Fiction: The Bowl
Oct. 6th, 2014 09:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyTitle: The Bowl
Word count: 238
Rating: G
Prompt: Steering the Craft: Chastity
Notes: I'm working (slowly) through one of Ursula K. Le Guin's writing books, Steering the Craft. Every chapter has a topic and an exercise. I like most of them, but this one is my favorite by far. The idea is to write a short passage without using any adjectives or adverbs at all. There are a lot of cross-outs on my page, and I'm not sure I got them all. It was a fun and challenging exercise, and I think I'll do it again. I was also intrigued by the story that emerged, so I figured I'd share it!
She placed the bowl on the table, moving with as little speed as she could. Her hands shook. A droplet of water spilled over the lip of the bowl, onto the table. It shook and shivered, throwing the candlelight about, then sank into the wood until it was out of sight. She held her breath and looked into the bowl, wondering whether she had to begin again, but it had been only the one drop; she could see no difference in the height of the water. It still lapped so close to the edge of the bowl that, if she laid her hand down so it was just touching the bowl, it would be touching water as well.
She watched the water until the ripples from her handling had vanished, then shook back her hair and bared her arms. She pressed her hands together above the water, the sides of her fingers skimming its surface.
She said the words. She said the words again. She said the words a third time. This time, when her voice faltered, something else took up the cadences; a hum, almost below hearing, but that shook her bones.
She lowered her hands. The cool water covered her pinkies, her ring fingers, her middle fingers, her pointer fingers. Her thumbs, and then her wrists. She dared not look. If both body and bowl remained in the physical, she would have struck stone by now.
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Word count: 238
Rating: G
Prompt: Steering the Craft: Chastity
Notes: I'm working (slowly) through one of Ursula K. Le Guin's writing books, Steering the Craft. Every chapter has a topic and an exercise. I like most of them, but this one is my favorite by far. The idea is to write a short passage without using any adjectives or adverbs at all. There are a lot of cross-outs on my page, and I'm not sure I got them all. It was a fun and challenging exercise, and I think I'll do it again. I was also intrigued by the story that emerged, so I figured I'd share it!
She placed the bowl on the table, moving with as little speed as she could. Her hands shook. A droplet of water spilled over the lip of the bowl, onto the table. It shook and shivered, throwing the candlelight about, then sank into the wood until it was out of sight. She held her breath and looked into the bowl, wondering whether she had to begin again, but it had been only the one drop; she could see no difference in the height of the water. It still lapped so close to the edge of the bowl that, if she laid her hand down so it was just touching the bowl, it would be touching water as well.
She watched the water until the ripples from her handling had vanished, then shook back her hair and bared her arms. She pressed her hands together above the water, the sides of her fingers skimming its surface.
She said the words. She said the words again. She said the words a third time. This time, when her voice faltered, something else took up the cadences; a hum, almost below hearing, but that shook her bones.
She lowered her hands. The cool water covered her pinkies, her ring fingers, her middle fingers, her pointer fingers. Her thumbs, and then her wrists. She dared not look. If both body and bowl remained in the physical, she would have struck stone by now.
Did you enjoy this story? You can see all my fiction posted at Dreamwidth!