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The second exercise is basically the first, but make it about an action or an emotion. I had a few false starts with this, but it's time to call it done and move on. I suspect this is a good it's good to work through multiple times. Like how I read the same composition textbook every year for a few years. So, this doesn't need to be the be-all end-all perfect piece of homework. It's learning and I should spend no more than 30 minutes on each.
Part Two: In a paragraph or so, describe an action, or a person feeling a strong emotion-joy, fear, grief. Try to make the rhythm and movement of the sentences embody or represent the physical reality you're writing about.
It's a dance. When he's in control of the fight, when he knows which tough guy is going to fall next, when the hits keep landing, it's a dance. He never talks about what it's like to be in the zone during a fight. He doesn't talk about the flow state of perfect concentration, how it's like the eye of a hurricane. Everything spins around him.
With a whirl and a kick and a flick of his wrist he catches the oncoming fist of Maranski's tallest goon. A showy move meant more to intimidate than anything. The guy blanches, good. Eliot is a close in brawler and someone with arms that long could give him trouble, if he knew how to use them.
"God... damn." Hardison's voice is quiet in his ear, a clear sound under the thud of his fists striking the guy's side and the rush of his own blood. The comms are strange that way. They almost feel like a psychic connection in how they carry clear soft sounds, make whispers carry over shouts.
His move had an effect on more than the other fighters. The shock, the reverence in Hardison's voice is as sweet as syrup.
"Damn it's hard to not enjoy my job," Eliot said. He bounced from foot to foot as he faced the rest of the goons. Again, intimidate to throw them off, but it was also a reminder to himself. They were low rent muscle for hire and Eliot could have made easy work of them, but no need to lay them out flat just because he could. He knew better than to get carried away while fighting, but the temptation was always there.
"You, then you, then... okay save you for last." Eliot pointed at the goons in turn. They turned towards the door. One tripped over another in his haste. They ran.
Eliot laughed and watched for a few seconds to make sure they completely cleared out. Then he spun and dashed down the hall. Halfway down, Hardison leaned against bare drywall.
"C'mon, let's get outta here." Eliot grabbed the loose fabric of Hardison's hoodie and pulled him along.
"That was hot. Never seen you pull that move before."
Eliot stopped and turned abruptly, making Hardison run into him. He waited a heartbeat for him to get his balance and look him in the eyes.
"Once your ass is safe, I'll all yours," Eliot said.
"Then let's run."
Part Two: In a paragraph or so, describe an action, or a person feeling a strong emotion-joy, fear, grief. Try to make the rhythm and movement of the sentences embody or represent the physical reality you're writing about.
It's a dance. When he's in control of the fight, when he knows which tough guy is going to fall next, when the hits keep landing, it's a dance. He never talks about what it's like to be in the zone during a fight. He doesn't talk about the flow state of perfect concentration, how it's like the eye of a hurricane. Everything spins around him.
With a whirl and a kick and a flick of his wrist he catches the oncoming fist of Maranski's tallest goon. A showy move meant more to intimidate than anything. The guy blanches, good. Eliot is a close in brawler and someone with arms that long could give him trouble, if he knew how to use them.
"God... damn." Hardison's voice is quiet in his ear, a clear sound under the thud of his fists striking the guy's side and the rush of his own blood. The comms are strange that way. They almost feel like a psychic connection in how they carry clear soft sounds, make whispers carry over shouts.
His move had an effect on more than the other fighters. The shock, the reverence in Hardison's voice is as sweet as syrup.
"Damn it's hard to not enjoy my job," Eliot said. He bounced from foot to foot as he faced the rest of the goons. Again, intimidate to throw them off, but it was also a reminder to himself. They were low rent muscle for hire and Eliot could have made easy work of them, but no need to lay them out flat just because he could. He knew better than to get carried away while fighting, but the temptation was always there.
"You, then you, then... okay save you for last." Eliot pointed at the goons in turn. They turned towards the door. One tripped over another in his haste. They ran.
Eliot laughed and watched for a few seconds to make sure they completely cleared out. Then he spun and dashed down the hall. Halfway down, Hardison leaned against bare drywall.
"C'mon, let's get outta here." Eliot grabbed the loose fabric of Hardison's hoodie and pulled him along.
"That was hot. Never seen you pull that move before."
Eliot stopped and turned abruptly, making Hardison run into him. He waited a heartbeat for him to get his balance and look him in the eyes.
"Once your ass is safe, I'll all yours," Eliot said.
"Then let's run."
no subject
Date: 2022-02-01 02:47 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2022-02-02 12:06 am (UTC)From:This one is good too. I like Eliot being pretty into his head about things even as what he's doing is very physical.
no subject
Date: 2022-02-02 12:28 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2022-02-03 02:59 am (UTC)From:I do think there's a bit too much of a tendency to portray him as all-serious-all-the-time or joyless in the things he does. He's got angst and seriousness to his character, certainly, but he also has a lot of fun with the things he does and excels at.