Get creative (copy challenge)!

Quickly after my previous post about MOTIVATION, DAMMIT! I added ‘sloth’ to my list of characteristics.

You’ll know I’m working on a pretty demanding site for a pretty demanding client and where I should have been adding finesse to my PHP and CSS abilities, I was adding a half pint of beer to my stomach during a sojourn with mum and dad.

Shaking the sloth is no easy task but I’m happy to say the chance find of a website (discovered in the comment of another blogger on another site – a really useful comment which shows the absolute veracity of comment potency and don’t you forget it) has almost rid the demon.

Creative Copy Challenge revolves around a ridiculously simple concept, as most amazing things do. This one’s the brainchild of Shane Arthur, Sean Platt and David Wright.

Elevator pitch

Shane posts 10 words. Entirely randomised words. Words like iron-ore. His constituents banish all evidence of writer’s block and pour forth sonnets of simplicity or counter-perfunctory prose. Everyone else tells you whether it’s a deal, or no deal.

It’s genius. And while I’m most definitely not, I couldn’t resist pitching in.

My starter for 10:

1. Stupidity (apt, for my virgin attempt)
2. Deathtrap
3. In the name of love
4. Switchblade
5. Gunpowder
6. Clobber
7. Kindergarten
8. Sorrow
9. Goatee
10. Asylum

Here’s my take on this two-short-of-dozen mots du jour:

It all began at kindergarten. Instead of playing with skittles and rattles, pom-poms and pillows, John Wolfenstein would conjure his own simplistic switchblade with a broken plastic knife and sticky-backed plastic.

As he grew, so his tastes in weaponry changed. From the physical to the emotional. Wolfenstein was a havoc of a man, a charmer, lothario, Casanova and politician of passion.

Outwardly he was suave. Inside, he was a deathtrap: a maelstrom of fear and loathing, desperation and stupidity. A ticking timebomb, with one predictable outcome. The gunpowder was always waiting to be lit; that it had lain dry and meekly harmless in his cerebral asylum for such a time was a miracle that even Jesus would fail to fathom.

The mirror told a tale of discretion. Dressed in the finest clobber,  his messy beard now reduced to an a la mode ‘v’ goatee and angry throat freshly fragranced, Wolfenstein looked the everyman. But history had told, and future would tell, an altogether different tale.

Dressed up after a dressing down at work, Wolfenstein was in military mood, ready to inflict carnal carnage as he took his war to a bar. Any bar. The only prerequisite was in female form, and it was available wherever he chose to inflict his merciless ladykilling ways.

For whoever was his next prey, there would be no sorrow – just an electrifying ending that always drove him past the point of caring. His was a world of ultimate adrenaline for him. Hers, to pay the ultimate price in the name of love.

What do you think? Not a big fan of John, myself, but hey, it takes six sides to make a square world.

Have a go – you know you want to!