Another practice piece


Fierce Vowelless One
Apr 25, 2003
Help! I'm stuck in the forums!
Describe yourself as if you were a character in one of your stories. Obviously you wouldn't say something like "A tall blonde" but something more descriptive like "She was tall and graceful, with the kind of hair one could describe as dirty blonde. Although I had only met her a couple of times, I already knew she had a wicked sense of humor and a very sharp tongue. When angered, she could take you down with just a few words."
Or something to that effect. I'm not skilled at this type of thing but I was trying to describe a friend of mine and this idea came to me so I thought I'd pose it here for you writer types to play with.

Have fun!


Scrofulous Fig-Merchant
Oct 3, 2003
He looked tall, and he was, but you couldn't say that he was huge. In spite of the breadth of his shoulders, the man gave an air of slightness that belied the truth. His face was split across the bottom by a thick, livid red mouth that gave an effeminate quality to the round head, dark skin, dark hair, and a nose that sat like a mountain on a relief map. All in all, you couldn't say he was handsome, but he had a look to him that might draw an eye back once or twice before it was decided that further inquiry wasn't worth while. In the right eyebrow was a pale gash of hair to the otherwise bush growth that was almost joined to its compatriot by a wisp-like central tuft.

I'd only known Thomas a few months, but he seemed like a nice guy. A little prone to pontificating and strange talk about science and fantasy, and a habit of inject conversations with romantic hyperbole that he used as some kind of exhasperating humour that he found intensely funny, but other than these things you could see that it wouldn't be hard to become a friend. If you could reach him, that was. If ever there was a recluse then it was Thomas William Meade.


Well-Known Member
Mar 21, 2004
Toronto, Ontario
The teenager was tall but was not tall enough to be considered overly tall. He was quite skinny and the appropriate word used would have to be lanky but not many made the connection. He was quite light skinned with a face that was speckled with freckles, the freckles didn’t look unusual because they matched his most distinguishing feature. That feature which never seemed to go unnoticed was his orange hair, hair that would become strawberry blond in summer and a slightly darker colour in winter. His face was a little long but worked well with the other attributes his face possessed which included a smile that was endearing and that usually had the effect of making those around him grin. He was considered handsome by those who’s taste centred around his odd colour of hair but wasn’t vain in any way.

He talked and talked and was known for his sense of humour. It was a rare thing when he couldn't make you laugh because that was his specialty. He was an extremely nice person but a little sneaky sometimes and liked to play tricks on his friends every available chance. The boy was anathema to those who disliked sarcasm because most of his vocabulary were pronounced in that tone of voice.

He was a human thesaurus with odd words that his friends usually didn’t understand but that was because of his intense interest in novels. He was known to be a sports fan and loyal to his favourite and hometown team. It was a rare day when you didn’t find him reading something and a rare week when he hadn’t seen a movie. The teenager was known as the moderator of his group of friends because while they seemed to bicker he exceeded in mending broken friendships. Though extremely innocent looking many did not suspect the person that he could become when those around him did not show respect. His sharp tongue would get him in trouble, as would the insults released when a wave of anger would overcome him.


Super Moderator
Jun 30, 2003
Central California
She was short, a bit overweight (although she would ask you, 'Over whose weight?'), and quite casually dressed in slacks and a long, loose shirt. Her auburn hair, streaked here and there with strands of white, was very long, reaching well past her waist. Her reading glasses, perched on top of her head, served as a band to hold back her hair when she wasn't actually using them to read the book she always carried with her. She wore no makeup; it made her feel dressed for a masquerade and she simply refused to waste the money. As it was a warm day, she wore sandals on her sockless feet. People sometimes tended to underestimate her based on her appearance, but one look in her hazel eyes revealed a quick mind, an active sense of humor, and an intense curiosity about the world around her.


Bad girl ... gone worse!
Feb 16, 2005
Gloucestershire, UK
This sounds like fun:

The girl sat behind the desk with a vacant expression, she was staring across at the posters advertising the local theatre which she had seen many times before. Her colleagues were busy with their work, tapping on the keyboards. She hooked her thumb under a stray hair and pushed it back behind her ear although it had not strayed far out of place. An unconcious movement. Her hair was long and brown with natural red and blonde highlights, she was proud of her hair and liked to keep it in good condition. Most of the customers though she was still at school but she was a few years older than that and she wanted to have a sign to say she was grown up, despite her giggles and occasional tongue-tied nervousness.
Her face was pretty, wide blue belladonna eyes and soft pink skin over a good bone structure. Unfortunatly she had a few spots and most of her make-up had already worn off and it was only just the afternoon. Still she seemed quite a vain creature as she played with her hair and watched her reflection in the computer screen. She was dressed in a red jumper with a low neckline and the rest of her was hidden under the desk.
Beside her was a half eaten turkey roll and a plate with only a few chocolate cake crumbs left. What was visible of her body was silm, despite her appetite, and reasonably well shaped. She was sitting down but she was quite obviously a short girl, or her chair was too low.


Mar 21, 2005
HMM.. I'm starting to think of something too but right now I'm off to sleep.

Bye Y'all :D



Young at Heart
Mar 23, 2005
Northern California, USA
Alright... Here's my spin of my description. I hope your entertained! Oh, it's a little over 500 words.

Kibos knee started to ache, distracting her. Due to lack of self-discipline, the throbbing pain bothered her, yet her Vow was stronger keeping her invisible.

Wind rustled the fallen leaves, whipping them off the forest floor. Was it the wind? Or her enemy? Closing her eyes, she listened carefully as the air flirted with her long dark hair, clipped with two lethal pins. Satisfied her enemy hadn’t come; she began to let her thoughts drift.

‘I shouldn’t be here.’ She silently mused, but knew she was the only one left who could fulfill the Vow of Protection. A dull agonizing pain of grief swelled inside her as she thought of him, the only other who could fulfill the Vow too. She missed his comforting solemn ways, but more so his warmth at night. Envisioning his pure blue eyes smiling at her during those quiet moments together,

‘Stay alert,’ she reminded herself. Again, the lack of self-discipline let her mind wander.

With her sharp hazel eyes, now dull with pain, she surveyed her surroundings one more time, trying to catch a glimpse of movement.

Content that she was alone, she looked down at her hands, not overly small but useful and strong, callused from the hours of training.

‘Kibo,’ His voice rang in her heart. ‘You’re the only one who could match me. You challenge me to think and I need that.’ Her true love had told her. As husband and wife they trained daily, fulfilling their Vow of Protection to the tribe. Yet, her heart was one of compassion and love, not made of battle and cleverness like her husband. He was supposed to be the one to fulfill their Vow… until his death.

Kibo’s warrior strength laid dormant until the moment the leaders asked her to go forward in her husband’s place. It had been hours now since she strapped The Sword of Truth to her back to await the enemy’s advance. The tribe took refuge in a cave with her small children protected among their ranks. She wondered if her youngest would ever know his parents, would today be her end as well?

A twig snapped off in the distance. Silently unsheathing The Sword of Truth, she brought its blade down by her breast. The blade was warm with a fire that burned inside her. Kibo knew she was doing the right thing, and sword fire confirmed it.

Another twig snapped, closer now. Her heart started to race, yet she remained still. She caught a glimpse of her face in the blade. Nothing unordinary about her high cheekbones except the light brown freckles that dancing across them and over the bridge of her nose. Her face looked weather worn, but it still had its youthful softness. Her lips, which hid perfect white teeth, smoothed the leathery appearance with their small soft curves.

Another twig snapped, she quickly surveyed around her; there she spotted them, approaching through the thicket of trees unaware of her presence. Gathering her courage, she raised the Sword of Truth and the battle began…


Howl At It
Apr 11, 2005
Blue Mountains - Australia
She stood on the back deck of her rented house. She liked to believe that she lived in a forest and her eyes were ever straining to glimpse the approach of the magical. She was small in stature, skinny arms and legs with too many odd angles to ever feel comfortable in even the most expensive of lounge suites. Her face and manner were plain. In the forest of humanity she would blend in, and few passing through would remember her. She often stood with hands stroking the barrenness of her body, willing life to grow within where none yet had taken root. She was fiercely loyal to those she loved. She spoke little, preferring not to waste the gift of speech on the mundane, yet when she did she spoke strangely, as if reciting in the manner of any of the fantasical creatures she held in her mind. She liked to believe she lived in a forest.

Karen :)


Tsurani Great One
Feb 13, 2005
Pennsylvania, USA
I think I'll just stick with the original exercise... Just to keep the ol' wheels goin'.

When I first saw Mike, I honestly thought he was old. Not, old old. Older. Than me, I guess. Nothing about his features really looked old, but his mannerisms, and calm, deeper voice made him seem my senior, even though he is my age, around 23.

I suppose the goatee helped along this false impression a bit, considering, for some odd reason he can't explain, part of it is gray already. The mustache, however, is the same color as the slightly thinning hair (now that I think of it, probably also contributing to the aged appearance) atop his head, a dark brown. The shape of the nose brings to mind a chocolate covered cherry with nostrils. Mike's nature is inquisitive, a trait indicated by the constantly creased brow, and accented by deep brown eyes, scanning their quarry.

I don't think Mike ever realizes what he physically looks like, and I don't think it would matter if he did. He's more than a little heavy, and his walk shows it; almost as though carefully balancing his large frame on the legs below, rather than trying to get from one place to another.

Speaking to Mike is an experience all its own. He has a dry sense of humor that I did not expect, nor appreciate at first. Mike is not afraid to speak his mind, and his sense of humor only accents that trait.


another brick in the wall
Jan 28, 2005
Vancouver, BC
Alright I'm in :p


He sat on the bus, grey-green eyes ragged yet intense, darting back and forth across the scene in front of him. On top of his head perched a long, thick, wavy head of hair. He is quite tall, though not freakishly so, with an odd posture due to too many hours hunched over a book or computer. His expression is honest, thoughtful, and infinitely sad. This seems odd to you when contrasted with his young face, though since you're not a dumbass like most people and you can see that it is not a conscious effort you dont comment on it. Something occurs to him and his face twiches into a large, friendly, contagious smile. But just as you see it, it is gone and replaced once again by the same sad stare. His face is handsome, in a dark, boyish way, you would almost think he was younger if not for the height and eyes (and incredibly deep voice you haven't yet heard). He is thin though athletic looking, muscled in a wirey kind of way. Since you're an alien mind reader and you're bored, you also decide to see what kind of person he is. His mind is very open, you can see that he is painfully honest, as well as sarcastic, and that it has earned him good friends as well as enemies. In a group he is generally passive, but if he makes up his mind about something he can be stubborn, and is intensely loyal to those he deems worthy.
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Rane Longfox

Red Rane
Jul 30, 2004
NSMike said:
his sense of humor only accents that trait.

"Accentuates", surely? Or however it is you spell it;)

I apologise for this butting in, but I just noticed that on reading it through quickly.:eek:


Waiting at the Crossroads
Feb 11, 2005
Under a pile of paper
It was his eyes that overshadowed everything else about the man, if you could avoid his stare you’d notice the angular well built frame, clad in black, maybe even the odd small scars around the hands.

Yet there was an awful flat quality to his eyes, as if he had somehow seen the worst that the world could offer and swallowed it up, choked on it, and then carried on swallowing regardless.

Why do they always wear black, his type?

Not the pretentious gothic black, the ‘Notice Me’ black, but rather the worn out black of someone who just can’t bothered anymore.

There’s an ease to his movements as he approaches, loose comfortable clothes, nothing ostentatious, somehow everything seems understated, but you feel uncomfortable, especially if he looks at you...

So intense, as if he wants to read you, drink you, learn and understand you and then place you somewhere...

A child passes, trips and falls. Her small hands reaching toward the rough paving stones to embrace the shock and pain, her rosebud mouth an ‘O’ of distress.

He catches her centimetres from the impact, smoothly, no sharp movements evident but with an alacrity that you are somehow startled by, and yet unsurprised to witness.

His eyes again, sharp, not even looking at her, at where he is or she is, looking around him, alert for....for what?

Kneeling, he smiles as he places her on her tiny feet, his face transformed in a instant, care and warmth, concern pouring out for the child.

Then there are parents rushing, fussing, the smile becomes distant toward them, a nod, then he continues.

The child peers after him, small eyes wide.

You peer after him.....


Angel of Death
May 15, 2005
"Describe Angel if you would for us Miss. Peaze"

"Oh! You want me to describe her? Well imagine if you took a bottle of bubbles.” She said seemly annoyed by the stares of her interviews, “ That’s right Bubbles! And you blew them out into the wind and they found themselves sticking to a two year old. That would be her personality.” she stated rolling her eyes childish.

She is very much an adult but somehow has a child lock inside her. I swear if I never seen her face I couldn’t possibly think of her as much older than two maybe three. Oh, for heaven’s shake lets not forget that hair of hers. She has had it so many different colors. I believe it naturally red but who can tell. It is seemly all over the place. For the most part she keeps it tied back. However when she dress up her hair always looks lovely, it really is beautiful and long. Really for such a well defined young woman she acts like a school girl. ”

So you don’t find her very smart than Miss. Peaze?”

“Now don’t go putting words in my mouth.” she growled out as her eyes narrowed, “ I said she wasn’t mature not that she wasn’t smart. She is however very mature looking. She has great curves and pretty tall for a woman. Why I would kill to have… well… umm” She stuttered a bit here as she moved her hands to gesture over her chest symbolizing big breast, “Well you understand. Anyways… She has these eyes. No one can tell if they are blue or green or a mixed of both of them. I notice sometimes she has these egged shaped pupils and they glow, kind of like baby crocodile’s eyes. When she is mad they just glow on fire. Well She gets that from her mother, Mrs. DragonLady.” She seemed to giggle a bit here and than shift back to a more serious tone, “Well that’s what she nicknamed her mother. I don’t know why they named that girl Angel. Horrid! Horrid name for someone like her”

So you don’t see her as a good person than Miss. Peaze?”

“Did I say THAT!” she snapped back, “She is very much an honest person. To HONEST! However she always doing these crazy things, wild unacceptable, childish things. I think she should have been a boy.” She ignored the giggles from the interviews, “That’s RIGHT! A BOY! She always hanging out with them and racing. Do you know a girl who drives a camaro and races? For heavens shakes she even works on her own car.”

No Miss Peaze I don’t know a girl like Angel. So if she hangs out with the guys she must not have a boyfriend or husband. Either that or she extremely well…. Unrespectable.”

“Sir” this time she slammed her foot down, “Angel is anything but unrespectable. It just her personality that chases away all the good men her life. She has this one guy… she been dating for YEARS… For heavens shakes she even meant him on the world wide web. You know those computer things.. He comes from a big city, Seattle. That is if I remember correctly. Oh they got married in such a haste before he went to Iraq. Really though I think they make a nice couple. Though I find him to be a lot more mature than his wife. Angel as a whole is an alright girl. She is certainly pretty in some aspect, if you could just get her to behave like a proper lady. Now that’s a challenge.”


Mar 26, 2005
A quick look in the mirror reassured him that he looked at least good enough not to scare animals and little children, although he’d usually describe himself as average in build the number of friends who referred to him as ‘big feller’ belied that. His natural build and a fondness for ‘hitting the gym’ meant that he looked as if he belonged on the rugby field… five years of playing as a teenager had proved that he didn’t.

A quick pass through his hair with his fingers for the ‘daily brush’ and he realised he had better get that haircut before his ‘Beatle look’ returned. His father still had a full head of hair as had his grandfather, so when the jibes started over friends imaginary thinning and bald spots he felt secure in the claim that “I don’t mind going gray and I’m certainly not going bald”. Mother Nature of course had made sure that even at 28 his black hair was decidedly ‘peppered’. Mother Nature often displayed a sense of humor he could appreciate.

Running his hand over his jaw he decided he could shave next week, thankful that he had a wife that thought stubble was sexy and that the homeless shelter wasn’t exactly a suit and tie kind of job.

He leaned closer to the mirror, looking into his eyes. The familiar conversation had come up again last night and he had to admit apart from that orange around his pupils, bluey greeny gray was probably his best guess. His wife of three years couldn’t say what colour they were and liked to claim they were ‘multi-color’, changing shade depending on his mood. He was pretty sure it had more to do with what colour shirt he had on, but he liked the story.

Heading for the door he paused briefly to grab his ‘essentials’ sunglasses, keys, mobile and a Billabong wallet that was once good enough to be described simply as ‘worn and tattered’. There were quite a few good leather wallets somewhere in the house by now, that tell tale box turned up at least once every birthday and Christmas … like he needed a hint. He’d have to start using one sooner or later but he had lost the battle on his favorite shirt, the comfy jeans and just recently runners that he had thought were still fine, the wallet was fast becoming a final stand.

Just as he turned to leave he noticed last week’s lottery ticket in the fruit bowl, he threw it in the backpack with the rest of his gear, might as well check it before binning it, he needed to grab the paper anyway.


Who Walks Through Walls
May 14, 2005
I like cats, knives, cuddling, and expolsives. No
Okay, my turn.

She said to me once, "Everyone has a darkness inside of them. You can either accept that the darkness is there and try to keep it in check, or you can ingore and hope it doesn't pounce on you unexpectedly."
I couldn't help but ask, "What do you do?"
She shrugged, "I try to fight it sometimes. Other times, I simply let be there, being evil, I guess. I think I've got a tight enough leash on it to keep me from killing anyone."
"You think?"
"Yea, I'm not totally sure."
And that was the way she was. As frank with herself as she could possibly be. She wasn't bothered by her evil side, she just accepted it. I once said that she sayed as close to the line between light and dark as she could, because it was too hard for her to be at either extreme.
She really is a nice person though. As much as she hates to admit it.
Funny though, as much as we talked, I don't think she ever put me solidly under the category of "friend". I liked her, she like me, and I would have never done anything to hurt her, but she couldn't accept that. I don't think she knew how.
I once talked about this with one of the few people she called "friend".
"She's one of those people who, when she makes a friend, gives her heart to them," her friend said. "I have no doubt she would probably die in my place...but, strange thing, she wouldn't if I asked her not to. If I told her I wanted her to live and me to die, she would let me die. It would rip her heart to peices, but she would let me die."
"Really?" I asked.
"No. I don't know what she would do," her friend said. "She might just freeze up and not be able to say or do anything. But, boy, she sure gives impression she'd die for you. She acts tough, but she gets hurt so easily. Somehow it always comes back to her fault in her mind. She'd too hard on herself."
"I've noticed that. I've also noticed her eyes. They look they've got a thousand secrets in them and if you love her she'll tell you everyone one. It's just she'll never believe you really love her. It's like that song: 'She can ask for the truth but she'll never believe you.' Yea, that's her song."
"I couldn't tell you if she has a thousand secrets. I know she has a thousand stories, and maybe that's why her eyes look like that. But somehow, they never get told. Another thng about her is you may think she's on your side, but when you ask her she's not, and then it turned out she's been on your side all along. She an engima, especially to herself."
"Doesn't that make her..." I pointed my finger at my head and moved it in circles.
"Oh, you have no idea," her friend said. "But in a way, that's complicated too."
"Then why do you hang out with her?" I asked, "If it's all so complicated."
Her friend smiled, "Because if you give her the idea that you and she are on a quest, just as a joke mind you, she'd take the idea and run with it so far that she'd actually believe it was possible. And that's catching. Sometimes, when I she her walking into a sunset, I almost see a cloak around her shoulders and a sword in her hand. And when she turns around says, "Coming?" You can't very well say no."
Silence for a moment, "I don't know," her friend said. "Maybe I'm kidding myself. Who know why we hang with anyone anymore."