Write a short piece of fiction, around 300 words, using the song title as your story title but don’t listen to the song. Remember to link back to this post so I can find yours.
If you would like to suggest a song title for a future post, you can do so from the challenge page. You can also leave a suggestion on the Facebook page.
This week’s song is The Mountains of Mourne by Irish musician, Percy French. The best-known recording is by Don McLean.
The Song Title Challenge was started as a creative exercise started on A Crucible of Scribes, a blog started by some people from the writing course I did last year. We gave each other song titles, and then you had to write a short piece of fiction based on that title without listening to the song.
I’ve decided I want to make this a regular feature on this blog. Initially, I’ll be reposting my original pieces from the other blog, but I want to give you the opportunity to also suggest song titles for me. You’re welcome to give titles for songs in languages other than English – just write them using the Latin alphabet and give the English translation of the title. Also include the name of the band/artist who originally wrote/performed it. Make your suggestions using the form on the challenge page. If I use your title, I’ll include a link to your blog with my post.
I also want you to participate in the challenge. Write a short piece of fiction, about 300 words, using the song title as your story title. IMPORTANT: do not listen to the song before you write your piece, so the lyrics of the song won’t influence you. Leave a link to your post in the comments section. You’re also welcome to comment on my attempt which appears below.
This week’s challenge: Nessun Dorma, from the opera Turandot by Giacomo Puccini and made popular again in 1990 by the Italian tenor, Luciano Pavarotti. In English, the title means “None shall sleep”. Have fun with it.
This is a piece I wrote for a creative writing course I did last year. The assignment was to write a scene showing a character experiencing boredom, but it should not be boring. I have since expanded it a little.
The following is based on real events, with some embellishment.
Boredom
David rounded the front desk for the umpteenth time. He’d lost count of how many kilometres he’d walked up and down the aisles. He stopped at attention and turned around like a soldier on parade, completely quietly, of course. The only sound in the hall was the scritching of pens on paper and the occasional cough from one of the students. Scritching. Is that even a word? It sounds right. David decided to look it up later. No dictionaries allowed in the exam room. Right now he’d even read a dictionary.
He rounded the front desk for the second time since he’d lost count. By now he had inventoried everything in the hall: floor tiles, window latches, light bulbs, bricks…He decided to add them together; without a calculator. The mental arithmetic took him all of forty-seven seconds – he had timed himself by the clock on the wall. Maybe something more challenging: square roots. Yeah! He hadn’t tried those in a while.
David rounded the front desk for the third time in four minutes. He glanced at the clock and about-faced. Excellent! Only two more hours to go. David started back down the row with a spring in his step. It’s the little things that make life worthwhile, you know?
He managed to keep that up for two circuits and seventy-eight seconds. He started humming in his head a tune from a video he saw earlier that morning on the net: Dumb ways to die, so many dumb ways to die, dump-di-dump-di-dum-dum…He stopped. Why were all the students looking at him? O crap! He was singing out loud again, wasn’t he? He stared at them crossly . They continued writing.
David rounded the front desk for the…Dammit. He’d lost count again. He looked at the clock. Only one hour, fifty-six minutes to go…
As everywhere else on earth, Christmastime had also come to the watering hole, not that any of the animals knew this. However, Elephant always felt as if things were a little different this time of the year. The Prickly Pear Boys were quiet, the Pride hadn’t been seen in days and even Brick and Brack seemed to be getting along. There was a general feeling of good will around the watering hole and even if he didn’t understand what had brought it all about, Elephant was glad for a respite from the usual problem solving.
It was the longest day of the year and it was incredibly hot. The whole croc-squad was passed out on a sand bank, so most of the animals stood in the cool water while drinking. Elephant was playing with Brenda’s kids, spraying the little meerkats with water from his trunk, making them squeal and giggle with delight, while Otto and his boys put on a superb display of synchronised swimming to entertain those who were still conscious.
Perry the field mouse came hopping through the grass. Elephant sighed. Of course peace like this could never last.
Elephant topped the rise to see all the other animals gathered around the watering hole. It seemed like there was some kind of commotion at the water’s edge, but elephants have dreadful eyesight, so he could not quite make out what was going on. There certainly was a lot of noise – the wild dogs were yelping, the hyenas were giggling, the wildebeest were grunting, the buffaloes were snorting, the cheetahs were growling and every other animal was making whatever sound they made. Elephant had to trumpet at the top of his voice to make himself heard over this ruckus. ‘Hello, hello, hello. What’s all this? What’s all this?’ he said when they settled down.
The animals at the water’s edge drew back, allowing Elephant to see the Prickly Pear Boys, the savannah’s most notorious troop of baboons, lounging in the shallows.
if all else fails...use a hammer 