WRITER'S TOOLBOX: 35 Best Tools for Writing Online

Just in case you hadn't seen this...
WRITER'S TOOLBOX: 35 Best Tools for Writing Online

finishing up

Thank You. See you in January.

Til the end of the road...

Today's assignment is a simple one. Go back and review your own writing. Have you developed a style? Choose 3 words that describe your writing style, providing at least one example from your posts for each word.

Nostalgic:

The mid 90's were when I hit my stride, picking up new music the way a two year old picks up a language.

So much of the music I've come to take for granted came out of that period. The minimalism of Phillip Glass, Steve Reich and John Adams (not the president). The impressionism of Ravel and Debussy. The modernism of Arvo Part and Henri Gorecki. The fantastic film scores of Nino Rota and my all time favorite composer Ennio Morricone. But most importantly, there was Jazz.
Duke Ellington And John Coltrane - Sentimental Mood

This was the point in my life when I had around two friends and didn't really do anything with them outside of school, so I spent a lot of quality me time. This would become something that I came to find desirous in my adult life, but it was also something that puzzled the shit out of my parents. Typical of the parents of bookish nerds, they really wanted a more outgoing, socially acclimated child, but that one really wasn't going to work out for them. I remember one birthday in particular (and it might very well and most likely could have been the one that followed this particular day) when, in lieu of presents,I was given by various relatives and family friends a princely sum of money to spend as I saw fit. It was about $120, which in the halcyon dawn of the Reagan administration was equal to about $300 in today's economy. My mom had only one directive as I took off the mall to spend my ill gotten booty. "Don't spend it on books!" Seriously? They had no clue how easy they had it. Less fortunate mothers would have directed their child to avoid spending money on Meth or hookers. I spent it on books anyway, and it was well spent, as I still own a few of the books I bought that day. Books about Ninjas! It was a good time to be a boy in 1982.
This Boy's Life



Sesquipedalian (unnecessarily wordy):

The Nurse comes at noon with her poisons. She has philtres and tonics and tablets of hallucination. She says she means to help me. She means to make me well. But I know she lies as well. They all lie. Her capsules weaken my body and force sleep upon me. When I have drifted into the arena of the unwell, she will prepare me for Jacob and the knives that await me. I lie still with more than mild dread. With ratched, clang, sturm und drang she lords upon her wards, with the confidence and authority of one who knows how it will end. There are no surprises for her. She holds all the cards. The Hermit, The Hierophant, and The Fool. The Emperor and The Tower. She wields the cards of Judgement and Death. The Hanged Man and the Wheel of Fortune. Even the Devil himself resides in her deck. Only the lone card of Justice remains omitted from her hand. The Nurse has no interest in such things. Only Alchemy and Castigation hold sway with her.
Une Décharge

She imagined herself as Abraham on Moriah. She imagined herself as Isaac, walking alongside his father, carrying his wooden pallet up the very same hill. They were one and the same, in her, playing out the storied drama of sacrifice and supplication. The father, prepared to sacrifice the thing he valued above all else. The son, willingly acquiescing to his father's decision. All in the name of faith. Til the very last, she truly believed that if her actions were sincere, if her fealty was true and she went forward with his command, an angel would appear. The Angel of God would stay her hand at the very last moment and she would be rewarded for her actions. This was the thought that gave her strength as she took the pot of water from the stove and put the rim to her lips. The roiling water and thick steam was almost too much to bear. Her hands was firm and resolute as the voice whispered in her ear about holiness and purification. The voice told her it was time to drink. She opened her mouth and tilted back the pot. The Angel of God never arrived.
Touched By The Hand Of God

Referential:

At this point, I was still throwing pots in craft class, but one day I would be the Henry Moore of the flesh medium.
(British artist and sculptor)

I broke my forward stare long enough to check my reflection in the rear view mirror. If today was my day to become famous, I needed my hair to look good.
(Kit's last action before he confronts the police in the film Badlands)
Alice4

Surveying the architectural model in the executive conference room at the Nakatomi Tower, he says "...and Alexander wept he saw the breadth of his kingdom, for he knew there were no more worlds left to conquer." The benefits of a classical education.
(from the film Die Hard)
Where cheap plastic disposable crap still matters...

So I took advantage. I took advantage of their disadvantage.
(Reference to Humbert's letter to Quilty in Lolita by Vladimir Nabakov)

But, taste is subjective and by no means definitive. One man's Aria is another man's Metal Machine Music.
(Lou Reed album characterized by "instrumentals" composed of squealing and feedback. Largely regarded as nearly unlistenable.)

Until, as James Brown said, "I cain't do no more!". And when the day comes that I've done my last encore, Danny Ray has thrown the cape over my shoulders and like James, I'm quietly escorted off the stage of life, I only ask one thing.
(The end of every JB concert was marked by this ritual)
Duke Ellington And John Coltrane - Sentimental Mood

I was only along to observe, mindful that any drastic behavior or sudden movements could leave me mauled, eaten and partially digested like Timothy Treadwell.
(Animal advocate killed by a bear as featured in the film Grizzly Man)

And after the apocalypse, the roaches will gather beneath their sturdy roofs and raise a toast, glasses high, to the long gone daddy/man cub that was Homo Sapien.
(Dual reference to a Hank Williams song, and Mowgli from the Jungle Book)

We were in a random bar along with about ten other thick skinned jaded thrill seekers.
(reference to an A. Whitney Brown monologue on SNL from 1987.)

Alongside the wall between our table and the bar was a potted plant of some sort. A fake plastic rubber tree plant, perhaps.
(Lyric from Fake Plastic Trees by Radiohead)

He pulled her toward him and gave her what Kevin Costner described as a long, slow, deep, soft, wet kiss that lasts for three days.
(line from Bull Durham)

Pass judgement if you like, you won't be the first, but any Star Trek nerd worth his phaser knows that it's a violation of the Prime Directive to interfere in anyway that shapes or otherwise alters the course of a subjects life.
(Standard Star Trek reference)

I am Uatu. I am the watcher.
(Marvel Comics character. He is the personifiaction of the reading audience acting as witness, unable to affect outcome or change history.)
I am Uatu. I am "The Watcher"

He skulks in the corner like Horwendill’s ghost, appraising my every action and judging me with the eye of the unavenged. I wear the mark of Feng and Gerutha, of incest and murder, with neither Amleth, nor Hamnet to speak council for me with wild, raging fury.
(This one is pretty much all Hamlet. In the original Danish story, Horwendill is the dead king, Feng, his brother and Gerutha his wife. Amleth is the prince and Hamnet was the name of Shakespeare's son who died as a child)
(my most pretentious line to date, it was written before I had any idea where I was going with this.)

No Virgil, he will see me through the gate, without ceremony, my soul borne away to the place of its eternal display.
(In the Inferno, Virgil is Dante's escort through Hell)

But the everlasting, loving arms of God and Beatrice shall be eternally denied to me if the Jacob the Lurker has his way.
(Dante's escort through The Paradise)

When I have drifted into the arena of the unwell, she will prepare me for Jacob and the knives that await me. (Line from the film Withnail & I)(Allusion to a line from "Theme of the Traitor and the Hero" by Jorge Luis Borges)

With ratched, clang, sturm und drang she lords upon her wards.
(The most ham fisted sentence this month, this one I'm embarassed of. A simultaneous allusion to Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest and Ratchet and Clank, a PS2 game.)

The boy in the chair is my betrayer, my brother and my killer.
(Line from "Famous Blue Raincoat" by Leonard Cohen)

As for the man inside my mouth…
(Title of a song by The Cure, also a reference the The Shining)

I have always been here before.
(Rocky Erickson song)

And until the last night comes I shall be here in the morning, noon and evening, each day collecting and gathering as a durden of living days, until the great Fangorn that is my life stands eternal and evermore.
(Forest in Lord Of The Rings)

I have always been the caretaker and sleep will not rob me of my duty.
(Another reference to The Shining)
Une Décharge

Like the Maid Of Orleans, she would believe, for the remainder of her life, that she had been touched by the Divine hand. And like the French peasant girl, she was given purpose and meaning. She was given instructions. She was given orders. But, this was not the voice of Saint Michael inspiring a girl to reclaim a kingdom for Charles VII.
(Standard Joan Of Arc reference)

She imagined herself as Abraham on Moriah. She imagined herself as Isaac, walking alongside his father, carrying his wooden pallet up the very same hill. They were one and the same, in her, playing out the storied drama of sacrifice and supplication. The father, prepared to sacrifice the thing he valued above all else. The son, willingly acquiescing to his father's decision. All in the name of faith. Til the very last, she truly believed that if her actions were sincere, if her fealty was true and she went forward with his command, an angel would appear. The Angel of God would stay her hand at the very last moment and she would be rewarded for her actions.
(Genesis 22:1-19)
Touched By The Hand Of God
_______________________________________________

I suppose that answers the "How full of shit are you?" question you've been asking yourself.

I'm spent...

I was going to just do today's topic about personification, another form of figurative language, but as I read the definition of it, I thought it would be more fun to create a new type of writing style. Let's call it 'dynamism' for now. Let me know if you think of a better word. Anyway, for your assignment, combine the use of both personification (give human qualities to a nonhuman item) and objectification (present a human or animal as an object). See where that takes you...

The box sat open mawed like a great yawning beast. It's hum, once muffled had become a dreadful voice, and it sang threnody for a future memory. The box and all it held bound were unloosed and the irrevocable had come to pass. In slow exhalation, fine ochre mist seeped from the vessel and began to imbue the interior of the car with a mossy stench. With it's rictus of sadistic glee, the box, free of it's burden, became innocuous. It was a simple mahogany box once more.

The mist, now unrestrained, hovered along the floorboard and surveyed the thing behind the drivers seat. With cold appraisal, it judged. And when the thing turned down to face it, the mist moved before the thing had a chance to react. Slipping in through the mouth, the mist entered the lungs and took firm hold.

Punishment

Today is the third to last day. So, do i little puntificating and make us all laugh/moan/groan in whatever format you see fit. Puns are considered the lowest form of wit, which i think is awesome because I love them so much. I don't need fancy in my humor. Just fucking funny.

What's music does Ann Coulter like?

Country-Western, Contemporary Jazz and continuous Pop.



Mr. Massengil bids his wife goodnight,

"I do sure love you..."



The turd just floated there, without the energy to swim...he was pooped.

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Thank you.
I'll be here all week.
Tip your waitresses

Little Girl Blue

Thanksgiving seems like the perfect day to take on that all-mighty figurative language beast, the hyperbole. So, get to exaggerating. Write us a little something about this year's, or any other year's Thanksgiving celebration.

Belly was the worlds saddest kitten. When she was a month and a half old, her mother turned her out on the street. "You're too old to nurse, so either pull your own weight or get out," she said. Belly opted to leave. She wasn't really sure how she would make her way in the world, but it was better than living with an emotionally abusive mother that belittled her every achievement. Besides, now that the milk had dried up, she knew she would be in competition with four other kids for whatever resources they could find. It was five other kids, but Bosley hopped a bus and left. Well, it was actually the back of a truck, and he hadn't meant to leave, but he didn't jump off in time and the truck took off with him in back. They hadn't seen him since. And now, with Paul, Walla, Gert and Samantha all trying to compete for the same bits of scrap, it didn't take Belly long to make her decision.

"Smell you later, losers" she meowed as she walked away from her family for the last time. Her family pretty much ignored her since they were well and truly preoccupied with the dead grackle that Mother had brought for them. Gert did manage something that sounded like "hrmph habr hree shmo", but Belly knew an insult when she heard one, even if she couldn't understand it.

Her only regret was that she would miss Mr. Jump. Mr. Jump was an old stray Collie that occasionally came around for social visits. He was amiable enough to the rest of the family, but he really seemed to dote on Belly. He was the closest thing to a father that she had ever known. Sometimes he brought along a bit of a Hamburger that he had dug out of the trash and set it down for Belly when no one else was watching. If any of the other kids got wise to the extra grub, Mr. Jump would stand in front of her while she finished her share. Otherwise, she was likely to get shoved aside, especially by Walla. Walla was second smallest to Belly and she seemed to resent her all the more for it. Belly was the only one that she had any power over and so Walla always went out of her way to be particularly mean to her. Mr. Jump could see that, so instinctively looked out for her. But now, even Mr. Jump wouldn't be able to help her.

Belly stared at the open parking lot before her and was struck by a shot of apprehension. She started to order things around in her head. Little Pro and Con columns formed, enumerating the variables that would shape whatever life she could look forward to.

Firstly, there the was the matter of independence. Along with that, there was the increased mobility. She could do whatever she wanted and she could go anywhere she wanted. If she wanted to she could nest in one place for a while or she could just wander. Both options were tantalizing if only because the decision would be hers and hers alone. There was also the matter of people. Belly was genuinely curious about the big ones that she saw everywhere, but Mama T tried to instill her kids with a natural fear of the two legged walkers. She told them stories about how the big ones would snatch kittens in the night and take them away from their families. Mama T once told them about a friend of hers whose kids were stolen and tied up in a sack and thrown in a big water puddle. She said she could hear them crying for a little while and then she didn't hear anything again. Belly didn't think anyone would ever be that mean, but if someone could, she thought it was more likely to be her mom than any of the people.

But, as much as she tried to gird her confidence about her decision, there was still one nagging little problem that superseded every other consideration. She could barely hunt. She was still in the early stages of her training and it hadn't been going very well. As it was, she was a barely competent forager, but hunting was something that she still had a lot to learn about. Her natural feline grace had yet to develop and she still had a slight wobble in her walk. Her tiny paws sank like little lead weights whenever she walked. Even her head was still slightly over sized and it threw her balance off at the most inconvenient times. She was a very long way from the pounce and still even further from the kill. Foraging would have to do, but she had no confidence that it would be enough.

She took a few tentative steps into the parking lot and stopped. It still wasn't too late to turn around. It hadn't all been turmoil and tragedy. Her mother had been quite capable of great affection. Once, just after they had all been born, Mama T had stayed awake for almost three days cleaning her children and keeping them warm. A few days after that, a stray Tom had wandered near their nest and Mama T had lost part of the tip of her ear in the fight for territory. The Tom left in slightly worse shape, with a limp that would bother him for more than a month. Afterwards, she gathered her kids next to her and nursed them without complaint. Only later did Belly realize that her mother had a deep gash that cut across two of her nipples and was probably in some pain, but Mama T never let on.

In the end, it was simple stress that drove the wedge between them. Unbeknownst to Belly, she was a part of her mother's third litter. Mama T had spent the better part of two years nursing and raising children from three different fathers, each one full of the same promises and lies as the last. In time, each previous litter had grown up and left Mama T behind and she had taken the departure of each child badly. One by one, each child took a small fragment of their mother's affection, and now Mama T simply seemed to be running out. To minimize her emotional vulnerability, Mama T had become armored. The more her new children needed from her, the more distant and bitter she became to them. Knowing that they would just leave in time, she began to dole out affection based on codependency. Belly, being the most likely to show her independence, got the coldest shoulder.

Not that Belly was privy to any of this. She just knew that she was treated differently.

Belly began putting one paw in front of the other, heading out toward the rest of her life. Her face flushed with nervous excitement. Her heart beat faster in anticipation. Her breath quickened. With each step, she went further and further away from the known and one step closer to the Great Whatever. But the more she walked, the less steady her legs became. Her nervousness had begun to congeal into cold fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of starvation. Fear of injury. But above all, fear of isolation. As much as she felt pushed out at home, it was the only home she had. And very suddenly, she wanted nothing else in the world, but to be in the arms of the only mother she would ever had. Regret had proved stronger than longing. And so, very slowly, she turned back to face what she thought she had been ready to leave behind.

With tentative hesitation, she walked back to the end of the parking lot and took her place at the end of the line.

Ass onance

If alliteration is the elephant in the room at the figurative language zoo, then assonance is the tiny mouse that frightens me and the elephant. Create a paragraph, poem, or piece of dialog, this time using assonance twice. Good luck.

The Fact of the matter is, that asshole Alan Appleton was asked to answers to the accusation that he manhandled Anna in a crass manner. He called it all a bunch of falderal and would not apologize for what he though was a blot upon his honor. Whether or not he ever intends to make amends to every other friend that ended up an enemy...well, he contends that he never owed them anything.

What a dick.