I have just become more aware of the power of detail as in the examples read in Flaubert's M. Bovary and our discussion during the tutorial. I really enjoy the fact that somehow I feel really motivated and curious as to explore creative writing and this first technique we've been introduced to. I personally enjoy that when I start thinking of the task, I can almost see in my head what I want to say while at the same time I find it challenging to keep up with my own thoughts. In any case, here is my first attempt at this descriptive exercise:
The hotel room - The
bell boy led the way while another man pushed the luggage cart and a lady
through rose petals in front of us as we approached the room. The bellhop opened
the door using a remote control a few feet before he reached it and it swung
and stayed open as if it knew we were all on its way. The rooms smelled like a
bright summer morning in the country, the scent of the rose petals mixed gently
with the sweet fragrance that inundated the room along with a distinct taste of
new, clean and soft fabric. As we walked into each of the separate rooms in the
suite gentle but bright lights went on in a welcoming show so as to indicate
the way. I loved the white, ivory, beige, light brown range of colours in the
room and how the light added different shades to them as we walked from one
place to the next. The bathroom was spacious and so big a foam party could be
thrown in there and nobody would be able to find the walls once the foam went above man
height. The double shower with beautifully decorated stained glass artwork
allowed you into a little sitting room under the water fountain which came from
the ceiling through carefully crafted almost indistinguishable holes. Doors to
the other side led to a big bubble pond which activated itself as we walked
past filling up the space with a scented steam. As we went round, we came into a
nice wooden door which led to a wonderfully warm and relaxing steam room
complete with a waiting masseur inviting us to lie down and leave all our
physical worries behind. Some lights beyond the door to the other side caught
our attention and so we postponed out appointment with Dr Shiatsu. As we
returned to the main waiting room right outside our bedroom, we realised the hotel
staff had gone and we had been left to ourselves and a kind female recorded
voice welcoming us and informing us all we needed to do was ask a question for
windows to be opened, room temperature to be adjusted, appliances to be turned
on and for us to be idle! Giuseppe couldn't resist and seconds later we were
dancing to good oldies while we explored the capabilities of the voice commands
Marg would recognise.
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Paint with words - Black,
thick, cold and heavy. Wanted, expensive, useful and elegant. Temperamental and
jealous of its own lord and used to his hand. The only of its kind, opens with
a twist and is ready to tell a story told with its own blood till the very last
drop. Eager to be fed, restored to continue its master's story while proud of
its golden tongue and sturdy complexion, defining characteristics of its modern
origin with a history that goes back to the 10th century.
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Touch it - small,
curvy, solid, cold, smooth and light. Clear distinct edges which blend with
flowing undulations and twists in an almost round shape. Pebbly and fitting
allows me to lead it anywhere while doing my bidding without leaving my hand. Small,
curvy, solid, warm and light. It will miss me and fall asleep when I'm gone
awaiting my return.
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Taste it - The
smell filling up my nostrils is a symphony of flavours which makes me salivate
in anticipation of the first fork-full. Dark purple skin, black tiny seeds spread
over it like freckles, and brownish, greenish fried edges glowing in olive gold
dancing with slender, golden sticks and snowed under a flurry of ricotta salata
bound by the South American plant of the nightshade family in an orchestrated
concert of flavours. Spoon and fork, helping each other in a static and
twisting revolution. One bite, another bite, so many bites each time smaller so
as to make this ambrosia last! One last bite and a lasting desire for the taste
to rest, slowly pestling each bit in a bid for eternity.
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Hear it - tick-a-tick-a-tick-a-tick!
Faster and more furious than usual. Desperate racer not looking behind but
always reaching out for the fore. Tick-a-tick-a-tick-a-tick! Why are you
different from all others? Why is your cry independent and yet its tells the
same song? Tick-a-tick-a-tick-a-tick! Why do you enjoy reminding me that I
should be elsewhere? Tick-a-tick-a-tick-a-tick! Good bye!
