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Is the phrase "Once upon a time..."
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Monthly Writing Prompt
For this month's writing prompt write a scene using the following sentence to start;

The streets were deserted. Where was everyone? Where had they all gone?

Writing Tip
Our monthly writing tips are written by our very own TerishD. You can read more in Terish's Blog located in "The Abstractions" area of the forum.

Look Back

When not able to write ahead, it helps to look back. In my case I had written a paragraph ahead of the story. What I needed to do was add a section of exposition (talking) presenting some facts. In going back, I realized that I could insert a section where a 'tour' of the surroundings could be done. This allowed for character interaction, story development, and other things that enabled me to present the facts in an entertaining manner.

One should not face a writer's block with the mentality of bursting through it. I have found in my own experience that a writer's block is usually due to my mind indicating that it has a problem in 'channeling' the story. One reason might be a re-imagining of certain story points. Another reason however is that there is a problem in where you are at in the story, so you need to look back and find out the problem with the 'journey' that prevents the tale from advancing.

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Number of posts : 2307
Age : 79
Location : portugal
Current Mood :
Registration date : 2008-08-13

PostSubject: Parisians   April 22nd 2015, 3:09 am

Paris is often on my mind, she was a pianist in an unfashionable
night-club had a smoky voice- at least 40 a day- she looked like
a night without sex was a paltry end of her struggle to keep her
skin, the glowing youth of remembrance. Our eye blinks collided
trolldom? She was a hex and I was drawn to her charm.
In the morning I heard her in the kitchen she was pouring a drink
that if water is added looks like milk- She went into the loo and
had a pee and I was quietly grateful it was not a dump.
I drifted off to sleep and only woke up when she awoke me having
made toast and coffee- She wanted me to stay, but I had a date at
twelve reading English written poetry for a group of Parisians
middle class twits, who would lamely applaud while thinking they
could have done it better in their legionary accent they thought was
an elevated a form of expression and we dumb people meekly have
accepted as a truth, the accolade of refinement. My French, elderly
seductress was from Morocco and her father had been an officer in
the army who when he came to France was offered a job as a doorman,
a job he refused he went home and shot himself.
Yet I love the underbelly of Paris, it is where the poor and loses live
and if one of the succeed Paris middle-class will claim them and say
they were typical Parisians.
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