The Ballad of a Bountiful Bowel played by the old man’s rumble seat. Everyone heard the toot-toot and the whoosh that signaled the completion of the overture. A whoosh that was followed not unexpectedly by a whiff of funky fumes. There was no doubt the gas was flammable but a posted warning was missing.
There is so much music in this sentence, which is appropriate given that the content is music. The sentence mimics that through sound, "toot-toot" and "whoosh," and alliteration Ballad/Bountiful/Bowel and funky/fumes. And assonance, toot/whoosh, which is repeated.
I learn so much from your posts. I’m intrigued by the way you described a “silence of making.” What is that exactly? When students are all working on projects in silence?
It's when the room feels like it sinks below the day-to-day, which is necessary, but it must be released to have the mind concentrate. And then, it does release and it's the quiet of people sinking deep into the interior of their being to excavate the story.
Somewhat related, one of my favorite quotes by one of my favorite authors:
“There are all kinds of silences and each of them means a different thing. There is the silence that comes with morning in a forest, and this is different from the silence of a sleeping city. There is silence after a rainstorm, and before a rainstorm, and these are not the same. There is the silence of emptiness, the silence of fear, the silence of doubt. There is a certain silence that can emanate from a lifeless object as from a chair lately used, or from a piano with old dust upon its keys, or from anything that has answered to the need of a man, for pleasure or for work. This kind of silence can speak. Its voice may be melancholy, but it is not always so; for the chair may have been left by a laughing child or the last notes of the piano may have been raucous and gay. Whatever the mood or the circumstance, the essence of its quality may linger in the silence that follows. It is a soundless echo.”
More and more about metaphors and similes please. I have always been quite bad at them but am trying to invent one a day for my metaphor book. A metaphor a day keeps the doctor away.
Nina, our many thanks to you for these enlightening mini lessons!
Here’s my shot today:
Racing up the moonlit driveway of the mansion, she heard the screaming curse of her spleen. He’s dead! He’s dead! He’s dead!
I'm glad you're here!
So good! The spleen has autonomy and if the character can't say these words, the spleen can. It is vivid and original.
Hi Xiaoyan! I love seeing that you're still working on your sentences! You inspire me!
Great to see you here, too, Patricia! I would love to read your sentences, as always.
An Early Draft
The Ballad of a Bountiful Bowel played by the old man’s rumble seat. Everyone heard the toot-toot and the whoosh that signaled the completion of the overture. A whoosh that was followed not unexpectedly by a whiff of funky fumes. There was no doubt the gas was flammable but a posted warning was missing.
There is so much music in this sentence, which is appropriate given that the content is music. The sentence mimics that through sound, "toot-toot" and "whoosh," and alliteration Ballad/Bountiful/Bowel and funky/fumes. And assonance, toot/whoosh, which is repeated.
I learn so much from your posts. I’m intrigued by the way you described a “silence of making.” What is that exactly? When students are all working on projects in silence?
It's when the room feels like it sinks below the day-to-day, which is necessary, but it must be released to have the mind concentrate. And then, it does release and it's the quiet of people sinking deep into the interior of their being to excavate the story.
I walk down the road, my legs screaming under my weight. Give us relief, they say. Sit down. No use. We can’t. Stop. Stop.
Somewhat related, one of my favorite quotes by one of my favorite authors:
“There are all kinds of silences and each of them means a different thing. There is the silence that comes with morning in a forest, and this is different from the silence of a sleeping city. There is silence after a rainstorm, and before a rainstorm, and these are not the same. There is the silence of emptiness, the silence of fear, the silence of doubt. There is a certain silence that can emanate from a lifeless object as from a chair lately used, or from a piano with old dust upon its keys, or from anything that has answered to the need of a man, for pleasure or for work. This kind of silence can speak. Its voice may be melancholy, but it is not always so; for the chair may have been left by a laughing child or the last notes of the piano may have been raucous and gay. Whatever the mood or the circumstance, the essence of its quality may linger in the silence that follows. It is a soundless echo.”
― Beryl Markham, West with the Night
More and more about metaphors and similes please. I have always been quite bad at them but am trying to invent one a day for my metaphor book. A metaphor a day keeps the doctor away.
My stomach, retching and sobbing, gurgled a cry for help.
(I'm pretty bad with this... is that a metaphor? I tried to see my stomach as a little person.)
I rubbed in between my bum bum and jolted thirty feet up into the air by the kicks of my inflamed coccyx: Hwok! Whomp! Bam!