Today I'd like to try a little experiment. I'm going to write (and edit) on the same short prompt for five minutes each while listening to varying types of background music. My curiosity? Whether the style of each musical genre will influence the writing.
The prompt:
Theodore White discovered paper on a Tuesday afternoon.
1. Fantasy Background
Theodore White discovered paper on a Tuesday afternoon. It had been a big house, and no one ever saw little Theo when he wandered off among the scattered hallways. He often discovered things, off on his own. These items ranged from a tortoiseshell button tucked beneath the fraying carpet in the towers to the petrified banana roosting in the fourth-West basement.
2. Miles Davis (Jazz)
Theodore White discovered paper on a Tuesday afternoon. It had been a big house, and no one ever saw little Theo when he wandered off among the scattered hallways. He often discovered things, off on his own. These items ranged from a A tortoiseshell button tucked beneath the fraying carpet in the towers. to The petrified banana roosting in the fourth-West basement. None of these things had ever surprised Theo, because what was an old house for, if not secrets?
But the paper was something different altogether. If buttons and bananas were Theo's rubies and diamonds, the paper den was something like a pirate's cove. If not for the paper itself, the room would have been cavernous. Down the fifth hallway and past the second corridor the room had been. The door was a deeply smoothed mahogany, softened by generations of hands. Theo's eye had been caught by its purple crystal handle, but its barely-there engravings were his true fascination.
3. 90's Skate Punk
Theodore White discovered paper on a Tuesday afternoon. It had been a big house, and no one ever saw little Theo when he wandered off among the scattered hallways. He often discovered things, off on his own. These items ranged from a A tortoiseshell button tucked beneath the fraying carpet in the towers. to The petrified banana roosting in the fourth-West basement. None of these things had ever surprised Theo, because what was an old house for, if not secrets?
But the paper was something different altogether. If buttons and bananas were Theo's rubies and diamonds, the paper den was something like a pirate's cove. If not for the paper itself, the room would have been cavernous. Down the fifth hallway and past the second corridor he'd found it. By then he'd had a chance to search through cabinets and closets, cobweb-bedecked bedrooms and countless passages. He'd stumbled on the room quite by accident, and only weeks later would he learn of its contents. The room's door was a deeply smoothed mahogany, softened by generations of hands. Its purple crystal handle caught his eye, but its barely-there engravings were his true fascination.
Theo continued to wander the house, but he kept returning to the door. Every week or so, he would ply a new tool on its handle. He was nervous about shattering or breaking the old handle. For this reason, he always restrained his efforts. It wasn't until the third Tuesday when Theo's newly-acquired lockpicking skills struck gold. He had been picking distractedly, his thoughts elsewhere, when he heard a gentle click and felt the door push slightly inward.
4. Chopin (Classical Music)
Theodore White discovered paper on a Tuesday afternoon. It had been a big house, and no one ever saw little Theo when he wandered off among the scattered hallways. He often discovered things, off on his own. These items ranged from a A tortoiseshell button tucked beneath the fraying carpet in the towers. to A petrified banana roosting in the fourth-West basement. Four brass keys. A red-backed comb. A springy patch of moss under a trickle-broken skylight. None of these things had ever surprised Theo, because what was an old house for, if not secrets?
But the paper was something different altogether. If buttons and bananas were Theo's rubies and diamonds, the paper den was something like a pirate's cove. If not for the paper itself, the room would have been cavernous, but it heaped in cardboard boxes and down particle board bookshelves until the walls themselves seemed to be breathing it. The room was down the fifth hallway and past the second corridor. He'd been wandering when he found it. By then, Theo had had a chance to search through cabinets and closets, cobweb-bedecked bedrooms and countless passages. He'd stumbled upon this room quite by accident, and only weeks later would he learn of its contents. At first, it was just another simple mystery of the house. A way to pass his afternoons. The room's door was a deeply smoothed mahogany, softened by generations of hands. Its purple crystal handle caught his eye, but its barely-there engravings were his true fascination.
Theo continued to wander the house, but always he returned to the door. Like a clockwork mouse, every week or so he would ply a new tool on its handle. If he treated the door roughly, the old handle might have fallen and shattered, or else its inner workings might snap. For this reason, he always restrained his efforts. It wasn't until the third Tuesday when Theo's newly-acquired lockpicking skills struck gold. He had been picking distractedly, his mind hardly leaning on the torsion wrench, when he heard a gentle click and felt the door push slightly inward.
Stepping into the room, he'd almost lost his feet out from under him. The floor had slid. Theo righted himself and knelt to pick up the spare sheet that had unbalanced him. It had crumpled at his step, but only in the corner. Most of it was still sharp and flat and wide and, he thought, oddly rough for something that made the floor slick as ball bearings. It felt hardy, yet flimsy at once. More stray sheets lay around his feet and he picked up a few, folding some, bending others in long cylinders, tossing the rest up to see them fall back down in strange arcs.