Experiments with fiction. POV.
The next prompt in the POV section is called “The Imperative.” I don’t have the book with me but due to a much needed lull in my day, I’m working on it from my fragmented memory.
The gist of this one is that you write a 500 word piece that is a fragment of a story. Every line should be an imperative, or an order. Basically, it’s a twist on 2nd person pov except you won’t use the “you” and write only in commands.
This is the book I’m using: The 3 am Epiphany In case anyone’s interested. Amazon’s got it cheaper that what I paid. And the author’s even got his own page, he’s apparently a professor at the University of Denver (Home Page Here) and dude, I wouldn’t want to take his class. *shudders* Four students to a class? How can I hide in the back in that class, you know?
Here's my attempt. Again, I don't have the book onhand to refer to but I'll post the entire prompt when I get home in a couple of hours. Not quite 500 words.
Keep walking. Don’t look back.
Don’t look back.
Stop thinking about everything that she said.
Don’t look back.
Take a step onto the grass. Take another step.
Spot your car parked across the street. Don’t listen to her yells. Don’t listen to her cries.
Keep walking.
Put one foot in front of the other.
Don’t squash the flowers, she’ll yell louder if you squash the flowers. Don’t look at her.
Look at your feet, keep walking. Don’t go the long way down the paved driveway, keep using the grass.
Don’t listen to her crying. Stop listening to her crying.
Know that she doesn’t mean what she says. Realize that it’s all the same and keep walking.
Reach into your pocket.
Stop shaking.
Find your keys and take them out of your pocket.
Don’t hear her screams.
Don’t look back.
Hit the button and wait for the sound of the horn.
Try the door handle. Pull it open.
Don’t hear her crying again.
Close the door.
Push the key into the ignition. Put your foot on the brake.
Start the car.
Turn the radio up.
Listen to the song. Don’t look out the window.
Don’t pay attention to her banging on the glass.
Don’t look at your ring on her finger. Don’t look at her ring on your finger.
Push lightly on the horn.
Wait for her to step back.
Push the gas.
Drive away.
Don’t look in your mirror. Don’t see her standing there in the street.
Listen to the song on the radio. Pretend that you don’t care.
Pretend that you aren’t leaving her.
Drive toward your first home.
Drive toward your mom’s house.
Don’t think about your wife. Don’t think about her boyfriend.
Don’t think about the house you just drove away from.
Listen to the radio.
Tap your fingers on the steering wheel.
Think about what your mom’s storing in your old room.
Push the button on the ceiling and wait for the sunroof to open.
Keep your eyes on the road.
Blink away the tears.
See the gate leading toward your parents’ house.
Make sure and flip your signal light on before turning.
Wave at the guard. Ask him about his grandchildren.
Don’t frown. Don’t let him see that you’re crying.
Push the gas lightly.
Pull in behind your dad’s car.
Don’t run over the surfboard.
Turn off the ignition.
Take your hands off the steering wheel.
Wipe your face with your hands.
Unlock the doors.
Don’t cry when he asks you what’s wrong. Don’t cry when he puts his arm around you.
Don’t cry.
More in depth explanation of prompt # 2 is here.
The gist of this one is that you write a 500 word piece that is a fragment of a story. Every line should be an imperative, or an order. Basically, it’s a twist on 2nd person pov except you won’t use the “you” and write only in commands.
This is the book I’m using: The 3 am Epiphany In case anyone’s interested. Amazon’s got it cheaper that what I paid. And the author’s even got his own page, he’s apparently a professor at the University of Denver (Home Page Here) and dude, I wouldn’t want to take his class. *shudders* Four students to a class? How can I hide in the back in that class, you know?
Here's my attempt. Again, I don't have the book onhand to refer to but I'll post the entire prompt when I get home in a couple of hours. Not quite 500 words.
Keep walking. Don’t look back.
Don’t look back.
Stop thinking about everything that she said.
Don’t look back.
Take a step onto the grass. Take another step.
Spot your car parked across the street. Don’t listen to her yells. Don’t listen to her cries.
Keep walking.
Put one foot in front of the other.
Don’t squash the flowers, she’ll yell louder if you squash the flowers. Don’t look at her.
Look at your feet, keep walking. Don’t go the long way down the paved driveway, keep using the grass.
Don’t listen to her crying. Stop listening to her crying.
Know that she doesn’t mean what she says. Realize that it’s all the same and keep walking.
Reach into your pocket.
Stop shaking.
Find your keys and take them out of your pocket.
Don’t hear her screams.
Don’t look back.
Hit the button and wait for the sound of the horn.
Try the door handle. Pull it open.
Don’t hear her crying again.
Close the door.
Push the key into the ignition. Put your foot on the brake.
Start the car.
Turn the radio up.
Listen to the song. Don’t look out the window.
Don’t pay attention to her banging on the glass.
Don’t look at your ring on her finger. Don’t look at her ring on your finger.
Push lightly on the horn.
Wait for her to step back.
Push the gas.
Drive away.
Don’t look in your mirror. Don’t see her standing there in the street.
Listen to the song on the radio. Pretend that you don’t care.
Pretend that you aren’t leaving her.
Drive toward your first home.
Drive toward your mom’s house.
Don’t think about your wife. Don’t think about her boyfriend.
Don’t think about the house you just drove away from.
Listen to the radio.
Tap your fingers on the steering wheel.
Think about what your mom’s storing in your old room.
Push the button on the ceiling and wait for the sunroof to open.
Keep your eyes on the road.
Blink away the tears.
See the gate leading toward your parents’ house.
Make sure and flip your signal light on before turning.
Wave at the guard. Ask him about his grandchildren.
Don’t frown. Don’t let him see that you’re crying.
Push the gas lightly.
Pull in behind your dad’s car.
Don’t run over the surfboard.
Turn off the ignition.
Take your hands off the steering wheel.
Wipe your face with your hands.
Unlock the doors.
Don’t cry when he asks you what’s wrong. Don’t cry when he puts his arm around you.
Don’t cry.
More in depth explanation of prompt # 2 is here.