Well I am late on my third exercise.  Not getting off to a great start, am I.  I will update soon I promise.  See I recently got a job at Barnes and Noble and on top of my other job at the library, the stress of my car breaking down every ten seconds and life in general, I am a little overwhelmed.  I promise to be a good little writer from now on and get my shit done though.  I'd hate to disappoint my many fans.

Exercise 2
Page 21
Imperative

Write a fragment of story that is made up of imperative commands: Do this; do that; contemplate the rear end of the woman who is walking out of your life.  This will be a sort of second-person Narration.  500 words.
Run.  Run.  Run.  Feel your chest tighten as the icy night air burns your lungs.  Don't turn around for there is something horrific behind you.  Hear its tread upon the ground.  Know your time is up.  Feel the raw fear.  Try to scream but be met with silence.  Try to speed up but your legs move as if wading through mud.  Give up.  Turn.  Stop running and face that nightmare your mind can barely generate.  See yourself.  Cry out.  Fade into the next dream.  Finally be who you were born to be, that lovely creature with long shining hair and nails like diamonds.  Flash your smile at the crowds.  Mingle with those posh young men in their silk suits.  Smooth down your sequined dress and sip martinis until your head spins.  Laugh like a bell.  See him from across the room and join the dance.  Lure him in sweetly.  Wind him up slowly.  Bring him to his knees.  Bring him upstairs.  Feel his hands on your smooth thighs...

Wake up.

Bite back the disappointment.  Rub the night from you eyes and squint at the sun peeping over the edge of your bed through the curtains.  Scratch.  Adjust yourself.  Swing one hairy leg over the side of the mattress, the sheets pulling around your calf.  Stand.  Stretch.  Wish you where back in bed, dreaming still.  Lumber gracelessly towards the bathroom, still caught up in that dream.  Stand before the toilet.  Stand to piss.  Ignore it.  Concentrate on the cat winding itself around your ankle.  Tuck in.  Rinse your hands.  Dry them on a towel and avoid eye contact with yourself in the mirror.  Stagger to the kitchen.  Avoid the cat who is trying his best to trip you, his cries insistent.  Open the cupboard and find a can.  Open it and unleash its contents into the interior of a little brown bowl.  Set it on the floor and watch in satisfaction as your friend purrs out a tune.

Try to forget.  Try to forget.  Feel your feet taking you back towards that wicked mirror and stop.  Put both hands upon the kitchen counter and breath deeply.  Explore your senses.  Feel the day week old toast crumbs courtesy of the toaster beneath our finger tips.  See the paint peeling along the wall.  Taste the morning on your breath.  Hear the steady, "Glop, glop," of a feasting feline.  Smell the fishy scent of his meal.  Try not to be sick.  Breath.  Head towards the bathroom anyway with the intent of ignoring the mirror.  Don't look.  Don't look!  See your scruffy face out of the corner of your eye and pause in front of the mirror.  Breath.  Feel that sense of loss.  Feel that bitter nagging discontentment.  Sigh.  Pinch your cheeks and pull your ears.  Pout.  Check your hairline.  Flip yourself off.  Then close your eyes a moment and relive the dream after the nightmare.  Make a decision.  Decide.  Grab a razor and some shaving cream.  Live another day.  Do the same tomorrow.

The End.

501 words.  Today I wrote about gender disphoria, a matter close to my own heart.  Though I wrote from the male perspective.  May the errors be few and the grammar not suck. My keyboard sticks so I'm having a little trouble here.  But I think it came out alright.  That was a lot easier than I thought it would be.

Exercise 1.
Page 20
The Reluctant

Basically... Write a first person narrative in which you use the first person pronoun (I or me or my) only two times but keep the I somehow important to the narrative you are constructing.  Show the reader quickly who is observing the scene.  600 words.
  The young mages of the Sanctuary are warned, some since infancy, not to wonder from the marked path in the forest.  Their trembling feet travel quickly between the trail's magical guide stones, spurred on by rumors of ill fated children before them.  Those such as, Calipso Jones who is said to have followed a wisp into the bracken one humid evening in the month of June.  They say he was never seen again.  Eaten by some flesh-crazed demon or carried off by dead-eyed ghouls.  It's easier to believe now, laying here crouched in the autumn leaves of the forest floor, the heavy scent of earthen decay drifting on the cool afternoon breeze, confronted by the grisly horrors of mistakes made.
  What had brought these boots from their steady trek towards the meditation point upon the summit?  The forest had its ways of dragging one in.  Of calling your name and making you ignore the threat of your master's blow and even the legends.  I had ignored the warnings and strayed.
  The beasts were bright enough to block any line of retreat.  They surrounded the cozy glade quickly.  Though at first they had seemed like nothing more than innocent trees.  Now they were barely recognizable as such, for the monsters had come roiling, spilling, spewing from their massive trunks like wrens from a roost.  Their small barked heads were mostly mouth.  Great yawning O's so deep and evil they seemed like endless tunnels.  They watched the plight of their prey through tiny black eyes set here and there.  Some had two, some four or more.  With great creaks and sighs they grew close, sharp wooden claws poised for spilling blood.  In those fear drenched moments came the name for these creatures, taken from the body of some solemn tomb buried deep within the library, as well as the complete belief that never again would I smell the gentle dust of those books.  Woodscorn were known blood drinkers.  They drained the body as effortlessly as roots suck water from the ground.
  A wash of cradle prayer took over then.  Swelling from the heart and melting with the tongue.

Goddess, cast your spell to earth
Bring your servants good growth and mirth.
Blesser, protect with charms of fire
Crush bone and foe, our needs be dire
Mother, charm them with the wind
With patients find the strength within
Sister, wield the rune of water
Soak the spirit, drench the...

  A mighty quake shook the clearing, silencing all chanting and the gnashing of the beasts' papery limbs.  In the dumbfounded quiet a new sound arose.  It sounded, at first, like a dozen arrows being unleashed but as the source drew nearer so did the quality of the noise reverberate among the tallest branches of the trees.  Knives.  Knives, axes, swords being sharpened.  It echoes from above as if coming from the mountains.  Then the branches began to fall.  One by one they crashed around the assembly gathered in the glen.  Some were only as big around as a thumb but others nearly a man's arm.  The woodscorn began to scream.  Those wide maws which had been silent let out such a fervor that the nearby leaves shook.  With covered ears and eyes turned skyward for fear of falling debris, the monsters really had their chance and, though in a terror themselves, fell upon my prone body.  But as the pressure of their weighty trunks bore down upon bone and their claws met flesh, there came a light from the heavens so bright it bore a hole through the damned leaving their victim unscathed.  The pitch of their howls intensified as another great creature tore into the expanse, two fiery blades clutched in its hands.  From this celestial's back grew a set of wings of matching metallic sheen which merged with the skin of his body so that it seemed he wore a tight suit of silver.  His wings sliced the foliage as he passed through the trees towards the woodscorn, sending a confetti of crisp orange and brown into the wind which blew like a gale.  Before these unbelieving eyes, a majestic battle began and quickly ended with this new strange guardian standing proud among the ruins of the woodscorn pack.  Blood like mercury dripped from his body through many deep wounds and long razor thin slices, as he fell, still proud, to his knees. 
  
Word count: 733
Man, that took forever!  Like two and a half hours for that.  And I didn't even end it really.  All well, I am done.  That is all you get for my first exercise.  What a pain in the ass.  I'm pretty sure I cheated with my use of 'my' but it's good for a first try.  Good job, me!