Écriture à contrainte

posté le 18 October 2010 à 11:15

L'un de mes meilleurs cours, cette année, est mon cours d'anglais : "English Literature". On étudie Macbeth, on apprend des insultes du temps de Shakespeare. Et on a des devoirs : par exemple, écrire 5 pentamètres iambiques, ou bien, d'une liste de 26 termes tirés de la pièce, en choisir dix, et écrire une short novel d'environ 300 mots.

Voici le résultat :

 

He had just finished Hunting the Snark, a book he had long been willing to read. Laying in the grass, still lost in his thoughts while a nice smell of fried bacon and scrambled eggs was slowly spreading from the kitchen's house, he noticed a small lizard, climbing his sleeve in a desperate attempt to find a better place to live.


At that point precisely, he realized how dull his own existence was. He woke up in the morning, went to school, waited for the bell, came back home. He had never experienced anything weird or exciting, never fought a wolf nor "danced with a painted devil in the moonlight" (this last thought might seem less strange if you knew he had watched, the previous evening, Batman, by Tim Burton - and was still, unconsciously, obsessed with Jack Nicholson's acting as Joker, and had been drawing a small bat on every single sheet of his school's handbooks. But that's not the point). Suddenly, he suprised himself to long for something strange to happen. "I would give $10000 to have a dragon, instead of this lizard".


Yes, he had that precise thought. He shouldn't have. He might as well have been shouting "Beetlejuice" thrice : everything went still in the garden. A cold wind began to blow, along with a strange, distant sound of ... a drum ? A crow, from the tree above him, made a profund, raucious and rather frightening sound. The sky darkened. And his sleeve went heavy.
Heavier, and heavier.
And heavier.
And quite cold.


He didn't dare to look. He didn't dare to turn his head. It was just when the thing had become so huge he couldn't ignore it anymore that his brain accepted to admit somthing was going on. There was an enormous, glittering, scale-covered ... thing, near him, next to him. The drum had become louder, and the wind was no longer the wind ; it was, now, coming from the dragon's mouth, an icy breath which could have frozen dreams and made the sun stop burning. It gave him goosebumps - his stomach shrank, rumbled, and then, after a while, decided it would be better for everyone to go unnoticed.
Thomas looked into two big, yellow eyes, emptier than eternity, older than void.

 

Later, when his mother called, as the eggs and bacon were ready, no one answered. For the Dragon was a Boojum, you see.


Commentaires

hohun a dit :
posté le 18 October 2010 à 11:35
Je n'aime pas ce genre d'exercices. Autant ça fait travailler l'imagination, autant le résultat me semble toujours forcé et donc déplaisant à lire (malgré tout le mérite de ton texte).

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Lecteur, avant toute chose, je me dois de t'avertir du contenu de cet encart. Je ne vais pas m'y étendre sur ce que je suis ou ne suis pas. Non pas pour ne pas t'ennuyer, c'est le cadet de mes soucis pour le moment, et puis ça arrivera tôt ou tard ; mais pour ne pas trop en dévoiler. Ce blog est le mien, et en tant que tel m'est dédié de long en large : me dépeindre — ou tenter de le faire — en quelques mots serait, plus qu'une erreur, un mauvais calcul. Et je déteste faire de mauvais calculs, ça me frustre.

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