Part One: Write a paragraph of narrative, 100-150 words, in sentences of seven or fewer words. No sentence fragments. Each must have a subject and a verb. (This is the continuation of my skiing narrative where I'm messing around with present tense too.)
The lights above cast bluish light. They weave. They bob. Gravity does most of the work. Something else does the rest. He smiles. So does she. They reach the bottom. They say nothing. It’s a moment. It hangs between them. They smile again but say nothing. He follows her. The lift clatters in the distance. They waddle and shimmy. The chair makes the turn. It scoops them up. He wants to talk. The words fail him. They rarely do. His mouth opens, then stops. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice. She talks first. He listens. It’s a new thing for him. She tells him about skiing. She’s been to Vail and Killington. He hasn’t. The thing between tries to change. It can’t. It doesn’t matter. They don’t care. The lift buckles. The bump together. Instead, the thing draws them nearer.
Part Two: Write a half page to a page of narrative, up to 350 words, that is all one sentence. (This was tough!)
Beams of white light cast long shadows of varying sizes across the room as Jaiman, sword drawn and mind open, entered the room with his steps echoing off what remained of the ceilings above him, each step sending tiny puffs of dust up as he crossed the threshold of the doorway and swirling in the shadows that pooled and eddied around him like the power that flowed in this place-a place revered by his father’s people- like the very shadows that clung to the alcove; alcoves that once contained the captured treasures the False Lords had claimed as their own, from the simple rose gold tiara of the Ibyara Empress to the club of the Grand Vrang of Golgaatha and the twin swords of the Tsarian champion Goyas alongside the hammer and tongs of the mighty swordsmith Trunce Wenway-or so Jaiman had read-lined the walls that slowly narrowed to another doorway, a doorway that led into the main room and Jaiman felt the power coming from the room and it stopped him in his tracks for a moment before moving into the guttering light of a thousand candles that caused dozens and dozens of jumping shadows-except for the one at the end of the massive room that retreated as Jaiman entered and light gathered at the opposite end revealing the last things Jaiman wanted to see even though he suspected it and felt it as soon as he saw the temple-the looming figure in the gathering light looked down at him, returning Jaiman’s exact smile as he said, “Hello, son.”