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  1. #1
    laura Gibson
    Guest

    Just amusing myself at 3 am...

    I'm trying to find the right metaphor (or is it a simile... I don't remember)and came up with this stunning prose: "The coffee pot gurgled and sputtered like a dying man drowning in his own phlegm."
    Good God! Anyway, thought I'd share. It's amazing what you will do if the desire is strong enough. I am now awake in the middle of the night to get my writing done because my two year old adorable son (Alex) will not let me near my laptop in the light of day. Where there's a will...there's a way. And with prose like that...I need all the practice I can get.



  2. #2
    Catherine Hattin
    Guest

    Re: Just amusing myself at 3 am...

    LOL

    Thanks for the nice visual. Very, um, descriptive!

  3. #3
    Lindi
    Guest

    Re: Just amusing myself at 3 am...

    The coffee pot gurgled like a kid sucking on the last dregs of his slurpy though a straw during the opening scene of a movie you've been waiting to see for over a year.

  4. #4
    Roy Abrahams
    Guest

    Re: Just amusing myself at 3 am...

    Where there's a will, there's a lawyer.

    Just amusing myself at half past eleven am. The above is proof positive that I'm not yet fully awake.

  5. #5
    linton lewis
    Guest

    Re: Just amusing myself at 3 am...

    I hate similes and metaphors because I can't bring them off. Many do not enhance and only slow the reader.

  6. #6
    M T
    Guest

    metaphors, and a little confession

    Oh linton you're just jealous! (I'm joshin ya).

    I love metaphors. They make me envision the act in a whole different way. Sometimes thay make me stop and read again, but I'm doing this because I like the imagination behind the writing and want to hear it one more time.

    Nothing to do with this thread, but I just stole five fertilized eggs from my little bantam hen and spirited those unborn children away to the neighbours to be raised by my hen's sister! How Mean! :>0=<

  7. #7
    linton lewis
    Guest

    Re: metaphors, and a little confession

    That's just the point, MT. We as writers stop and appreciate. But do many readers? I guess it all depends on where you are in your story. Maybe I am jealous, but to many are disconcerting.

  8. #8
    M T
    Guest

    Re: metaphors, and a little confession

    Maybe it depends on the genre. For instance, someone who loves to read literary fiction or nonfiction would probably appreciate a good metaphore, while someone who reads (can't think of the name for these books right now) you know the kind that are mainly for escape, would not necessarily want to be bothered with too many metaphores.

    I do think you're right, linton, when you ask 'do many readers appreciate metaphores' -- I would guess that it would be mainly writers.

    When I'm trying to come up with a good metaphore, I envision the action step by step, usually my brain comes up with a similar action which becomes my metaphore. One thing I hate to see in writing is when a metaphore sounds forced. As though the writer is trying to be clever, in that case it becomes too much of a good thing.

  9. #9
    Lindi
    Guest

    Re: metaphors, and a little confession

    I'm sure you've all seen these, but they're worth revisiting.

    The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.

    McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag filled with vegetable soup.

    From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and "Jeopardy" comes on at 7 p.m. instead of 7:30.

    Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.

    Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.

    Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T:flw.quid55328.com\\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\\flw.quidaaakk/ch@ung by mistake.

    Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

    He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

    The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

    Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Tall Man."

    Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

    The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.

    They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth

    John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

    The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.

    The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.

  10. #10
    linton lewis
    Guest

    Re: metaphors, and a little confession

    Totally hilarious and totally disgusting. I rest my case.

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