river. Despite my long years of active, I felt myself shiver at the sight. What wolves of men drove them forth, that these people fled onward despite feet that had been shredded beyond any reasonable level of human endurance?
Posts: 652 | Registered: Feb 2002
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