Write on Wednesday-When the music's over...

The Write On Wednesday Rules: Get creative with the writing exercises - there isn't a right or wrong. Please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays and leave a comment of support and constructive criticism. 


Write On Wednesdays Exercise 22 - Select a piece of music that reflects the mood of writing you'd like to aim for. Press play. Start free writing. Write the first words that come into your head. When the music's over, so is the writing. I'd recommend finding out how long the song is before you start the exercise. You may feel cheated in your writing time if you pick a song by The Ramones. Of course, if you feel like writing a short, punky piece by all means, go for it!

This week's prompt was a good one, and I liked choosing the song and then writing whatever came to my fingers. I chose the song "Music of the Night" from the Phantom of the Opera, because I am a HUGE fan of that musical. Anyway, I came up with a pretty odd piece. I had no idea it would end up like this, and it was rather dark, but then again so is the song. I kind of cheated and played through the song twice, because after listening once I could feel that I wasn't done yet. Anyway, hope you like it, and thanks again for all your lovely comments last week!

~Claire

The grass was cool under her feet and the moon hung ripe and low in the sky. She could feel the night pulsing, around her and through her. The sweet air made her feel drunk with darkness and serenity. Trees dipped and swayed in the breeze, and her night gown rippled with the grasses. At this time, light was silver, the night was magical. Warlocks hid behind bushes, doing dastardly deeds. She could feel the heartbeats of mice, asleep in their dens, and the soft padding of the cat’s paws in the dark. The cat was a wanderer, just like herself. 

She found herself walking across a field, staring up at the galaxy spread above her, a patchwork quilt of the sky. Every fiber felt alive, the leaves whispered to her, the stalks of plants tickled her feet. The blackness of the forest gleamed at her hungrily. There was the unknown territory, and it was pulling her in. She could feel the tug, the urge to jump into the dark waters of the lakes, to rush through woods of blackness and sing to the moon. 

As the night began to consume her very being, she gasped in ecstasy and again, when she looked down to find her feet several inches from the dewy ground. She rose up, nightgown billowing around her, a sail to guide her journey into open ocean. The trees danced in a sudden wind, she heard the howls of wolves and the gentle snores of sleepers. The night around her pressed inward, her pale, pearly hand outstretched to meet the ebony blackness on either side of her. She glided towards the stars, cushioned by shadows, blanketed by the specters of night. Blooms of murkiness ballooned about her, weaving long black tentacles into her auburn hair. 

Every sense was alive, joyous, and in tune. Her bare feet rose, brushing the treetops, and she began to fly up. Up over the houses, away from the woods, over the gloomy waters of the lake. Already, there was a pale line of primrose on the horizon, the night was drawing to a close. She turned her ivory face away from the sun, her arms outstretched, embracing the darkness, not the light. The music of the night flowed around her, the shadows lurked inside of her. She turned away from the light, the life she had. As the sun rose in brilliant splendor, she sped west, following the night which had captured her soul and her heart. She could hear the music. She could feel the magic of the night.