Exercising Your Writing Muscles

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Facebook Perve       As many of you are aware, I am constantly on Facebook promoting the art of writing. I love stories and I think that everyone has a story to tell. I have authored two books on how to get the story out of your head and onto paper as well as hosting quarterly writing workshops at the downtown library. I do not use Facebook to solely promote my work, but often share the works of other local and national authors as well.
Just to keep my writing skills fresh, occasionally, I offer a weekly writing challenge. I am sometimes amused and often amazed at what comes back. Last week I posted the definition of a Facebook perve.

Facebook perve : A person who goes on facebook, randomly reading peoples wall to walls, and later discussing what they read. (Courtesy of Urban Dictionary).

 

 

Here is what came back.
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Akins-Anderson Sydney: And as Sydney pressed ‘like’ he mused: Does randomly reading this make me a facebook perve? He shuddered the implications. . .

I decided to play along.
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Augusta Writers: The writer silently watched Akins-Anderson Sydney from across the crowded internet cafe. It was only mildly amusing as the watcher watched the watchee read the Facebook postings. The irony was not lost on the writer as voyeurism of another’s wall could not actually constitute perversion; it was close.

Here is where it starts to get interesting.
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Akins-Anderson Sydney: Sydney considered the thought a moment further but stop when he felt another’s presence. Pulled from his line of reasoning he looked up from the computer screen and gazed around the cafe. It was fairly busy at ten three in the morning; strangers going about their quotidian existence. He casually glanced at a few faces, nothing, and yet. .it was as if he were being watched. For a few seconds longer he scanned his sensorium, but nothing came of it. Just a vague intuition. Sydney shrugged and thought: All those John Grisham novels have made you paranoid. Then sunk back into the E-book he had been reading.

So, the Writer penned back.
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Augusta Writers: With a flick of the wrist and a sleight of hand, the words were penned upon the screen, knowing he was watching, knowing he would read the posting. Inside the message was an encrypted code of where to meet and at what time. The writer knew it would take a moment for the implication to register with the reader. The bait was set, the plan was in place, all that was needed was an acknowledgement. Ahh, there it was, a turn of the head in realization that the reader was being observed. The watcher passed behind her new prey, and quickly snipped a locket of Sydney’s hair. Smelling the lock, it wouldn’t be long now.

The Reader responded…..
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Akins-Anderson Sydney: Sydney continued to stare at the computer screen, but he had long since stopped reading. His intuition had been correct. He was being watched, though until he knew by who he would act oblivious (He had his share of enemies). He sat a bit straighter in an effort to strain his peripheral vision-nothing. It was then that a new message appeared on the screen. He read it over, then re-read it. An encrypted code was neatly hidden between the words. The code was for a meeting. He made a mental show of thinking it over, but Sydney already knew the end result of such contemplation. He would go, if only to find out more about the woman (he was sure now that the aura he sense was that of a woman), and why thier paths had crossed. A breeze passed behind him, and with it a feather light touch. He turned around, but saw nothing. She was gone. .

It is now my turn.

There is still so much more to come. You can follow the story on my Facebook wall or check back here for weekly updates. I am enjoying the story, hope you will too. I even went as far as to create a mock book cover.  Post your comments or inbox us on which way you want the story to go.

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2 thoughts on “Exercising Your Writing Muscles

    […] RSS ← Exercising Your Writing Muscles […]

    Cheryl Corbin said:
    December 8, 2012 at 4:33 pm

    Reblogged this on Cheryl Corbin.net.

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