Debut

My heart pounded with excitement at the thought of getting up that high, climbing those hard steps to my goal.
It started to rain. The whistle blew. I started to climb, higher with each second.

Halfway, my throat choked as the hard pounding rain hit my helmet. I looked at the ground anxiously, I heard screaming and cheering as the first person reached the top of the rocks. Others followed five minutes later and I was still edging slowly to the top, hanging on for dear life. It felt forever, but I got to the top eventually.

Task 12: A Polysyllabic Challenge

Right: now you've done Task 11, let's step things up a gear...

100 words again - and the same title ("Debut"), although you may well choose a different topic this time.

However, rather than 100 syllables, I would like 150 syllables. This means you will have to experiment with lots of polysyllabic words too. And, considering it will still be necessary to have a large number of words with one syllable (because sometimes they are necessary - look over this sentence I am writing, for example), that will, as a result, mean that some of your words will need several.

Your tool to achieve this?

A THESAURUS.

What I am asking you to explore here is the wonderful world of the thesaurus. Either use a hard copy or visit www.thesaurus.com. But remember, you CANNOT use a thesaurus in isolation from a dictionary: you use the thesaurus to find the word; but you then CHECK the exact meaning of that word in a dictionary to make sure it completely fits.

Just be careful not to fall into any of the following traps:

1. Some of you got confused last time with what tense you were using. If you chopped and will changed tense too many times, you would got confuse - and confusing your reader too. (Hope you see what I'm doing there... :) )
2. Although it can be fun playing with syntax and experimenting with fragments (i.e. parts of a sentence), do make sure the final piece makes complete sense. This is especially important for your long words - they MUST make complete sense in your sentence.
3. This is PROSE, not POETRY. So there is no need to write in lines or verses or anything...
   
4. Lastly, PLEASE avoid careless errors. When you post to a blog, your writing is being PUBLISHED. It gives the wrong message to your reader if there are ANY careless mistakes or typos - spelling/punctuation/grammar - in your writing at all. So check it all carefully.

Again, like last time, I am looking for ambitious and powerful use of AUDITORY and FIGURATIVE language - as well as a strong sense of TENSION and building towards a CLIMAX.

I am going to start giving you all TWO WEEKS for each task from now on - to ensure you ALL have time to complete every one. So the deadline for this is midnight on Saturday 6th October. Please don't miss it!

Here is my attempt:

Miniature asylum seeker, dwarfish refugee, I have almost outgrown my cacophonous cocoon. Warm and wet and black, it has nourished and protected me, drenched me in the matchless innocence of the blind, muffled the music of the world into motherly murmur, filled my interminable night with blissful nothingness. My slippery sanctuary. How much longer will I be welcome here? How long before I am forced to flee? How long before I make my terrifying debut? I do not know the lines; I will fill the room with my cries. The language of grief. Where one life begins, another must end.

Debut

I saw him come at first. I thought that I could not be touched.
Then, that whats came to be…
I guess.
My first was not meant to be like how it was. It was ‘sposed to be pure.
But that’s not what came to be…
I guess.
It was like a film. And I watched it take place, sat on my own.
I’m more on my own than all times in the past…
I guess.
I’m calm now, split by guilt and the sour taste of it.
That taste will stay with me for all time now…
I guess

Debut

The hairs on his neck stood on end as he watched the clocks hand pace around its face. The thoughts in his head spun round as if in a race. He felt a drop of sweat trickle down his head. Sound of foot steps awoke him from his day dreams and terror rushed through his body like a snake. Today was his big day, tonight was his big night, his first fight. The knock on the door was like the chimes of the church bells. He rolled the white tape around his hands and slid the gloves on his fists.

Debut

My heart beats fast my blood pumps hard I pant I wheeze I need to
Stop…
And breathe.
I can’t go on I need to rest I have no strength I sloooooow dooooooown like a worn old car
Oh but I can’t… if I could just…
Stop…
And think.
Think of the prize think of the end I must go on, go on to win
All eyes are on me I know this is it. I spEEd Up I feel like I’ve been charged
I can see it I’m so close yes I’ve done it at last I can
Stop.

Début

Hand on the prop, heart in her mouth.
Death was her stage, lights turned right down. Shrouds of dead eyes, claps heard out loud. This was her night, she would end their fight.

Step by step, the time grew short. Beat by beat, the veil shall fall.
Her script has no words, no lines to act to. But worn in her mind, was that line with a clue; “His heart went one way, so his life ends this day”.
The scene now etched in, it’s time right on queue. Her hand knew it’s time; his life's end was now due.

debut

As the train came to a stop I knew this was it, dads held their sons tight as they knew this was the last time they would see them, but they could not say their last words, the train door banged. It was time. Now the train swarmed with troops, screams filled the train, I don’t know what came next, must have blacked out. it must have been a while since I had blacked out ‘cause now I was out of the train and in the camp. I would not lie down and die, I knew that this was it.

Debut

The lights switched on, the stage is filled with cheers, her throat felt weird, her voice made a croak, and then the song slipped from her red lips, and her feet went tap, tap, her dance and her song joined, the crowd seemed please, she was great, and they all thought so too. The rest of the stage was then filled with more dance and song, and it grew and grew. They all danced, in this dance of joy and sung a song full of grace and then they suddenly had to come to a very quick and sharp stop.

Debut

It was his first day. His mind was else where. Think, was this fair? The huge gates open up their mouth and told him to come in. He was the one they waited for. A strange sense went down to his toes.
He looked back, only to see there was no way back. Mothers and fathers kiss their child and said bye. He was the only one left. One step was what he had to take but how?
There it was the doors stared at him. He can’t give up and in he went for the day of his life.

Debut

She looked out of the glass of the car. Out at the dark grey clouds above her. An omen to greet her on the new start. Her mum and dad, no care for her pain. The car came to a fleet halt. Out she came and stared at the belfry, sky high. She was a small ant; it was a big, bull. It glared at her. Smiled to say ‘your mine’ .A kiss from Mum. A pat from Dad. She was left, lone. Bait to her new peers. Her first day at school had come. There was no way back.

debut

Snip, snip, cut. Cut, snip, snip. A weight off my mind. A new start. A new me. Yet like any new thing - would they like it?

Chop, chop, chop. Months of growth gone in a tick. Hair on the floor. Dead cells now twice as dead.

As it falls, I think - is this wise? I'm told I'll be a whole new being with this cut. That's wrong.

Then it is done, and I stare back at me, then walk out in to the open world - a rush of wind in my face, now free for the world to judge.

Debut

Only Bad thoughts ran through his head
Which was fear and dread...

He felt like a worn out cup... but

As he took that step, the crowd stood up;
His heart was the beat of a wild drum.
He thinks he is known as a s**m

There is no way out, the chief chose HIM

He felt weird... gay weird;
As he came out with a grim face and

He saw the love of the fans.

The way they scream... all for him

The fear went and in came a smile

As he walks to the pitch in style.

Debut

Her Palms are wet, her eyes wide set. She feels scared stiff, its her first time.
Will she be good? She just has one chance to please, if it goes wrong then it’s no more.
The time is near, the one chance, the BIG chance.
The drapes are drawn so she clasps him and puts him to her lush lips, she shakes.
She looks round to see nowt, just her and him now.
All the dreams of this scene went great; no flaws.
She moves her thumbs up and down him and she plays the tune, just her and her flute.

Take heed from my friend who’s no more…

Kate believed she had fat legs and tummy
How I wish I could see through her eyes
She refused to eat food of the choicest cuisines
It’s her mirror that’s telling her lies.

“Please listen to me” I once pleaded
“You must stop this sick bodily harm”
But still she was sure that she was overweight
While my pen was compared to her arm

A few months have now passed and she’s haggard
Her school jumper engulfs her thin frame
She’s grown slimmer and weaker but now she is ill
And the doctor said Kate is to blame

On that Sunday news came from Kate’s mother
The news changed the course of my whole day
All I could do was to lay down and cry, mourning
My best friend Kate has just passed away

So I say to all girls who are out there
Take care of yourself it’s not a chore
Please don’t go down that path it’ll only kill you
And Take heed from my friend who’s no more

Task 11: Debut

[N.B. This whole post is available as a podcast by clicking here.]

début (noun)

1. a first public appearance on a stage, on television, etc.;
2. the first appearance of something, as a new product;
3. (of a young woman) a formal introduction and entrance into society, as at an annual ball;
4. the beginning of a profession, career, etc.

Look carefully at this piece of writing, entitled 'Début':

Debut

The drapes hung like dense clouds, a safe screen from those who might jeer or cheer. Fear pierced her veins; its hot pulse rushed through her heart, but left her cold too: she could feel her hands shake as they gripped the chair, and the chair, in turn, shook too. Soon to be thrown to the throng like a slave to a den of beasts, she did not trust her crowd. Then the sea of red cloth drew to each side and she stood there in the harsh, hot light. There was no way back now – this was it.

Now read it again, considering the following questions:

• What is it describing?
• What do we find out about the narrator/protagonist?
• How does it use simile and metaphor to bring the narrative to life?
• How does it enhance that narrative with rhythm, rhyme and alliteration?
  
• How does the narrative use tension to build towards a climax?

Now think about other scenarios in which someone might be making their début. An athlete or swimmer, perhaps, at a major championship (or even the olympics); a musician, auditioning to join a successful band; a child starting at a brand new school. We make different débuts throughout our life - some life-changing, some less so, but all, at the time, immensely significant and often rather nerve-wracking.

Now look again at the piece of writing above. What else do you notice about it? Nothing? Look really closely.

What do all the words have in common?

Worked it out yet?

And how many words are there?

Hopefully you are with me now: the piece of writing above consists of exactly 100 words - each consisting of only 1 syllable. It is entirely monosyllabic.

Why is this important? It is all about discipline. Over the next few weeks, I am going to give you a number of exercises which will test, hone and develop your discipline with language. Just like a musician will spend hours playing scales and arpeggios; just like an athlete will spend hours doing sit-ups, or press-ups, or squat-thrusts; so a writer becomes successful only if they are disciplined with their craft. And, as a writer, your craft is not speed on the racetrack; nor is it virtuosity with a violin; your craft is language.

All of your tasks over the next few weeks will require you to discipline your use of language in response to a number of stringent rules - BUT without ever losing impact or originality. EVERYTHING you write should be engaging, fresh and powerful - but it should achieve those things whilst ALSO adhering to the rules I set you.

And your rules for this week? Well, you have probably guessed by now:

1. Title: Début
2. Words: exactly 100 and ALL monosyllabic
3. Figurative language: frequent use of simile and metaphor
4. Auditory language: frequent use of rhythm, rhyme and alliteration
   
5. Structure: build steadily towards a climax
6. Deadline: midnight on Saturday 22nd September
   

As for the words themselves, that is where I hand the cauldron to you. It is now up to you to go away and make some wordvoodoo of your own...

Ballad of Stockholm

He got put in a land of obsession
Was a boy who was taken from love
He was taken from warmth, he was taken from joy
Yet he felt all at peace like a dove

Twas a man who was desperate like most men
For an offspring who'd make him feel proud
He would love, he would care he would make sure he's there
Yet to take one was just not allowed

As he rushed through his hall with the baby
He already felt like going back
Twas a look in his eye, saw the baby just smile
Was his frown which did proceed to crack

Was the baby that gripped to his torso
He looked down saw the grin, saw the heart
It was right then he knew just what he had to do
He realised that he'd have to part

He was put in a land of obseesion
With illegitamate loving and care
He was glad to depart from his god awful mum
He would take any love going spare.

A Ballad of Hating To Love

She loved him like ice - Her heart would just melt
She didn't know her heart was to break
All those times she'd been hit with his belt
How much more of this was this young girl to take?

All this abuse and hurt was plain to see
A rollercoaster of love - all in her mind
He didn't love her but for her money
What made her think that he was once kind?

One day it all happened... So harsh and cold
He took out his knife and reach for her purse
She would get hurt - so she had been told
Would this of her lifetime be that one hurtful curse?

She screamed for dear life... pleaded to him
He didn't listen... it was just but a game
she cried and cried: "Please stop this Jim!"
He coldly replied: "You are to blame!"

So this one night she crept up to his room
no longer could she even think to pretend
All that was left was the scent of her purfume
Her heart was now permanently unable to mend

a ballad of hope and freedom

There was up high for no one to see
A cage within freedom was bound,
Down below was a mother who prayed
For it to break free and come down.

Outside her door there was a vengeful city
In there was guilt and childhood as one
She had nowhere to run and could not hide from sorrow
So she cried up to freedom, it’d gone.

Why wont you set me free lord just show me
What life should be like, even prevail
If war was peace and peace was war, what would I have?
It seems love is of no ones avail.

It seemed now that in this age of love hate
That the latter had now won, and it seems
That it always will do, “Satan has stolen me”
At that moment a bright light beamed.

Please do not fear, your worries will be gone
Freedom had broken from its very cage
But you wouldn’t grant freedom entry, it flew away
Never seen again, twisted with age.