Writing with Stardust: The Ultimate Descriptive Guide for students, parents, teachers and writers (4 page)

1. The mist
grabbed at
the ankle of the mountain.

2. The sly mist
snatched at
the leg of the mountain.

3. The crafty mist
clutched at
the elbow of the mountain as it passed.

4. The cunning mist
fumbled at
the mountain’s neck with its filmy tentacles.

5. The insidious mist
ensnared
the crown of the mountain.

                                                       SIMILES

1. The mountain
tips
looked like sharks’ fins.

2. The
peaks
of the mountains looked like a saw’s teeth.

3. The
crests
of the serrated mountains looked like a row of fangs.

4. The
apex
of the mountains looked like a row of white stalactites.

5. The
pinnacles
of the primeval mountains were like the broken teeth of a hag.

                                                  
OTHER IMAGES

1. Insect-like figures crawled far below us.

2. The surface of the dew-silver lake glittered like brownie dust.

3. A weeping waterfall poured from a gash in the mountain’s face.

4. We were attacked by a screaming eagle, his talons outstretched like a drowning man’s fingers.

5. An iridescent rainbow straddled the sky, anointing the world with its brilliance.

                                SENSATION                              

1. The snow was freezing our feet.

2. The Alaskan-cold wind was numbing our faces.

3. The frigid wind was Siberian-cold and lashed us without mercy.

                               
SMELL         

1. The scent of stewed mutton came drifting up to us.

2. The welcoming aroma of a bubbling broth came to our noses.

3. We smelled a sizzling steak being fried far below us and it was sublime.

                                TASTE

1. The pot roast was stellar.

2. The chargrilled lamb was cosmic with the beans.

3. We guzzled the flame-fried beef and it was otherworldly.

                                       LEVEL 1: BASIC SENTENCES

1. The mountains were
bone-white
. 
COLOUR

2. A wall of snow came
crashing
down. 
SOUND

3. The mountains were
crinkled
at the top. 
SHAPE

4. They were
sky-piercing
.
ACTION

5. The
foot
of one mountain was covered in mist. 
PATHETIC FALLACY

6. The mountain peaks were
like a row of arrow tips
. 
SIMILE

7. We could see some
deer
clattering across a mountain. 
OTHER IMAGES

8. The air felt
ice cold
. 
SENSATION

9. We could smell
stewed mutton
coming from a camp. 
SMELL

10. We tasted some and it was
astral
. 
TASTE

                                       
LEVEL 2: A BASIC PARAGRAPH

The mountains were
vampire-white
. A wave of white snow went
rumbling
down the sides. They were all
crumpled
at the base. They were
sky-stabbing
at the top. The
legs
of the mountains were very wide. The peaks of the mountains were
like harpoon tips
. They were shrouded in
ghost-grey mist
. The air was
chilling and numbing
. We could smell a
pot roast
being cooked. We tasted some and it was
stellar
.

                                        LEVEL 3: CREATIVE PARAGRAPHS

The serrated mountains loomed in the distance. We made our way towards them as we had to make base camp by nightfall. They were
flour-white
and brooded over the land. Just as we approached, a chute of snow detached itself and went
trundling
down one of the mountains. It slid over the
knotted
edge and then went crashing into the chasm below. The silence that followed was spine chilling. It froze our marrow to think that we would be climbing in those conditions tomorrow.

The
heaven-touching
apex of the mountain was drenched in brilliant light. Spikes of thin light impaled the snow in a bristling, moving line. We assumed that the heat had displaced the snow from
the hip
of the time chiselled mountain. All across our line of sight, the tips of the mountain range stuck up
like a row of thorns.
Swaddled around them were
necklaces of powdery snow
. The air became
arctic cold
as we came closer to base camp. The unmistakable whiff of
chargrilled lamb
wafted to our noses. Dinner that night was
cosmic
.

                                        LEVEL 4: ADVANCED PARAGRAPHS

We looked up fearfully at the
angel-white
mountains. They looked ominous. As we watched in horror, a
grumbling
sound came from the largest of them.

A mighty chunk of snow came toppling down from the
gnarled
face of the mountain. It looked like a cascade of white as it tumbled and rumbled downwards. With a deafening roar, it plummeted over the
hoary shoulder
and settled in a mighty heap. Then there was a dreadful silence. Nothing stirred. Nothing sounded. Nothing sang.

The silence was ruptured by the slow, mournful howl of one of our camp dogs. He could sense that climbing those zephyr haunted mountains tomorrow would invite disaster. Yet climb them we would, as that was our goal. Our sponsor would pay dearly for evidence of the yeti and we were determined to provide it. We were at five thousand feet and the air was thin and crisp. The
snow-cloaked
mountains hemmed us in on all sides, daring us to reach their
stalagmite shaped
peaks.

A vast sheet of ice lay in front of us. We had reached a wide plateau. It was eerie and looked Cossack-cold. It was a featureless terrain, a place with a harsh and stark beauty. It reminded me of the opening scene of ‘Frankenstein’, when he clumped through the zombie-white snow. Stunted dwarf trees had been seen lower down, but not even they could survive this. Devoid of life and leaf, the rocky acoustics made it sound like a crypt. The only sounds were the huffing of dogs, the swish of skis and the curses of men.

The dimming sun framed a great sweep of
lonely
,
birdshell-blue sky
. It was our cue to set up camp before attacking the summit tomorrow. Night’s dark mantle closed in around us and the thermometer plunged. It became
Siberian cold
so we set up a fire. Supper that night was
a
bubbling broth
and it tasted
galactic
. We all stared into the crackling fire, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts. Tomorrow would bring the risk of death and disaster with it.

                     LEVEL 5: COMPLEX WRITING: THE LONELY TOMB

They hated us. Their complexion may have been
halo-white
, but they hated us all the more for it. We were standing in a vast pan of emptiness, with only sky above and death below. It was a great gash of valley half way up the Himalayas, stretching out for endless miles. On either side, indomitable mountains loomed, enfolding in on our minds with their might. We knew they hated us as much as the last expedition, whose remains we were sent to find.

The winds glacial breath swept through the valley, licking it with its icy caress. It neither moaned nor sighed, nor made any sound at all. It simply haunted the valley, constantly gnawing at us with its ravening fangs. A
thundering
sound suddenly filled the air, replacing the silence. A huge swathe of snow detached itself from the
rumpled
side of the mountain. It tobogganed past the
furrowed brow
, swooping towards its own ruin. Then, with a mighty crash and the phuffing sound of a blanket billowing, it finally came to rest.

A deathlike shush spilled into the valley. All was silent. All was still. We peered up at the
snow-wreathed
summit to see if there would be another avalanche. Above it, the sky leered down at us with a manacle-grey hue, like an ashen face. It seemed to compress down upon our minds, such was its throttling effect. Our hearts became heavy as both sky and mountain entombed us with an alien emptiness. The mountains seemed to us to be as inflexible and dangerous
as a dragon’s
back
. Bereft of either sound or spirit, we stood there transfixed. Even the silence seemed strangled at that moment. We felt like pasty shadows, insignificant, under the immensity of the cadaverous sky. The lonely cry of an eagle suddenly rang out, giving us hope. Not all life had been garrotted out of this godforsaken land.

We walked on, marvelling as the sun broke through the bank of iron-grey cloud. It reflected back to us in a trident of blazing-blues, star flame-silvers and wizard-whites. Our boots crunched through the powdered snow. They detonated like muffled grenades every time we stepped, banishing the eerie stillness to oblivion. The
algid
, rarefied air made breathing difficult, but we soldiered on. A bizarre, yowling sound would occasionally erupt from above us. Whether it was the dreaded
abominable snowman
or the wind rushing through a discarded rucksack, we would never know.

Dinner that night was sombre, each of us locked in the prison of our own fears. The
sizzling steak
we partook of was
astronomical
. Yet if truth be told, it felt like The Last Supper. Doom-mongering would serve no purpose, so we retired to our tents silently, with leaden hearts and flagging spirits. Tomorrow would bring perdition with it. There were bodies to be retrieved and perhaps new ones to grace the mountains.