Standing in the rain.

Hate hard

The last for today, then I am curling up into a ball under a hefty pile of sheets and doona. I was over it this morning, and to be frank, my mood hasn’t improved.

My written reply to this exercise is a positive stinker. Cest le vie.

Blah, blah, click the thing when you’ve read it all.


This is the exercise question ->


Come up with a character, give them a name, an occupation, a relationship status and an age.

Close your eyes, take three to five breaths. Use the phrase, “Standing in the rain …” as a trigger.

Get in touch with the emotion your character is experiencing. Feel it in every cell of your body. Intensify that emotion. Allow an image to form in your imagination. Breathe it in. Listen for the sounds. Feel the physical sensations. See it clearly in your mind’s eye.

Write by hand, for six to eight minutes. Let the scene unfold by keeping the pen moving, capturing first thoughts and letting yourself write junk.

This is the crap I wrote ->

Week Two – Standing in the Rain

I am standing in the rain.

I am drenched.

I am happy.

This day has bought much joy to my heart; well it would at least, if I had one.

Those stupid folk!  So easily deceived! So easily led astray! How they quail before the beautiful, beautiful rain! Dashing hither tither in search of shelter, but shelter here? In these highlands, MY highlands, with the grass this day green, lush. The stones and craggy outcrops paint such a magnificent picture against the purple midday sky, heavy with dark clouds and foreboding.

The shells of my cloak rattle as I move amongst the heather. Oh what fun I have! Oh the joy it brings me, leading those wretched souls from the beaten track. They do not see me, for I do not wish to be seen, yet they follow, follow, the sounds of my shell coat that falls halfway down my kilt. For that is why I am ‘The Shellycoat’!

Oh glorious rain, veritable chair legs cast from the heavens, falling now heavier and heavier; their path is now lost, the sky is black, Thor’s hammer beating out his tune from above.

Slippery wet highland stones amongst the now sodden Scottish hills and mountains fall beneath the despairing feet.  A child is crying, a parent wraps it into the folds of its arms. Stupid! As if the arms of man can stop my beautiful, beautiful rain!

The Red Caps will pay me dearly for this gaggle of humanity; oh how I laugh! How I revel in I the knowledge that the rain tonight for those lost cretins will be that of blood. Their blood, for I am the Shellycoat, and this is what I do. Fin.

9 minutes, 41 seconds.

H, click the picture or don’t.

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