barbermonger: a one on one roleplay search forum

WELCOME TO BARBERMONGER
WHAT IS BARBERMONGER?

BARBERMONGER is a site designed to help roleplayers find other roleplayers, specifically one-on-one roleplayers, as opposed to larger roleplay games. Functioning like a pinboard, BARBERMONGER allows users to create advertisements, bump advertisements, and respond to other advertisements, without requiring them to register an account. However, registering an account will allow you to edit your posts, find your own topics, and use the private messaging system.

HELPFUL LINKS:

BARBERMONGER RULES
REGISTER AN ACCOUNT
TODAY'S ACTIVE TOPICS
MEMBERS
SEARCH WITH JCINK
SEARCH WITH GOOGLE
DONATE TO BARBERMONGER



 
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll

 weekly writing challenge 12/4 - 12/10, challenge: synesthesia
XANDER
 Posted: Dec 3 2015, 08:37 PM
Quote

local advice god
Group: Admin
Posts: 1158
Joined: 21-February 11

Status: Offline

Awards:




2015 is creeping to a close, and i bet you're ready to wrap it up with a BANG! and, even better, get a jump on the writing opportunities in 2016. ENTER THE WEEKLY WRITING CHALLENGE, co-hosted with your beloved BIRD.

what? a weekly writing challenge
who? you, me, your friends, everyone
why? to challenge yourself randomly

do i have to participate every week? nope! participate as you feel.

how does it work? every week i will post a new writing challenge! writing challenges are lifted from this site. from friday to thursday, post your submission to the corresponding thread. after that, the we will enter the 'critique phase', and the next challenge will be posted.

what is the 'critique phase'? the next phase of the challenge will be for each writer to critique one other piece. critique can be weird and uncomfortable to give as well as receive, but we can keep it light and get some practice in!

THIS WEEK'S PROMPT:
QUOTE
Synesthesia, according to M.H. Abrams in A Glossary of Literary Terms, is a description of “one kind of sensation in terms of another; color is attributed to sounds, odor to colors, sound to odors, and so on.”  Here is an example of synesthesia from Bruno Schulz’s Street of the Crocodiles:  “Adela would plunge the rooms into semidarkness by drawing down the linen blinds.  All colors immediately fell an octave lower [my italics]; the room filled with shadows, as if it had sunk to the bottom of the sea and the light was reflected in mirrors of green water.” Schulz describes a change in color by means of a musical term.  Writers consciously and unconsciously employ this peculiar method to convey the irreducible complexity of life onto the page.  Diane Ackerman (in A Natural History of the Senses) feels we are born with this wonderful “intermingling” of senses:  “A creamy blur of succulent blue sounds smells like week-old strawberries dropped into a tin sieve as mother approaches in a halo of color, chatter, and perfume like thick golden butterscotch.  Newborns ride on intermingling waves of sight, sound, touch, taste, and, especially, smell.”  Use synesthesia in a short scene—surreptitiously, without drawing too much attention to it—to convey to your reader an important understanding of some ineffable sensory experience.  Use “sight, sound, touch, taste, and, especially, smell.” 


NOTES: no word limit, but minimum of 500! (you could all write that in your sleep)

START YOUR ENGINES BARBERMONGERS. NOW GIVE ME SOME LAPS.

--------------------
user posted image

PMWebsiteAIMYIMMSN
^
XANDER
 Posted: Dec 10 2015, 06:08 PM
Quote

local advice god
Group: Admin
Posts: 1158
Joined: 21-February 11

Status: Offline

Awards:




churning mine out at the last second YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHH

▲ ▲ ▲ ▲ ▲

She found a new Christmas party to infiltrate every year, no matter where she was. The season sickened her to some degree, drowning her in waves of false sentimentality and loneliness, but it would have been that much more unbearable to spend it alone. Lila was better able to lose herself in crowds of people, quietly feeding on their high spirits, bolstering her own. She used to resent them – first consciously, then unconsciously (and she had told herself that she felt nothing) – but now, there was only a bland acceptance of her circumstances versus theirs. The rebellion against the pens of history and fate had been conceded.

The Metro line threading through greater Los Angeles was subpar, she reflected. Moscow had more beautiful stations, and the layout of the Toronto lines was more efficient. Here, holding court amidst the middle-aged and too-young, the acrid, bitter-coffee taste of inefficiency and surrender lingered on her tongue. She leaned back against the hard plastic seat and dug her caramel hands deeper into her peacoat pockets. The heels of her silver pumps clicked once, and were devoured by the hungry clacking of the train.

A stop was chosen at random, and she wandered. The sidewalk she found herself on was narrow, and littered with trash and the homeless. Lila could not help looking at them as she passed them, even though it increased her chances of being accosted, because she knew too well how they felt. If she had no magic, she might have easily ended up like them.

Ahead of her, a smattering of laughing couples wandered into the cozy lobby of an upscale hotel. Slender, bare-shouldered women clung to their dates, who carried their winter coats with a smile. Lila fell into step behind them, and the soft perfume of influence persuaded them – and the doormen – that she was one of them. Down the corridor, at the check-in table, a bespectacled man crossed out an already crossed-out name, and beamed at her. “Merry Christmas!” Lila reflected that the company was either too large or too small to worry much about its correctness.

The ballroom was filled with a golden buzz. She plucked two champagne glasses from a passing tray, as if she had a companion to offer one to. Her eyes scanned the room vacantly, and then with sudden sharpness, when she realized that not only was it some sort of Christmas party, but it was a masque as well – the faces of the attendees were hidden in a colorful parade of silver, red, and green. Lila passed a hand over her face, her fingers lightly gracing her forehead and nose, and a mask of her own appeared. It was funny, and yet, soothing – she exhaled, and let the tension of influence unwind from her shoulders and lungs. No one knew if anyone belonged here.

There was magic here, she could feel. She walked through the room, brushing elbows with strangers, sometimes pausing to listen to and participate in their conversations. She used names she heard mentioned, and threw out careless rumors. She drank the champagne and lost herself in her own reflection, bent and stretched in the curves of globes dangling on the ten-foot Christmas tree against one wall. Lila was submerged in the soapy, intoxicating joy of the party, swimming through the bubbly laughter. Then, there was one laugh that cut through it all, popping the bubbles and turning her stomach. The laugh rose from the dark pits of memory, a jarring ring in contrast to the melodic Carol of the Bells.

Because it couldn’t be her, Lila thought drunkenly. She was gone.

But what if she wasn’t?
PMWebsiteAIMYIMMSN
^
0 User(s) are reading this topic (0 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

Topic Options
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll


 


 

AFFILIATES
Shadowplay Roleplay Gateway Fragile Things


skin created by they-go of RCR, CAUTION, they go and wombat designs