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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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 cobwebs of dreams

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Number of posts : 2320
Age : 79
Location : portugal
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Registration date : 2008-08-13

PostSubject: cobwebs of dreams   September 14th 2017, 4:20 am

The cobwebs of dreams

It was a clear day…Too clear I thought. Mother sat in the kitchen,
sunlight made her white hair into a halo. I asked how old she was,
ninety-two she said; knew I was trapped in a dream she didn`t
live that long.
By the slow river I saw furniture drifted, my brother said it was
people who lived downstream but bought furniture upstream
and to save on the transport dumped the stuff in the river and
relatives picked it up further down.
Sometimes a table or a chair got lost a risk they were willing to take.
I knew this too was a dream.
Walked along a soft road in a forest, but something was wrong
there was a strange red light emitting from trees; I was trapped
inside a painting by a mad Russian artist; luckily I had a flick knife.
I think it is morning, perhaps not, sometimes the line between
and the subconscious emerges, maybe yesterday is today.
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