Friday Writing Exercises

Good Friday my Adoring Public! Throughout the week, on my various social medias, I've done several writing exercises. This post will contain all those PLUS additional material NOT seen on my social media, so it's a good idea to stick around and subscribe.

Hope to see you all in the comments!

This exercise is based on a photo. I find a random image online and write about it for five minutes. The goal is to allow your mind to create characters and scenarios without thinking to hard. These are my following entries from different social medias.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormytchelchandler/

Rachel pressed the elevator button, glancing at her watch. She bit the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit that she just couldn’t get rid of. The taste of copper coated her tongue and she sighed deeply. “Alright Rach, you got this. You’ve got the stuff.” Ding, 3rd floor, not the 5th. Relieved, she shook her hands out. The doors opened and a man tumbled his way in. His tie was crumpled and loosened, his briefcase swinging in behind, bulging with stress, papers sticking out the edges. Rachel pressed herself against the opposite side of the elevator, her self mediation session now ruined. The man tapped the button to the 10th floor. Floor ten? Rachel’s throat dried, her palms increased their sweat production. “Floor ten?” She repeated aloud, her feet pushed against the edges of her heels. Were they becoming swollen?

The man jerked his head back and blinked his eyes, not very flattering, even though his eyes were a sun dipped gold. But his smile made her feet melt, or was that the swelling?

"First day. I can't believe they hired me up here. And can you believe it? I'm late."

She bit the inside of her cheek, "Lucky, I just made it to the fifth floor."

He rushed a hand over his head, the fine waves springing back into place. "Pharmaceuticals. Nice. I remember those days."

Rachel watched as his Adams apple bobbed, a slick bead of sweat ravening down his umber neckline. Blood pooled in the bottom of her mouth as her teeth snipped away, she moved forward, grabbing onto his tie.

"You might want to fix this." She pulled, forcing it up to his neck, maybe a little too tight.

He was obviously startled, he pulled back slightly and grasped her hand. A flash sparked between their fingers, they both retreated.

The corners of the elevator couldn't be far enough away. She pushed herself against the rail, her chest rising and falling. His eyes wide and mouth agape.

The doors dinged, 6th floor.

Fumbling out, Rachel choked out, "Been a shocking experience."

She heard his laughs as the elevator rolled away.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MytchelChandler

Contorted fingers slammed down the nozzle of the paint. It splashed the wall, marring it with beauty. My voice had gone hoarse from screaming, though I’m glad I had enough sense to go where no one could hear me, I couldn’t bear another “Are you okay?”

No, Mom, I’m not okay. My mind is splitting from its seams, the boy I love shattered my heart and I can’t even tell you.

No Dad, I’m not okay. My fingers are bleeding because I’m trying to become the musician you want me to be. I don’t care about the guitar, but your failures won’t let me be.

The ball clinked around the pain can, I pulled down the mas breathing in the fumes, letting them corrode the inside of my flesh brain. A slick hot stream of pain rolled down my face.

“Hey Z! Thought I’d find you down here.”

I wiped away the tear and affixed a broken smile to my face. The perfect mask.

“Diego! What are you doing here?” We clasped hands, bringing them together for a hug.

A backpack fell to the ground, Diego shoved his hands into it, retrieving to cans of fresh paint.

"Mel said you'd be here."

Z pursed his lips, "I told her not to tell anyone." But he wasn't surprised, not really.

Ignoring the complaint, Diego placed on a mask, "What are we working on?"

They turned to the brick wall which had a thick coat of blue and red.

"A set of lips with bars instead of teeth."

"The woman's burden."

Huffing, Z pushed a mask over his mouth and shook his can. Diego held back, Z sensed the resistance and glanced over his shoulder. "I'm guessing you didn't just come here to paint."

Diego shook his can, "No, but we can talk after, no use ruining the art."

The paint dribbled off their fingers as the nozzle crammed against the cool metal, their insecurities fading with every drop.

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormytchelchandler/

Pressing the speak button, I leaned over into the Mic. “Alright, J, one more go and we can get out of here.” J smiled through the glass, gave a thumbs up, and slipped the headphones over her head. I clicked two buttons, flicked a switch, and the music started. She started singing, and I plopped into my seat, pulling my coffee mug off the desk. “Ah, sweet life juice, what would I do without you?” My phone buzzed, I powered it up, making sure to flick another lever. Instinct. A text message from Howard Shard. He wanted to know when he was going to meet with J. Howard had been a thorn in my ass. He was a huge benefactor to J, but J hated him. Howard did not keep his hands to himself, no matter how many times we told him to, and he treated her more like an object than an actual person.

J rapped on the glass, my coffee spilled to the floor.

I pulled back, "Shit!"

J rapped on the glass again. I threw my hand out, waving her off. My white saint laurents had brown splotches on them. I swiped my hand over the stains, they didn't come off.

"Shit." These shoes aren't even mine, I can't return them looking like this.

The glass reverberated so loud I couldn't ignore it anymore.

I slapped the red button to speak, "What the hell do you want J?"

"Behind you!" Screeched through the speakers.

A wire wrapped around my neck, I fell from my chair, my airway closed.

"Lights out."

I thrashed back to identify the attacker, but a thousand pound fist showed me the inside of my eyelids.

This next exercise is based around a title generator. A random title is generated for me and I come up with a plot and genre.

Random Title: The Spell in the Fog Genre: Mystery Fantasy Plot: In the land of mist, a young woman returns from a trip to town to find her parents dead. No sign of break in, no hints at a struggle. On the night of their funeral, a fire is started in the towns square. After extinguishing the fire and smothering the disarray, she returns to the funeral site to find her parents bodies missing and a azure flower left behind along with a note that says, "find me".

Why would someone kill her parents? And why would they steal their bodies?

Be sure to follow me for more updates. linktr.ee/authormytchelchandler