Tag Archives: writing exercise

Pick It Apart

I have a bit of difficulty watching a movie or reading a book. If it’s horror or thriller or anything to do with monsters, I constantly take myself out of the experience by critiquing it the entire time. I can’t help but ask myself how I would have written it or how I would have described a character or if I would have gone that┬ároute with the monster. Or I just get grumpy that I didn’t come up with the idea.

It makes it a little hard to get invested in a fictional world when I spend the entire time nitpicking the thing from start to end. “Well I don’t know if that’s a realistic way to depict people running in fear.” “Why would the ghost kill people that way? That’s entirely contrary to the nature of ghosts!” “This helldog is entirely too verbose.” I can’t turn off the critic, the writer, the little guy in my brain that wants to do this for a living.

If I want escapism, I usually go for movies or books that aren’t in my genres. That way, I spend less time thinking of how I would’ve done it and just enjoy the ride. Horror is for educational purposes only. It’s how I learn and develop what I do and how I become a better writer. And that is my excuse for why I watch so many terrible horror movies.

Dylan Charles

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Filed under Thinking and Pondering: Science, History, Analysis and Over-Think

A Noir: In Three Parts

Part 1: Introduction

Our hero stands not so tall above the grime and grit of the City. He wallows in the gutterstench and he has a grease slick smile that spreads like spilled oil. His words burn spark and inflame the coming conflict. More than anything, it’s his ability to rub everyone the wrong way that opens up the case.

He moves in slow spirals toward the abyss, circling passed the bottle blonde with the pouting lips and the hair’s breadth dagger, passed the two-timing hood with the half-bent nose and absent heart, passed the reclusive old man who buries his dirty secrets in the City’s darkest chasms.

Down the detective moves, into darkness, where only the sound of his heart can be heard.

Part 2: The Conflict

It starts as a heartbeat’s slow thud rhythm. A steady punctuation mark, an ellipses between actions…waiting. Then a noise. Cloth rustling.

The beat speeds up.

Then another rapping. Footsteps tapping on concrete floor, hard shoes that run for cover, ringing out staccatto beats. Stutter step, a missed beat here, quick step slide. A beat with no rhythm now. Missed breath, catch in chest, ratta-tat-tat, quick, duck, down, low.

Silence.

Explosion of noise. Orange flame, dark night, sparks of light. Here, here, here. Flash and bang. Quick shots. Duck, roll, drop, spin. Violent percussion, cacophony. No beat.

Just noise.

Then the scream…the wail….break and silence looms.

Part Three: The End

A long whispered sigh begins to count out the evils that lead to this moment; to this point where the detective stands over the villain. A quiet thrum of dialog that explains everything. The gradual spilling of truth in a room heavy with copper smells and acrid smoke. The dead keep silent in the wings while all is revealed and they find out why they had to die.

An unfolding explanation that brings resolution to the reader and leaves the detective nothing but a mouthfull of ashes and a longing for the bottle.

Dylan Charles

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Filed under Experimenting