Don’t you sometimes struggle to add the right body language description (beat) to amp up your dialog? One that conjures just the right image, is not cliché and sounds fresh? Well, I do, and I hope this meme-type exercise proves helpful.
I’m going through a phase of introspection writing-wise, and I’ve cut down on blogging and using social media as much as I did before (which was not much to begin with). BUT, I came up with this idea for a brand new meme that I think will be both fun and provide good training to that writing muscle of yours.
Here’s the drill: I’ll post a GIF every Friday. It will be a close up of someone recognizable. I’ll give you a brief scene setup, and if you want to take part, you’ll have to describe the body language you see just as you’d do if you were writing the scene yourself. You can write it in the comments’ section, you can blog the meme using the same GIF, you can even post on Facebook. No weird linkies. You can post from Friday until Wednesday. I will then update this page to include all offerings I gather with links to participants’ sites or social media. The only requirement is for you to link back to my blog’s relevant post, and—if you don’t post here—leave a comment with a link to where you posted, so I can find you.
No judging, no winners. My aim is to gather lots of different body language beats describing a visual action/reaction for my readers (and yours) to read and maybe learn. An added perk: each week, I’ll choose a random participant who will get free book promo on my promo blog mmjayepresents.com.
Sounds like fun? Then go ahead and “beat it”.
GIF FRIDAY: BEAT IT #1 starring Robert Pattinson
A glowing red charcoal rolled out of the fire pit. I used a stick to push it back. “What about your parents?” He was finally opening up. This was my window to peek in.
He instantly sobered. “My dad passed two months ago. I was trekking the Andes, I didn’t get to say…” (insert beat)
And here are this week’s offerings:
He pulled his sleeve around his fingers and picked up the tin mug from the fire. He blew into the bubbling liquid. Steam surrounded his face as he stared at the mug with unseeing eyes. The rich aroma of his coffee hit my nostrils, making my mouth water. I said nothing, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said in the end. “It’s too late now.”
He pressed his lips together and a muscle in his cheek twitched. He blinked, glanced down. A second or two passed, and when he spoke again his voice was barely above a whisper. “I never got to say goodbye.”
His mouth quirked, but there was no humor in it. He looked away. Then he blinked. Several times.
Were his eyes misting over?