September 17th, 2008

I love my hand!

Writer's Block: Over-the-Top Metaphors

I actually managed to do a bit of productive housework yesterday. Don't crap yourself in shock. I just changed some light bulbs (it only takes one Ade to change a light bulb, thankyouverymuch), started organizing the craft room, and finally put away most of my clean laundry. I tried putting together some of those wire cube shelves for my epic yarn stash, but those things are a pain in the butt to assemble, because they keep popping loose. 2/3 of the way through, I just got frustrated and abandoned it for when I'm in a more patient mood. And to think, that Natural Stitches store in Pittsburgh (I loved that store, I need to go back) is just full of those wire shelves. I bet that after the store people assembled those shelves, a cloud of profanity hung over the store for weeks.

When I woke up this morning, I looked over at the window across the hallway and thought I saw a cat sitting on one of the shelves. I thought, "huh, I remember closing Yarmulke and Bouncer in the computer room before I went to bed." But it was just a strategically-shaped bag of polyester fiberfill (which I use for stuffing the various knitted creatures I always make) that really did look like a tail-less cat, the way the light hit it.

Detective stories are stereotypically full of over-the-top metaphors: "The villain's hand stroked the cat the way his sins stroked his black soul. His voice, rough as the city's nighttime streets and twice as terrifying, barked orders to his lackeys. They scattered like parents who just realized they forgot to pick up a child from school." Write a short scene using some of your own extreme metaphors and similes.

Bob woke up that morning, wiping the dried gook from his eyes the way his mother had wiped his butt when he was a baby. He yawned, baring his teeth like a roaring lion. He staggered to the bathroom in a zombie-like fashion, reaching for the shower knobs as though they were the brains he craved. The waterfall pounded his scalp, whirpooling into the drainal abyss. Inside his cavernous belly, a hunger growled like a desperate cat in heat, and he ached for the hot pockets his mom kept in the fridge.

Ok, so half of those are similes, but oh well. The example used them too. I like speaking in metaphors a lot.