Sion reading at Shakespeare & Co, Paris (Photo credit: Calvin Chan)
Honorary Writer-in-Residence, The Mount, Edith Wharton’s house, April 2016
Stone Court Writer-in-Residence, February-May 2016
Writer-in-Residence, Kerouac House, December 2013-February 2014
Short List for Finalists, William Faulkner Wisdom Competition, Novel Category, 2012
Semifinalist, James Jones First Novel Contest, 2012
Featured Panelist, Paris Writers’ Workshop, June 2012
Semifinalist, William Faulkner Wisdom Competition, Novel-in-Progress Category, 2011
Selected by easyJet Holidays as an “Ultimate Paris Travel Blogger,” 2011
Shortlisted, Paris Short Story Contest, 2011
Winner, 30-Word Story Contest, Smokelong Quarterly, 2010
Grant Winner, Fiction, Barbara Deming Award, 2007
Finalist, Ultra-Short Fiction Competition, The Binnacle, University of Maine, Machias, 2007
Honorable Mention, Fiction, UNO Writing Contest, 2005
“Sion’s essays are always pitch-perfect.”
–Janet Skeslien Charles, author of Moonlight in Odessa
“[Sion] knows what she’s doing…She is a gifted writer with all the right storytelling skills.”
– Clint McCown, award-winning fiction writer, screenwriter, and journalist
“I believe Sion herself is a writer with a gorgeous and shimmering destination: to do and to finish luminous work.”
– Ellen Lesser, fiction writer and celebrated teacher
“Sion writes lyrical, descriptive prose which is extremely evocative and sensual. Her narrative flows through the scenes as they unfold, and when the fiction ‘sings,’ it is an effective convergence of all the necessary elements of successful storytelling…As a critical writer, Sion is excellent – articulate, thoughtful, analytical, elegant.”
– Xu Xi, author of ten books of fiction and essays
Describing a calm sea: 25 descriptive sentences using onomatopoeia and 5 paragraphs
Describing a calm sea: this post is taken from the ultimate descriptive book ‘Writing with Stardust’ by Liam O’ Flynn, now available on Amazon. I hope it provides the information you require or, at the very least, the inspiration to create your own sentences. I have also included Levels 1-5 taken from the book if you wish to describe the beach with the 5 senses.
If you wish for any more information on ‘Writing with Stardust’, or any of Liam’s other books, just click on the book images below. They will take you into the Amazon bookstore. I hope you enjoy the post.
DESCRIBING A CALM SEA
A dreamy sea has a rhythmic pulse to it unmatched by any other part of nature. It forges its own sounds and kindles its own symphony. The following 25 sentences are an attempt to capture the song of the sea and its steady, throbbing heartbeat. If you find yourself visualising its glorious vastness, its dreamy surface and straining to hear its metronomic wave music, you may understand why it’s called the fisherman’s friend.
- The sea was buzzing with its dormant strength.
- The waves were crawling gently to the shore.
- The waves were creeping steadily towards us.
- The dreamy sea was its own master.
- The waves were gently drenching the sand.
- The sea softly doused the beach.
- The waves were carelessly dribbling onto the sand.
- The ebbing tide was harmonious.
- The sea was vaporously exhaling its mist.
- The flowing of the tide was languorous.
- The ocean was forging its own sea-song.
- The gasping waves were waiting for full tide.
- The groaning sea was riparian-blue.
- The gurgling waves were metronomic.
- The gushing waves were comforting.
- The humming of the wave-song beguiled me.
- The sea was kindling its own symphony.
- The lapping waves entranced us.
- The murmuring of the waves was hypnotic.
- The waves were oozing onto the beach.
- The palpitating pulse of the sea was steady and peaceful.
- The plinking of the wave-music was enthralling.
- The pulsing sea was acetylene-blue.
- The quivering sea was hoarding its mighty power.
- The quavering sea harnessed its majesty.
THE BEACH:LEVEL 1: BASIC SENTENCES
- The beach was flax-gold. COLOUR
- We heard the snoozy sea lap gently. SOUND
- We walked on a bow of beach. SHAPE
- Cylinders of light moved across the sea. METAPHORS
- The other tourists were leather-brown. TANS
- The neon-blue sky was threaded with silver. KNITTING TERMS FOR THE SKY
- Children were squealing on the beach. OTHER IMAGES
- The sun toasted our skin. SENSATION
- The sea air smelled of chlorine. SMELL
- The spicy sauces in the burger burned our tongues. TASTE
LEVEL 2: A BASIC PARAGRAPH
The beach we walked on was moon glow-gold. The sea looked dozy as it rested in the afternoon glow. We were walking on a horseshoe of beach. Towers of radiant light soaked the sea with their beauty. The holiday makers we saw all had coconut-brownfaces. Clown-hatted donkeys were braying loudly as children pulled their tails. The burning sunroasted us like nuts in an oven. The sea sky seemed threaded with silver. A warm, tangy odour came from the sea as we walked towards a hot dog stand. The sulfurous mustard burned us nearly as much as the sun.
LEVEL 3: CREATIVE PARAGRAPHS
It’s not often you get to see a sunrise-gold beach. That was our privilege as we gazed out at the slothful sea. Ebbing ever so gently, it looked at peace in its jade-green gown. It felt like we were walking on a carpet of candy floss, such was its softness. The golden sand swept around in a scythe of beach, hemmed in by towering dunes. Far out to sea, rivers of pulsing light saturated the sea with gold. Only the occasional tourist walked past us. There was an absence of sun-blasted bodies in this Babylon of beaches.
The horizon seemed to be stitched with a silver line. The seagulls were squawking over our heads and squabbling for morsels from the hotel kitchen. As the sun scorched our bodies to a crisp, a funfair of barbecued aromas drifted towards us. The saline tang of the sea mingled with the cuisine, adding salt to its appeal. We decided to obey our rumbling stomachs and eat. Lobster on a bed of watercress was our fare that afternoon. It tasted tender and briny and the shell food sauce had a hint of bouquet to it.
LEVEL 4: ADVANCED PARAGRAPHS
We stood on the cliff. By chance, we had found the Mecca of coves. We could see a fracture of white sand, a gash of zephyr-haunted cliffs and a wide slash of bay. It was a watery wonderland and the beach was drenched in a lightning-gold, dawn haze. The mighty heap of sea flowed in its astral-blue smoothness from the horizon in. The horizon itself was a thin seam where the canopy of sky and the plane of sea hemmed each other into a line of silver. It was as if they had been welded into an extended splinter of perfection. In the distance, streamers of tapered light splayed out, flowing through cracks in the cloud. We decided to clamber down to the beach.
Slumbering in its blue robe, the sea greeted us and the half-moon of beach softly. The sand was floury underfoot and a feathery, sugar-white of hue. A single yacht bobbed and lolled in the incoming tide, like a toy in a bath. Its lights winked saucily as the wave-crests rose gently. Looking around the secluded beach, we didn’t see any of the normal sights; tourists with Day-Glo tans, tacky stands or chattering hawkers. We realised that we were standing in the gateway of paradise. The siren call of the sea was soothing, the wave music welcome. It was like being wrapped in comforting cellophanes of warm sounds and soft light.
Our serenity was ruptured by the raucous cry of a gull. The rocky hollowness of the cliffs made it seem mournful and cavern loud. It echoed at first with a mournful sound, recoiling from the cliff-rock. It rebounded and its vibration was resonating in the spacious air. The bouncing and distortion of sound rang it out once more. Then it foundered and finally faded away into nothingness.
Our serenity had been interrupted. We decided to make our way home. The rising sun laminated us with its warmth and a theatre of pelagic smells wafted from the steaming seaweed. It took the edge off our hunger and we decided not to eat.
Our footprints in the sand followed us all the way home. Heavens hideaway had been a transcendental experience and we resolved to do it again someday.
LEVEL 5: COMPLEX WRITING: SEA MUSIC
The cliff we stood on seemed as old as Abraham. Far below, the hungry sea gnawed at its ankle.
Someone once said that paradise is where seagulls are flying beneath your feet. They were arcing and wheeling between the witchcraft of the morning light. An occasional scream would echo from the cliffs, eerie and resonating. The immense vista leading to the horizon was jaw dropping. The Prussian-blue vault of velvet above seemed to solder into the liquid blanket of silver beneath. Far out to sea, a solitary cormorant, sleek wings a-flurry, streaked out to the place where sea and sky melt into each other and was lost from sight.
The slurpy slapping of the sea was muted, a metronomic murmur. The waves were merely snoozing, sluggish and slumbering in their liquid robes. They dribbled up to the beach of the sheltered cove, then shuddered and drizzled their sea spray onto its surface, whisking the stones before releasing. A current of cold electricity passed through the air. We shivered. The wind whipped up. The sea simmered.
Sloshing, swollen to its confined depths, its cavernous bowels stirred, a growling from the fathoms. Suddenly, stone dashed sand teemed as the sea hissed, washed, polished, and lashed the pebbles before sloshing back. It hissed, slipped, dashed the sand and released; fizzed, spit, seethed the beach and released: sizzed, slapped, swished the stones and released.
The mesmeric beauty of its beat was heart-swelling. We realized then that the sea was its own master, kindling its own symphony. It hadn’t finished its song yet, however. The wind, the midwife of the seas, served a different master and whipped it into a frenzy.
The echo of a raspy rumbling from the enraged sea came to us, a tremulousness to fear. The waves were really sloshing, slurping and slobbering with their salty lips. They pounded into the cliff of the sheltered cove, then paused and pounced with malice onto its ankle, slamming the rock before releasing. A rumour of its malevolence passed through our legs. We shivered. The wind died down. The sea bubbled. Trembling, throbbing to its rotten beat, its malicious soul stirred, a warning from the ages. Suddenly, rip-tide rolls heaved as the sea foamed, crashed, pounded and bashed the cliff-foot before sloshing back. It foamed and frothed, plunged down hard and pummelled the hated cliffs; it lathered and lacerated, bucked waves and buckled itself; it smacked and smashed, surging waves and expunging its awful rage.
Its hissy fit over, it swelled once more, juddered and was still.
I hope you enjoyed the post. Thanks for reading it. Liam.