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As I’ve mentioned, probably more times than you care to hear, I am in the early stages of writing my first novel.  In fact, these stages are so early, it really isn’t fair for me to claim I am “writing” anything yet.  Despite the lack of words on paper, or even words in my head, I’m determined to make sure the end result is worthy of more than just backup toilet paper.  So as I mentioned a few months back, I am going to post some of my creative writing practices here in hopes of honing my skills and getting some feedback from my readers, many of which are far better writers than I.

So here is a little descriptive writing exercise I attempted this morning, which I hope you’ll enjoy and comment on.  I can’t imagine you’ll have a very difficult time figuring this out, but let’s play “Guess the Setting”.  Here we go:

Some travel by foot.  Others by car or even plane.  It is their mecca and this weekly pilgrimage is a deeply religious experience.  History is housed within its walls and passion seeps through its cracks.  The echoes of those whose feet have tread this hallowed ground, fill the air like a ghostly choir.  Frequent visitors snicker and mock the wide-eyed newbies, all the while remembering their first humbling experience.

Like a 21st century Roman coliseum, modern-day gladiators gather inside this fortress of steel and concrete week in and week out.  Spectators arrive in droves to witness greatness from the safety of their seats.  A railing between the man-made structure and nature’s green grass is the line that separates the Davids from the Goliaths.  It’ll take more than a rock and slingshot to bring these beasts down.

No matter day or night; wind, rain or snow, this field of earth is shaken by men who are determined to taste victory.  To the onlookers, it’s a battle of good vs. evil playing out on this patch of dirt and grass.  Blood, sweat, and intensity drip from these warriors as they scrap and claw for every inch of forward motion.  The cheers of the patrons fill the atmosphere and cover the combatants in a blanket of emotion.  With every roar of the crowd, those outside these concrete walls stop to imagine what might be taking place within.

After hours of earth-shaking battle, the field is once again empty.  Bruised and battered, those innocent blades of grass need time to recover from the damage inflicted on them.  For the competitors; a week of glory awaits one, while 7 days of questions and self-doubt await the other.  Like the earth on which they played, they too will recharge and be ready for their next opponents.  

As its followers go back from whence they came, the gridiron once again falls silent.  On this day, its walls shook and its ground rumbled and those who came to see it, left with stories to tell.  History was written once again, as it is every week.  The lights go out and the arena lies dormant like a sleeping giant, but only temporarily.  This eerie quiet is just the calm before the storm that will once again rise up next Sunday.

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