The topic for today's blog post came to me when I was driving home after the school run this morning. The thermometer in the car told me that it was 12 degrees C. To me, that's quite warm. Outside the car, gusts of wind threw around anything they could move - trees, birds, the occasional pedestrian - and the dark, heavy clouds that greeted me when I woke this morning were now tossing handfuls of rain at my windscreen. To put it simply, the weather was warm, wet and windy.
Alliteration is one of my favourite writing tools. It adds a level of lyrical texture to any piece of writing, be that prose, poetry or playscript. It can be stretched out and luxurious like a sleep in silken sheets, or rapid and alarming like a tap tap tap on a window frame.
In Edgar Allan Poe's poem, The Raven, he uses alliteration perfectly,
"Once upon a midnight dreary while I pondered weak and weary"
"And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain"
"Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before"
He even extends the alliteration by using words that include the 's' sound in the second line and the 'd' sound in the third line.
I love alliteration, especially the way it rolls off the tongue in a play script. Just for a bit of fun, I've put together an A-Z of alliterative phrases. Why don't you do the same?
Fi's A-Z of Alliteration
Aimlessly arriving at the apex of the hill
I ran, breathless, blinded by my belief that I could save him.
"Crikey, love. You almost came a-cropper there."
Dig,dig, dig, were his only thoughts, down, down, down into the dark depths of the soil.
Easily erected and just as easily destroyed, the building brick tower tumbled to the floor.
Fiona frantically fought her way through the tangle of thorns.
Gorged on the gargantuan feast, Gordon gripped the arms of his chair to prise himself from it's embrace.
"Helloo," hailed the voice from the mist.
Jessica felt like swearing. The idiotic itching just wouldn't stop. Damn that poison ivy.
Jumping, jumping, jubiliantly jumping
Kevin kicked the ball against the wire fencing.
"Look, Darling. I have loved, laughed and lived life to the extreme but I would never lower myself to that."
Miriam hummed to herself as she merrily mowed the lawn.
"No, Nigel, you can't knock down the summerhouse. It is needed nearly every weekend."
The official opening of the Oberon Arms provided him with the perfect opportunity to speak to her.
"Really, Roger. Wrecklessly ramming your car into the supermarket was hardly going to help the situation."
The silken sleeve of her robe snagged on the rose bush.
Toppling, tumbling, turning over again and again as it fell
Up, under, up, over the thread
Violently veering to avoid the oncoming traffic
She wheezed woefully, unable to get her breath.
Expecting excitement from her friends, she rushed into her explanation.
She watched the yellow yacht until it disappeared from view.
Zebra zigzags adorned every surface.