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Writers’ Dash: Pigment

Published on Tuesday, May 29, 2012 by

Today’s morning prompt is “pigment”. Come join us in Second Life® or work from home at 6am PST for 15 minutes of writing inspired by the word.

Please feel free to add your dash piece to the comments section of this blog post below.

FAQs

I found #dailydash/#writersdash on Twitter, what is it?

The Writers’ Dash (#writersdash or #dailydash on Twitter) is a 15-minute free writing exercise held on Twitter, Facebook and Second Life® every weekday. At 5:30am & 5:30pm PST we share the word prompt on our social media channels; the live event begins in Second Life® at 6am & 6pm PST. Write whatever comes to you. Don’t fixate too heavily on what you are writing and disengage your inner editor – the key is for you to get the words on the page first; you can worry about editing later. If you are attending the live event in Second Life® there will be an opportunity for you to show your work to the other participants after the 15 minutes are up. If you are unable to attend the live event you can share your work on our blog. Just look out for the prompt post and leave your dash piece as a comment.

Do I have to do the Writers’ Dash in Second Life®?

No, you can do it at home, if you prefer. We share the prompt word at 5:30am & 5:30pm PST on Twitter and Facebook and start the timer in Second Life® at 6am/6pm PST every weekday.

How do I join the live event in Second Life®?

You will first need to join Second Life® through the Second Life® website. Go to http://www.secondlife.com to start the process. It’s free to join.

Click on the JOIN NOW button and this will take you to the Registration screen. Here you simply fill in your personal details and choose a name and look for your avatar. Don’t worry too much about your avatar’s appearance as there will be plenty of opportunity to tweak it once you are inworld.

Once you have completed your Registration, you’ll be asked to download and install the Second Life® viewer to your computer. You will then be taken to a screen that allows you to choose which community gateway to enter. This is important as we want you to go through as smooth a transition as possible. Please choose the Caledon (Victorian Steampunk) Community Gateway. Once you have chosen the gateway you will find yourself appearing inworld at the University of Oxbridge in Caledon. Now begins your brief induction.

Follow the signs and read the information boards as you come to them. There is also a brief Second Life® tutorial provided on screen. Try and absorb as much information as possible but be mindful that you can always return to Caledon at a later date if there is something you feel you missed. At the very least try and understand the most important concepts such as how to move, how to talk and your camera controls.

Once you have completed the Orientation Tutorial you will need to find your way to Milk Wood. This is the sim that is home to  Virtual Writers, Inc. At the bottom of your screen you will see a search tab. Click on this and look for Milk Wood. Now the teleporting fun begins. Click on ‘Teleport’ and you will be moved from your present location to our welcome area. Make sure you save the landmark so that you can easily return there.

We look forward to meeting you at one of our various daily writing events. Don’t forget to click on one of the group joiners  so you can stay abreast of happenings in the writing community. You can also join Virtual Writers, Inc. through the search facility. Simply put Virtual Writers, Inc. under group search, click on the group name to bring up the profile screen. Then click ‘View Full Profile’ followed by ‘Join’.

What is Virtual Writers, Inc?

Virtual Writers, Inc. is an online writing community that furnishes both the professional and beginning writer with opportunities to meet other writers, share resources, learn about jobs, news and new writing markets, and showcase their work in a distinctive way. We are unique in that we have a fully functional 3d sim in Second Life® where daily writing events, such as word wars and dashes, author meet and greets, poetry open mics and book readings are held. We provide the writer with an exciting way to meet other writers in an inclusive and friendly environment.

Whether you are dashing in Second Life®, on Twitter or Facebook we welcome your dashes in the comments section below.

6 Responses
    • The film started. A lot of zombies dragging axes through the streets looking for blood, roaming narrow squares and dark alleys. Unexpectedly, in the middle of the film, a kid becomes the center of the plot. He has this strange gift. He is a Pigmenter. He touches people and they turn blue, green, red. Much to the zombies’ puzzlement, he would not run away from them. He would actually run towards them. He would then touch them and turn them… yellow, of all colors. It was pretty obvious that the zombies didn’t like their reputation ruined like that. Why not red? Why yellow? That was a terrible color with all sorts of derogatory innuendos. So, after much discussion among the zombies, a decision was made. They would run away from the Pigmenter instead of after him. And that was a terrible turning point in the history of the zombies. They would certainly have to fight hard to regain their reputation. But that would be for the sequel!
      ©2012 Lizzie Gudkov

    • Awesome!! I’ve been reading them for days now. Congrats to all the posters.

    • “pigment”
      .
      .
      color, hue and saturation
      mix this powdered dye —
      vehicle needed to blend with liquid
      .
      only when both totally absorb the other
      will the process be complete
      .
      Needing both the pigment pure, dry
      mixed with the base — oil, water, even vodka, truth be told
      .
      I, the powder, ground and dried…
      Would you the fluid be?
      Imagining the creative flow
      .
      .
      BobbiJo/Sheri Solomon

    • Pigment overlain the eye
      As searching outwards claims
      to the wild horizons
      Yet nowhere hostage to a danger
      than in familiar taste

      Whereof each Territory is laid claim
      set parallax in visioning the change
      and striking fore to reach of quarry
      which shall marry the tomorrow

      Notions in
      each substance of a shadow leapt
      that tender verdure reaching round descends
      compounds
      whips out
      for that wide iris reach

      © Queen Bluestar May 2012

      WHITE Queen (queen.bluestar): it is about Man The Hunter …the primal look across the landscape of capture….from the skills of the eye…reading the chase and for the kill
      [06:53] WHITE Queen (queen.bluestar): ish

    • “It’s very fascinating to hear you talk, Mrs..err Lakshmi. And I do feel lucky having the honour of meeting you.”

      “You are a very pleasant young man, Captain Lee. What is your first name?”

      “Oh forgive me. It’s Alvin. I totally forgot.”

      “It hardly matters. So Alvin, is there anything else here we should look at?”

      Of course, he is drawn to looking at her. She is in her late forties, but still with a good figure. There is a peppering of grey in her hair, giving her a distinguished air. Her skin has it own lighter tinge, though darker than his. She has clear brown eyes and a mouth that is for now relaxed pushing a slight smile upward so the cheeks rise gently, but she does have a fiercer side. Alvin has seen glimpses of it when talking about war and military matters. Given his position, he steers clear of that area and decides it is time to complete the orchid garden tour with the final item. He has been waiting to show her the inner sanctum of this paradise — the VIP Garden. “Over the years, the wives, yes mostly the wives of State dignitaries visiting Singapore have had their own hybrid orchid named after them. Come. We will have a look.”
      “This sounds either terribly vain — wive’s of State dignitaries, or the most delightful bit of state-craft I’ve so far discovered in Singapore. Sound a bit 19th Century. Ha! Orchid diplomacy. What a treat!”

      “Oh, it’s not just the wives I might add. They have Head of State Orchids like the Nelson Mandela Orchid and a celebrity Ricky Martin orchid.”

      She begins to titter. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t. Ricky Martin? The Latin pop singer? Didn’t he come out as a Gay man not so long back? And now he has his own official orchid!
      Goodness! All right Alvin. Lead on we have to see all this now. I wouldn’t miss it!”

      He finds the trail leading to the highest point of the Botanical Gardens – this is definitely the Heavenly Paradise – Tian, Janna, Vaikunth, Bardo, the World Tree, or for the Singapore Tourism Board – the V.I.P Orchid Enclosure. They enter through Burkill Hall, an old two-storey colonial black and white bungalow around which the V.I.P. garden spreads its one hectare radial web of pathways, ponds, lawns, classical white statuary. 100 special V.I.P. named orchid hybrids. Such royal scent and aristocratic pigment! Here is the flaming red Renantanda Akihito named after the Emperor of Japan and Nelson Mandela, a swarthy ochre tint with suggestions of masculine green, Dendrobium Dame Margaret Thatcher, upgraded to Baroness, Aranthera Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo of the Philippines, spidery red blooms frost with tiger-yellow; there’s Arab Sheiks, European Presidents and wives of Americans like Mokora Laura Bush, a yellow flower speckled with pale orange-brown spots. Taking in its sweet fragrance wouldn’t George have had only friendship in his mind for Singapore from then on, or until the end of his term of office? Orchid diplomacy I must say does not always sit well with environmental organisations when they refused to be orchadised or orchadained as long at Bumese General Dendrobium Thein Sein or his wife’s orchid are overwhelmingly present dressed in olive-green, the color of the Burmese tatmadaw, the Military Armed Forces.

      “Look!” says Lakhsmi Sharma, “There’s Renaglottis Ricky Martin and Sir Elton John and my own Indian Bolywood gods Dendrobium Amitabh Bachchan, Ascocenda Shah Rukh Khan.”

      Alvin finding his sense of humour says “Heaven is for everyone.”

      ©2012 Singh Albatros

    • For reasons he could never explain, Louis Monroe ate only pigments for breakfast, nouns for lunch, and the emotions, lust, forgetfulness and greed for dinner, alternating between these emotions twice during the week, and then treating himself to a special feast on Sundays.
      Louis’s wife made the best of the situation, rising each morning to chestnut hair and sailor-blue eyes that would fade to muted grey by the time she finished her boiled eggs and whole wheat toast seated across from her hungry husband. Worse yet for Louis’ coworkers at the First Bank of Crocker Idaho, where words like desk, vault, dollar, pen disappeared each noon only to reappear slowly by the end of the day, as though instead of entering Louis they had slipped off into some strange temporal rift that only he could command. But how can you deal with customers when you can only say ‘take a ____. Can I help you with a ___ loan, or maybe help you finance the remodeling of your ___.’ Wind would howl through the empty word spaces until the bank grew so windy and noisy with nonsensical conversations that customer became afraid to enter. Louis was asked to take his lunches elsewhere.
      They were long lunches, or so it seemed to Louis who found a favorite park bench on the waterfront. He loved the taste of ‘gull’ and the gritty feel of ‘stone’ on his tongue. He was careful not to nibble ‘dress’ or gnaw on ‘pier’ for fear that his appetite would cause others even more trouble.
      But dinner, ah dinner. Greed, to his surprise, tasted surprisingly chalky, not at all satisfying and somewhat like the dishes served by his half-blind grandmother who perused the pantry by touch and cooked more by spontaneity than by taste. Forgetfulness was Louis’s favorite dish, dreamy and creamy with a body that left him neither too hungry nor too full. And to his delight, carried an aftertaste that reminded him strongly of root beer floats he’d sipped as a kid.
      Lust was simply lumpy and not at all what one would expect, a fact he could never convey to his wife whose gaze turned indifferent during his lust meals, or rather indifferent to him. Louis could only guess as the imagined life his wife retreated to on those nights, as she chewed slowly, her jaws making love to each other. Or that was how he perceived it, fighting his own aftertaste of jealousy. On those nights he vowed he would not consume lust again. But the next nights when he downed big gulps of forgetfulness, the vow would fly from his mind like the gulls on the pier.
      It was Sundays, always Sundays that he longed for. He would leave early in the morning, breaking fast in the car until the morning sky grew grey as a gull’s breast. He’s journey to the harbour where more and more people ventured as the day grew long and full of colors once again. Louis sat on his park bench, forgoing lunch as he watched the couples that were bickering and cold, parents angry at their angry children. Then he drew in long draws of their anger, their bitterness, their rage. Inevitably there were pits, which he spit out onto the water and watched as some floated harmlessly out to sea or sank to mulch the harbor floor. And around him, husbands rediscovered their wives, children screamed now only of joy. Joy that drifted up to be snacked on by the gulls, joy that would be redeposited somewhere else when the gulls had enjoyed their fill.
      Louis drank it in. Joy in the wind. Joy in the sunset. Joy Louis drank again, his apartif. He drank of the sunset, swirling it in his mouth before swallowing. Then he breathed out the pigments he’d eaten that day, smiling at the hues of his wife’s copper hair, her sailor-blue eyes.
      by Barbara Jacksha aka Raina Anatra

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