Writing Exercise: Describe One Thing Ten Different Ways

This exercise came from Chuck Wendig. I like Chuck because, like me, he’s a foul-mouthed motherfucker whose jokes are so inappropriate they could make the Buddha cry. Plus he’s really smart about writing and shit. So when he drops a writing exercise, I have to take a stab at its face. *stabbity*

Here’s me describing one thing ten different ways.

One:
But for the stray logo, it is a study in monochrome, gloss black paint chipped down to grey primer in spots, and white slightly faded with age.

Two:
Caked with the dust and the dried on mud of hundreds of adventuring miles, it’s like a well-loved book — battered and dingy from constant use.

Three:
The hard lines of its geometry are only broken up where it’s lines join each other, and then they blend smoothly, organically, into one another.

Four:
To assemble the parts without the benefit of modern delivery systems would take you on a trek around the globe — America, Switzerland, Japan, Italy. (Don’t forget extra socks.)

Five:
It grew from a drawing, weekends spent honing single parts down to a usable finish, before being welded together and readied for paint.

Six:
It contains, like all metalworking projects, some of the creator’s blood.

Seven:
A 17th century blacksmith would have no idea what to make of it — thin-walled steel, stainless steel, various aluminum alloys. Might as well let a caveman try to repair a space shuttle.

Eight:
A builder’s first frame is special, one of his horcruxes, if you’re into that Harry Pottery shit. This is no different — the hundreds of hours, the mis-steps, the imperfections are all reflective of a little bit of soul falling out of the body and into the steel.

Nine:
It’s a throwback to a simpler time — no suspension, not hung with thousands of dollars of parts. Just a single gear, a rigid fork, and some nice wheels. As a tribute to modern rides, it has disc brakes, but otherwise this could be a bike from 1983.

Ten:
Under the rider, it becomes a prosthesis, allowing you to fly where once you could only walk.

Concluding

I’m not thrilled with the results on this one. Sure, some of the stuff in there was okay, I guess. I need to do more of this sort of stuff in the future. I’m rusty.