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Creative Writing on Life in the City Adds Soul-Graffiti
Mood writing is evocative of the great classical writers, the masters of yesteryear. In The Mood Book's pages we absorb their craft via creative prose examples. Cities of optimism and gritty moods star on this page. Life from one street to the next can be worlds apart, so let's get our boots on and make a start!
Written by Angela Abraham in 2024
A City Breaths in Many Moods, Speaking of Life, Spinning Creative Writing to a More Concrete Muse
Scary Streets Writing Fear into the Wind
As a silenced map, streets yawned into an icy wind. The dark hours crawled slower and slower. Streetlamps slept, nocturnal no more. Onyx clouds erased both the moon and stars. No nightingale sang. No car engines whirred. No alley cats mewed. Such was the oppression of winter’s fist. Skitter-skatter! Skitter scratch! Tom turned. Garbage blew as autumn’s plastic bounty, bright colours that would never be earthen brown.
Example One:
Example Two:
Shadows crawled over cracked pavements. Rust bit at old signs, blistering the paint, flakes falling to leave scars. Day or night, it felt dark, the feeble rays only serving to illuminate the filthy decay. Rats scurried. Sewage drains slurped. Birdsong fell as cut kite-strings. Stagnant air had long forgotten how to breathe, and instead cosseted coyotes and wolves, eager to be their pleasing duvet.
Wandering the Wending Avenues of Arboreal Wonder
Example Three:
Buoyant with hopscotch chalk rose the paving stones of London town. Gaunt old man winter banished, they sang! Children laughed as folks passed by: to work, to play, to the market and more. For in that city choir, the sun as the boldest of conductors, a new optimism has been born. Song had returned. Alms houses had reopened. Beer and dancing was all the rage. Life. Life. Life was coming back in sepia tones.
Example Four:
Pavement-cracks flower-grinned beneath a blue sky, their shadows lightly dancing. Birdsong was maypole ribbons. Even the tree canopies did giggle. Dogs greeted in their wagging frenzy. Cats dozed in sunlit pools. Traffic kept its beach-wave percussion. Schools emptied. Playgrounds filled. Garden parties began, barbeques alight, aromas wafting. Come one, come all. Summer in the city had arrived.
Creativity Cries in the Lonely City Streets
Example Five:
The city streets were a washed out grey. The sky was a rock-pounded denim. Birdsong trickled out in dented waves, as if feathered friends cried this way. Engines started and stopped. Horns honked. Crowds, heads low, kept their eyes on concrete cracks. No whispers. No chat. Either yelling or nothing at all. Society, society, wherefore art thou society?
Example Six:
In a sigh of lamplight, rain drizzled down the hill. Damp. All was so very damp. It would take a magician grander than I to find nought but the shivering cold. The air was a scrooge, stealing warmth pennies it needed not. Eyes could not plead with city smog. Even the nightingales only leaked a slow lamenting warble.
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