Around the time that saying became popular, the use of the word elucubrate was common - though it really isn't used now. Henry Cockeram defined elucubrate in his 1623 The English Dictionarie: "To doe a thing by candlelight."
Here's a prompt for you. Write a poem or short story, but include:
- Burning the midnight oil, and/or
- Elucubrate
You can post a response here, or send me an e-mail at zavichl@aol.com
My attempt will be posted as a response. Keep in mind that this is just a prompt - it's for fun! Along with being enjoyable - writing exercises help you grow as a writer. Practice is effective... and that's a proven fact!
Happy Tuesday, writers.
"Burning The Midnight Oil"
ReplyDeleteI never considered a smile to be sexy until I met his. It was alarmingly desirable, and seeing it always ignited a shyness that betrayed my very nature.
My hair fell forward – draping my eyes – and I felt my upper teeth find their way to my bottom lip faster than one could blink. Only I wouldn’t dare waste the time to blink while my eyes were salivating at the tremendous feast that was before them. I was in a complete stupor. His light shone on me like a thousand suns. And I would have gladly stared straight into a thousand suns, if it awarded me just one glorious glimpse.
He still made me feel like this. I still thank God for every glance I get. And with each one, the crease in my bottom lip grows to fit my eager teeth. I watched him, wide-eyed, while the flame on the candle flickered its faint, sensuous light about the room.
“Aren’t you supposed to be writing?” he smirked. He was mocking me; I knew it, but I didn’t care. His presence was paralyzing; only my eyes moved from his face to his neck to his hands and knees and feet and back again. Visually, I was overwhelmed. Physically, I was overwhelmed. Emotionally, I was overwhelmed. Mentally, I was tired. He knew… and offered to leave.
I mustered up all of my strength to cry out a feeble, “No!” and put my possessive arm around his waist.
“I’ll write,” I told him. “I can write with my muse present.”
He laughed at the thought of being a muse, and shook his head, smiling.
I took out the quill he bought me and began to scribble upon the parchment.
This has an innocent, yet seductive, quality that is very relatable. It also has a youthful quality to, one that surfaces in us all regardless of age or gender. What a perfect flash fiction piece -- I love it. Loved getting involved with this one. :)
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