In this ‘puzzle,’ each number represents the amount of words that coalesce into a particular sentence, and the amount of numbers before a paragraph symbol denote how many sentences coalesce into a paragraph. Thus, the first paragraph of this story has sentences of 6, 14, 22, 17, 32, 10, and 14 words in length, in that order. Then a new paragraph begins.
— from a blog post of “Lambert Lawson”
Basically my challenge is the above. I stumbled upon it while I was surfing wordpress, and I think it’s interesting. So I want to try it.
Painting to the Soul
It’s creepy how it affects me. I could stare into its depths for hours, into the hues of green. The way it swirls around the trees, darkens the clouds, creates a divine apocalypse, determined to lead me into a beautiful abyss. Nothing exists in this nightmare, nothing except the crows of my soul, ready to tear me apart. I shift in my spot, staring up at the canvas that seems to reflect the darkness within me threatening to overtake my life and destroy my mind, thanks to my own family. The very ones that should love me, and yet don’t. They very ones that should protect me, yet are denying me my own security.
My life has too much stress at the moment, and I came here to relax away from the pressure. Looking at it, some part wishes that I could escape to it. I must be crazy. I would really rather face danger than expectations? But no, that isn’t really what this is, I know it’s not, because I know the stakes are higher than I care to admit out loud. It makes me furious that any of it should matter at all, like I’m a blank canvas that someone’s trying to paint over, but the truth isn’t that simple. The truth is staring me in the face. If you try to paint over something, the paint grows thicker. If you try to change me, all that will remain will be lies and resentment. I sigh, wishing I could never leave this art gallery, wishing the life I have didn’t have to be mine. It’s my hell.
I take a card from the wall, imagining it at home.
I continue through the gallery, not really taking in the artwork around me. My mind is still echoing from the sight of the painting, like distance is crushing my heart. But I’ve lingered too long already, that a day at home feels preferable to the abyss pulling me into its embrace. I can’t let its soul destroy mine, not now. The contents of my soul are too close for me to survive that long. Too late. I vaguely register the sound and the movement of my feet running back, and my eyes pull back up into its hypnotic gaze. I breathe air into my heart as I dive into the peaceful, chaotic world. I can feel my apocalypse starting.
As I hang the series of paintings up, my sanity ends.
In case it isn’t clear, the character bought the paintings at the end. And it was a collection of canvas that makes a complete picture.
That was an eventful piece. I wrote that based on a card I took home from a gallery, and was able to look at from the desk. Exaggerated experience, of course.
I felt like that exercise reined me in a bit, tightened up my words and characterisation without my even trying. Maybe even taught me a few things about how I should write. Yeah, so maybe I should be more controlled in the future. Maybe I’ll use this technique in my head in the future, while repeating the mantra, ‘Just one more sentence’.
Not exactly how I normally paragraph, either – I usually try to shorten paragraphs so its easier to read for a fickle audience – but it’s good to try something new. Not that I’ll necessarily stick to it.