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 WEEKLY WRITING CHALLENGE: 3/4 - 3/10, challenge: body language
XANDER
 Posted: Mar 4 2016, 10:59 AM
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so 2015 did creep to a close with my FALLING OFF THE WRITING CHALLENGE WAGON, but thanks to this book i am infinitely more determined to actually achieve this even if i am working 50 hours a week!! how am i going to do nano if i can't do this shit???

SO WHAT'S UP YA'LL

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.

QUOTE
Write a “conversation” in which no words are said.  This exercise is meant to challenge you to work with gesture, body language (or, as a baseball announcer I heard once misspeak it, body English), all the things we convey to each other without words.  We often learn more about characters in stories from the things characters do with their hands than from what they say.  It might be best to have some stranger observe this conversation, rather than showing us the thoughts of one of the people involved in the conversation, because the temptation to tell us what the conversation is about is so great from inside the conversation.  “I was doing the opposite of Freud,” Desmond Morris says, of his famous book The Naked Ape that first studied the ways humans speak with their bodies.  “He listened to people and didn’t watch; I watched people and didn’t listen.”  Because of Morris, according to Cassandra Jardine, “when politicians scratch their noses they are now assumed to be lying—and the sight of the Queen [Elizabeth] crossing her legs at the ankles is known to be a signal that her status is too high for her to need to show sexual interest by crossing them further up.”


here are a few galleries on body language - a quick google search can given you even more!
link one and link two and link three.

NOTES: no word limit, but minimum of 500!

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XANDER
 Posted: Mar 12 2016, 12:29 PM
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i totally blanked on this and churned this out at my desk in my spiral notebook at work between sales lol

*

The end came slowly, in great, thrashing seizures between weeks of torpor. As a chronically ill patient sometimes enjoys day after day of glorious health, only to fall victim to one's deeper ailment, so too did Ariel know that they were dying, when he was not passionately committed to denying it. He knew he was unwanted, without the words ever being spoken.

One morning she rose from bed before him, leaving him alone to retreat into the office and read by the first rays of dawn. She sat at the writing desk flush against the window, one silk strap of her chemise trailing down her arm; her dark hair fell loose and curled down her back. He approached quietly, his bare feet making no sound on the cool wood floor. He set a hand on her bare shoulder, and leaned in to see what she was reading.

Her eyes flicked coldly to his hand; no smile tilted the corners of her eyes upward. She looked back to her book, and shrugged his hand away from her shoulder as she turned the page. The gesture struck him like a cold winter's wind, but words died in his throat: he could already hear her responding to his protest in his head. When the actual Iris was not available for conversation, Ariel conversed internally with a copy of her, a twin ghost, who now chided him for looking too much into things, as was his fancy.

If he stopped to listen, he could hear her shallow, irate, breathing. Her hair smelled sulfuric, resentful. He cast his eyes down, kissed her temple with dry lips, and quit the room.

Another night, at the opera, she stared out the window of the hansom during the entire journey from the house to the theater, her hands coiled in her lap. Ariel amused himself with geometry, trying to calculate the exact angle of her shoulder blades. When they stepped from the carriage, she took his hand and smiled, but it was the smile of a patient and tired sibling - someone who had seen all the tricks before, and no longer believed in the magic. She crossed her ankles when they sat down for the show, and did not smile at him again.

When she did speak, the words spoken aloud belied all the words spoken with her lips shut. Ariel willed himself to believe them: he put all his heart into the fierce, doomed hope that Iris was at least hone with herself, and would thus be honest with him by extension. Like most men, he could not truly imagine death, and a life without Iris was an emotional death, a complete, unfathomable oblivion.

But death came, as quietly as Ariel had that cold morning. Death's arrival was heralded by so many yawns, sighs, and scratches of the neck, and he showed himself in without waiting to be invited. For all the things he did feel at the end, Ariel could not lay claim to surprise.
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