Words of one Syllable

Today is the first Tuesday of the month, significant for me because it is the day that my writing group gets together for its monthly meeting. I haven’t been since April, so it was great to get back down to Hengistbury Head and spend a little self-indulgent time in the pursuit of improving my writing craft in the company of like minded individuals. We meet for two hours, much of it spent in discussion about the merits of our pieces hastily jotted down in the allocated fifteen minute writing spells.  We are given two prompts  by our host each session and today was no exception. The first was an exercise in constructing oxymorons used in a descriptive piece about autumn, which was met by the group with middling success, the second was extremely interesting, at least for me. We were asked to produce a piece of prose or poem that consisted solely of words containing only one syllable. This is not as easy as you might think, it has many considerations, not least because it limits the tenses the writer can compose the story in and eliminates the opportunity to use adverbs such as; carefully, quickly, powerfully, as they all have so many syllables!

I have posted my piece, a flash fiction micro-story  below for you to read. It isn’t a perfect piece, some parts are a little awkward, but with just fifteen minutes to come upon with something it is a useful exercise and fun to try. I would recommend any writer, aspiring or otherwise have a go at this. I hope you enjoy my story. 🙂

The Box

The Box

Cold and numb, hands like twigs, we dug.  Not too far down in the ground we found it, Dad’s box. It was hard to free, tied as it was to the earth by chains of ice so hard they fought to keep his things where we could not reach them.  At last, as the day grew dim, and the sun grew bored of us, we won the fight, and all leant in to watch as Dawn’s tired hands reached down to lift the lid.

There, in the shade of the tree, we saw what he had placed with love to keep us all in heart and mind. Small clothes, no more, no less. One from each of us, a child’s thing, so small, so old, so us. Dawn put them back, closed the box and placed it in the ground.  We sat, each with our own thoughts and while the sun set, we wept.

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