"Hurry up!" Joe urged, almost hopping up and down with impatience.
"You're not helping," Bryan replied as he wiped a sheen of sweat from his face.
"You realize that we could all die?" Joe said.
"Gee, I didn't know that Joe!" Bryan said, laying the sarcasm on thick, "it's not like I can't see the timer. This isn't as easy as it looks."
Joe started pacing back and forth as Bryan continued to work, literally humming with anxiety.
"I've almost got it," Bryan mumbled more to himself than to Joe.
Joe stopped pacing to watch his friend intently, "ten seconds he warned."
Bryan could hear the beeping of the timer and held his breath as it read 3...2...1
He let out and explosive breath and let his head drop into his hands, frustrated with his failure. "I can't believe I have to start the level all over again," he moaned and picked up the controller
Friday, March 25, 2011
Almost finished
"Don't you ever worry about deadlines?" Ariana asked as she filled in yet another line on yet another college application. She not only needed to finish fulling out the applications but also write up the required essays. She and David were applying for all the same schools and hoping that they were accepted to the same ones. She was holding out for an East coast school.
"Not really," David said. His own papers were all neatly filled out and sitting in a pile along with the essays; he was intent on addressing envelopes. "If you are prepared and start early then there is really no need to panic over deadlines."
Ariana knew that he was right and that she should get batter at prioritizing. She knew that she was smart; she just didn't like to think about deadlines. Didn't like to feel pressured. She laughed to herself, her lips twitching into a small grin, "you would think that as much as I don't like pressure that I would have had these done a while ago like you did."
David shrugged and leaned back, "everyone deals with stuff like this differently," he said and leaned over to give his girl a quick hug. "Are you almost finished?" he asked.
"Yeah. Almost finished," Ariana said and turned back to her forms.
"Not really," David said. His own papers were all neatly filled out and sitting in a pile along with the essays; he was intent on addressing envelopes. "If you are prepared and start early then there is really no need to panic over deadlines."
Ariana knew that he was right and that she should get batter at prioritizing. She knew that she was smart; she just didn't like to think about deadlines. Didn't like to feel pressured. She laughed to herself, her lips twitching into a small grin, "you would think that as much as I don't like pressure that I would have had these done a while ago like you did."
David shrugged and leaned back, "everyone deals with stuff like this differently," he said and leaned over to give his girl a quick hug. "Are you almost finished?" he asked.
"Yeah. Almost finished," Ariana said and turned back to her forms.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
You Need to Know
James could see around the edges of the blindfold, and he knew he was somewhere dim, dim enough that he couldn’t tell the color of the floors but light enough that he could sense shadows - people - moving around him. They spoke a flurry of foreign languages, jumping from one to the next that James was beginning to suspect, over the pounding of his heart, that they couldn’t understand each other at all.
He’d just been walking along the Thames, admiring the London Eye and the lights along the South Bank, and then it had been just like in the films, a black van, masked men with guns, a black bag over his head. James had kicked and fought for all he was worth, but then someone jabbed him in the neck and his world went white.
And now he was kneeling on the damp cement floor of some dimly lit room while his captors argued furiously. James caught snatches of Russian, French, and German, and maybe something else European - Norwegian? - but there were other languages in there that sounded almost completely made up.
And then a man spoke, in perfectly crisp Queen’s English, like the type MPs and the Etonian-Oxbridge elite spoke, and he said,
“Time’s up.”
Someone yanked the blindfold off, and James had to blink at the cliché, the single lightbulb swinging from overhead.
“Who are you? What do you want?” he asked, keeping his voice level.
“He really doesn’t look all that afraid,” one man said, and he had a bland accent, as if English weren’t his first language but he’d learnt it well.
“He’s an actor,” another man said, and he had an American accent, a strangely familiar voice. “He’s terrified, but he thinks he’s not going to give us the satisfaction.”
“We’re not going to hurt you,” a fourth man said, and James counted six in all.
“That’s what they all say, before they chop a man’s hand off,” James said.
A fifth man started to laugh, turned it into a cough. “He thinks we’re terrorists.” And he reached up, pulled off his mask. “Hello, James.”
James blinked. “You’re –”
“Not actually in a boyband,” Christian said. “We’re here to protect you, actually. You’re lucky it was us and not someone else who grabbed you.”
“Why did you bring me here?” James asked. If Christian was one of his kidnappers, that meant the others were...
One by one, Asia’s brothers tugged off their masks. That familiar voice had been Tobias, then, and of course the Queen’s English was Angel.
“We need a place to hold you until we can arrange for a safehouse,” DJ said, and it was strange, seeing someone James knew as artistic and dreamy and model-vapid speaking with all the efficiency of a seasoned soldier.
“Why?” James asked.
“Like Christian said, to protect you,” Gabriel said.
“From whom?”
“Everyone,” Tobias said. He offered a hand. “Now come on - there are some things you need to know.”
(495 words)
He’d just been walking along the Thames, admiring the London Eye and the lights along the South Bank, and then it had been just like in the films, a black van, masked men with guns, a black bag over his head. James had kicked and fought for all he was worth, but then someone jabbed him in the neck and his world went white.
And now he was kneeling on the damp cement floor of some dimly lit room while his captors argued furiously. James caught snatches of Russian, French, and German, and maybe something else European - Norwegian? - but there were other languages in there that sounded almost completely made up.
And then a man spoke, in perfectly crisp Queen’s English, like the type MPs and the Etonian-Oxbridge elite spoke, and he said,
“Time’s up.”
Someone yanked the blindfold off, and James had to blink at the cliché, the single lightbulb swinging from overhead.
“Who are you? What do you want?” he asked, keeping his voice level.
“He really doesn’t look all that afraid,” one man said, and he had a bland accent, as if English weren’t his first language but he’d learnt it well.
“He’s an actor,” another man said, and he had an American accent, a strangely familiar voice. “He’s terrified, but he thinks he’s not going to give us the satisfaction.”
“We’re not going to hurt you,” a fourth man said, and James counted six in all.
“That’s what they all say, before they chop a man’s hand off,” James said.
A fifth man started to laugh, turned it into a cough. “He thinks we’re terrorists.” And he reached up, pulled off his mask. “Hello, James.”
James blinked. “You’re –”
“Not actually in a boyband,” Christian said. “We’re here to protect you, actually. You’re lucky it was us and not someone else who grabbed you.”
“Why did you bring me here?” James asked. If Christian was one of his kidnappers, that meant the others were...
One by one, Asia’s brothers tugged off their masks. That familiar voice had been Tobias, then, and of course the Queen’s English was Angel.
“We need a place to hold you until we can arrange for a safehouse,” DJ said, and it was strange, seeing someone James knew as artistic and dreamy and model-vapid speaking with all the efficiency of a seasoned soldier.
“Why?” James asked.
“Like Christian said, to protect you,” Gabriel said.
“From whom?”
“Everyone,” Tobias said. He offered a hand. “Now come on - there are some things you need to know.”
(495 words)
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Your Time is Up
Joe was ecstatic. Time had run out and he was ready to leave. He smiled to himself, Not only was he leaving behind this nightmare of a foster home but he had somewhere to go. Joe grabbed a few more things and placed them in a box.
As if sensing the end was near, Hal came bursting into the room. Joe could smell the booze on him and he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the putrid scent.
"Where do you think you're going?" the drunkard slurred in Joe's general direction, his eyes unable to focus very well.
"Shouldn't matter to you," Joe said. He could hardly stand the sight of the man let alone the smell.
"You don't turn eighteen until next week," Hal said as he approached Joe, his hand curling onto a fist, "until then, you stay."
Joe laughed, tears coming to his eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation, "you think you can make me stay? You think you can tell me what to do anymore? You think I'm going to stick around and let you try to ruin my life further? Though, heaven knows, the only think that you could do is make me sick from looking at you," Joe said in derision.
"I'll teach you a thing or two before you go," Hal threatened as he moved forward. He didn't see how Joe shifted his weight, hands held loosely by his side.
Before Hal could raise his fist Joe had struck quick as lighting, his own blow landing in Hal's spongy midsection, followed quickly by a vicious right cross to the face.
Hal stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, gripping his stomach in obvious agony. He looked up to see Joe standing over him and flinched back from the rage in his face.
"Your time is up Hal," Joe said and stepped over the prone man on the ground.
As if sensing the end was near, Hal came bursting into the room. Joe could smell the booze on him and he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the putrid scent.
"Where do you think you're going?" the drunkard slurred in Joe's general direction, his eyes unable to focus very well.
"Shouldn't matter to you," Joe said. He could hardly stand the sight of the man let alone the smell.
"You don't turn eighteen until next week," Hal said as he approached Joe, his hand curling onto a fist, "until then, you stay."
Joe laughed, tears coming to his eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation, "you think you can make me stay? You think you can tell me what to do anymore? You think I'm going to stick around and let you try to ruin my life further? Though, heaven knows, the only think that you could do is make me sick from looking at you," Joe said in derision.
"I'll teach you a thing or two before you go," Hal threatened as he moved forward. He didn't see how Joe shifted his weight, hands held loosely by his side.
Before Hal could raise his fist Joe had struck quick as lighting, his own blow landing in Hal's spongy midsection, followed quickly by a vicious right cross to the face.
Hal stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, gripping his stomach in obvious agony. He looked up to see Joe standing over him and flinched back from the rage in his face.
"Your time is up Hal," Joe said and stepped over the prone man on the ground.
Hurry
“Would it be annoying of me to ask you to hurry?” Cody asked, his tone tight and more than a little sarcastic.
Kyle knelt at the base of the wall, scribbling Hebrew letters as fast as he could, murmuring the ward incantations under his breath. Elise was curled around her guitar in the other corner; she was too tense to even play. Marsh was watching the entire proceedings, mouth set in a thin line. He had a pair of dice in one hand and was rattling them, but he hadn’t thrown them yet.
All four of their angels were wheeling high overhead in the beams and buttresses of the cathedral like so many carrion birds.
“Hurry up, please,” Cody said.
“I’m almost there.”
Cody watched the seconds tick by on the face of his very expensive wristwatch. “Yes, well, the Choir of the Fallen gave us a deadline, and we have eighty-seven more seconds to meet it.”
“If you’d let me work, I could get this done,” Kyle said, “and then we’ll meet it.”
Cody forced himself to take a deep breath and step away from the wall. The government was insane if it thought it could control the fallen. The geological record was scarred with ice ages and volcanoes, earth-shattering cataclysms because more than on idiot had thought he could control the powers of darkness.
Then Kyle said, “There,” and sat back, wiped his hand theatrically across his brow. He grinned up at Cody. “That should keep them out.”
Marsh and Elise wilted in relief.
And then there came a pounding at the double doors, like someone had taken a battering ram to them, and Agent Samuels said,
“Open up! This is the FBI!”
“So much for those wards,” Cody muttered.
The four angels came swooping down to the ground.
(303 words)
Kyle knelt at the base of the wall, scribbling Hebrew letters as fast as he could, murmuring the ward incantations under his breath. Elise was curled around her guitar in the other corner; she was too tense to even play. Marsh was watching the entire proceedings, mouth set in a thin line. He had a pair of dice in one hand and was rattling them, but he hadn’t thrown them yet.
All four of their angels were wheeling high overhead in the beams and buttresses of the cathedral like so many carrion birds.
“Hurry up, please,” Cody said.
“I’m almost there.”
Cody watched the seconds tick by on the face of his very expensive wristwatch. “Yes, well, the Choir of the Fallen gave us a deadline, and we have eighty-seven more seconds to meet it.”
“If you’d let me work, I could get this done,” Kyle said, “and then we’ll meet it.”
Cody forced himself to take a deep breath and step away from the wall. The government was insane if it thought it could control the fallen. The geological record was scarred with ice ages and volcanoes, earth-shattering cataclysms because more than on idiot had thought he could control the powers of darkness.
Then Kyle said, “There,” and sat back, wiped his hand theatrically across his brow. He grinned up at Cody. “That should keep them out.”
Marsh and Elise wilted in relief.
And then there came a pounding at the double doors, like someone had taken a battering ram to them, and Agent Samuels said,
“Open up! This is the FBI!”
“So much for those wards,” Cody muttered.
The four angels came swooping down to the ground.
(303 words)
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Simply Ask
"Time's getting short," Bryan taunted his brother, his tone almost sing-song in quality.
"Don't you think I know that!" Mark snarled back. His hands clenched and unclenched unconsciously as he paced back and forth in the room that they shared.
Bryan stood off to one side of the room and watched his twins restless pacing. "Seriously," he asked after a few minutes of the one man parade, "what is the big deal about this? It's not like it's the end of the world or anything."
"Easy for you to say," Mark muttered.
"What was that?" Bryan asked leaning forward.
"I said, that it's easy for you to say that. You've never had troubles with this sort of thing. It just comes easily for you," Mark said.
"Okay, seriously," Bryan said, "just go and ask her. I know you like her and she likes you, and the dance is in three days. And," Bryan stressed, "if you don't ask Katie now then somebody else might and then you lose out."
"You're right," Mark said and sat down on the edge of the bed, "but I just don't know what to say." He had heard all of the various girls around the school gushing about who had been asked and how and all the creativity that seemed to be an intrinsic part of the biggest dance of the year.
"How about, would you like to go to the dance with me?" Bryan suggested simply. He reclined on the bed with his hands crossed behind his head.
"I guess I should go and ask her then," Mark said.
"Now is as good a time as any," Bryan replied sagely and tossed his brother his cell phone.
Mark caught the phone and heard a quiet ringing coming from it followed by a faint, "hello?"
Mark raised the phone to his ear and swallowed hard, "Hi Katie, it's Mark...."
"Don't you think I know that!" Mark snarled back. His hands clenched and unclenched unconsciously as he paced back and forth in the room that they shared.
Bryan stood off to one side of the room and watched his twins restless pacing. "Seriously," he asked after a few minutes of the one man parade, "what is the big deal about this? It's not like it's the end of the world or anything."
"Easy for you to say," Mark muttered.
"What was that?" Bryan asked leaning forward.
"I said, that it's easy for you to say that. You've never had troubles with this sort of thing. It just comes easily for you," Mark said.
"Okay, seriously," Bryan said, "just go and ask her. I know you like her and she likes you, and the dance is in three days. And," Bryan stressed, "if you don't ask Katie now then somebody else might and then you lose out."
"You're right," Mark said and sat down on the edge of the bed, "but I just don't know what to say." He had heard all of the various girls around the school gushing about who had been asked and how and all the creativity that seemed to be an intrinsic part of the biggest dance of the year.
"How about, would you like to go to the dance with me?" Bryan suggested simply. He reclined on the bed with his hands crossed behind his head.
"I guess I should go and ask her then," Mark said.
"Now is as good a time as any," Bryan replied sagely and tossed his brother his cell phone.
Mark caught the phone and heard a quiet ringing coming from it followed by a faint, "hello?"
Mark raised the phone to his ear and swallowed hard, "Hi Katie, it's Mark...."
Best Muse Ever
“Are you all right?” Israfel was tucked into a corner, a lap harp perched on his knees while he plucked desultory minor chords.
“No,” Elise said. She reached up to run a hand through her hair again and had to consciously force herself to stop, because she’d been doing that for the last hour and turned her hair into a rat’s nest. She sat on her free hand and continued twirling her pencil with her right hand. The staff paper remained stubbornly blank, and she couldn’t hear anything but those stupid minor chords. She twisted around and said, “Could you knock it off for just a little bit?”
Israfel obediently lifted his hands off the strings, and the instrument dissolved into thin air.
Elise narrowed her eyes, untrusting of the blank guilelessness on Israfel’s face, but she said, “Thanks,” and resumed staring at the empty staff paper. It was taunting her.
“The song is due at noon,” Israfel said. “It’s almost one a.m. now.”
“I know that,” Elise said between gritted teeth. She hummed under her breath, and the tune was catchy. Maybe she could work with it. But then she realized it was just the melody to Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here. Crap. She needed something original.
“Tick tock,” Israfel sing-songed, and he was grinning, that winged nuisance.
Tick tock, Elise thought glumly, and then it struck her. She yanked a blank piece of paper out of her math notebook and began scratching out lyrics.
Tick tock
It’s the running of the clock
The countdown
To the meltdown
And the end of
Time
Then she abandoned the lyrics and scooped up her guitar, and now she could hear it, her song, her one song glory. She tried chord after chord until she found the one that matched the beauty in her mind, and as she played it came to her, the slide of notes, the shift of chords, the pattern and the rhythm.
When she stopped to look at the clock again, it was almost five a.m. and Israfel was singing a countermelody for the chorus.
Deadlines were the best muse ever.
(355 words)
“No,” Elise said. She reached up to run a hand through her hair again and had to consciously force herself to stop, because she’d been doing that for the last hour and turned her hair into a rat’s nest. She sat on her free hand and continued twirling her pencil with her right hand. The staff paper remained stubbornly blank, and she couldn’t hear anything but those stupid minor chords. She twisted around and said, “Could you knock it off for just a little bit?”
Israfel obediently lifted his hands off the strings, and the instrument dissolved into thin air.
Elise narrowed her eyes, untrusting of the blank guilelessness on Israfel’s face, but she said, “Thanks,” and resumed staring at the empty staff paper. It was taunting her.
“The song is due at noon,” Israfel said. “It’s almost one a.m. now.”
“I know that,” Elise said between gritted teeth. She hummed under her breath, and the tune was catchy. Maybe she could work with it. But then she realized it was just the melody to Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here. Crap. She needed something original.
“Tick tock,” Israfel sing-songed, and he was grinning, that winged nuisance.
Tick tock, Elise thought glumly, and then it struck her. She yanked a blank piece of paper out of her math notebook and began scratching out lyrics.
Tick tock
It’s the running of the clock
The countdown
To the meltdown
And the end of
Time
Then she abandoned the lyrics and scooped up her guitar, and now she could hear it, her song, her one song glory. She tried chord after chord until she found the one that matched the beauty in her mind, and as she played it came to her, the slide of notes, the shift of chords, the pattern and the rhythm.
When she stopped to look at the clock again, it was almost five a.m. and Israfel was singing a countermelody for the chorus.
Deadlines were the best muse ever.
(355 words)
Monday, March 21, 2011
Know What it Takes?
"Come on Steve!" Bryan called down the hall, "are you ready to hit the club?"
"I can't come," Steve called back, adjusting his glasses with one hand while his other hand kept his place in the shuffle of papers on the desk.
"What!? Why not?" Bryan asked as he entered the room. He was dressed to go out. A slightly iridescent black shirt was paired with comfortable jeans.
Steven looked up from his paperwork, "because I have reports and paperwork to finish that are due next week. And they won't do themselves," he said calmly.
"Aw man, take the night off," Bryan wheedled, "you can get it done tomorrow."
"If I do that then I will get behind," Steve said as he turned back to his papers, "do you know what it takes to keep this unit running smoothly?"
Bryan thought about that for a moment, realizing that he didn't know exactly how everything got to where it needed to be and how they got their money, or paid their bills or received their supplies. He always assumed that some clerk in the military handled the logistics of the team.
"I guess not," Bryan finally said.
Steve nodded, more to himself than to Bryan and returned to his paperwork as Bryan left the room.
"I should be free on Friday night though!" he called to Bryan. He couldn't see Bryan's grin as he walked out the front door.
"I can't come," Steve called back, adjusting his glasses with one hand while his other hand kept his place in the shuffle of papers on the desk.
"What!? Why not?" Bryan asked as he entered the room. He was dressed to go out. A slightly iridescent black shirt was paired with comfortable jeans.
Steven looked up from his paperwork, "because I have reports and paperwork to finish that are due next week. And they won't do themselves," he said calmly.
"Aw man, take the night off," Bryan wheedled, "you can get it done tomorrow."
"If I do that then I will get behind," Steve said as he turned back to his papers, "do you know what it takes to keep this unit running smoothly?"
Bryan thought about that for a moment, realizing that he didn't know exactly how everything got to where it needed to be and how they got their money, or paid their bills or received their supplies. He always assumed that some clerk in the military handled the logistics of the team.
"I guess not," Bryan finally said.
Steve nodded, more to himself than to Bryan and returned to his paperwork as Bryan left the room.
"I should be free on Friday night though!" he called to Bryan. He couldn't see Bryan's grin as he walked out the front door.
Loaded Dice
“Why aren’t you doing your homework?” Tabris asked.
Marsh was buried in a gaming manual, scribbling notes about storylines, NPCs, and possible adventures. “Because it’s not due for another couple of days. I can do it tomorrow night.”
“But what if you’re distracted tomorrow night?” Tabris leaned his chin on his hand and blinked at Marsh with wide gray eyes.
Marsh didn’t look up. “That’s a chance I’ll have to take, isn’t it? Life’s a game of chance. Homework is chance – either I’ll get it done, or I won’t, and in the end if I’m not supposed to get it done it won’t get it done, no matter how hard I work.”
Tabris hummed thoughtfully, tunelessly, and his eyes gleamed red briefly. “Perhaps. Or maybe you misunderstand your place in the universe – and mine.” He reached out and scooped up a handful of Marsh’s dice, cast them across the carpet.
“Don’t ruin my dice mojo,” Marsh said.
Tabris prodded him in the arm. “Look.”
Marsh huffed, annoyed, and rolled his eyes, lifted his head to look. And stared. All five dice had come up twenty. Marsh turned to Tabris and gaped.
Tabris fluttered his fingertips and said, “Just because life is a game of chance doesn’t mean you can’t take action to tip the scales in your favor. If you do your homework now, there’s a greater chance that it’ll get done and you’ll face no repercussion. But if you wait till tomorrow...”
Marsh set aside his manual and reached for his backpack. “It’s creepy, you know,” he said. “You’re a worse nag than my mum, and you’re a dude.”
Tabris arched an eyebrow.
“Well,” Marsh amended, “you’re sort of a dude.”
Tabris threw his head back and laughed, shook out his massive gold-tipped wings. “I’m an angel, and there’s nothing else like me on earth.”
“Except Israfel, Asrael, and Gabriel,” Marsh said.
Tabris swiped at him, and Marsh dodged, laughing.
At the foot of the stairs, Marsh’s mother stared at her son’s madness and shook her head. The doctors had told them it was hereditary; she should have known it would fall on her shoulders, one way or another. In her family, the dice were always loaded.
(369 words)
Marsh was buried in a gaming manual, scribbling notes about storylines, NPCs, and possible adventures. “Because it’s not due for another couple of days. I can do it tomorrow night.”
“But what if you’re distracted tomorrow night?” Tabris leaned his chin on his hand and blinked at Marsh with wide gray eyes.
Marsh didn’t look up. “That’s a chance I’ll have to take, isn’t it? Life’s a game of chance. Homework is chance – either I’ll get it done, or I won’t, and in the end if I’m not supposed to get it done it won’t get it done, no matter how hard I work.”
Tabris hummed thoughtfully, tunelessly, and his eyes gleamed red briefly. “Perhaps. Or maybe you misunderstand your place in the universe – and mine.” He reached out and scooped up a handful of Marsh’s dice, cast them across the carpet.
“Don’t ruin my dice mojo,” Marsh said.
Tabris prodded him in the arm. “Look.”
Marsh huffed, annoyed, and rolled his eyes, lifted his head to look. And stared. All five dice had come up twenty. Marsh turned to Tabris and gaped.
Tabris fluttered his fingertips and said, “Just because life is a game of chance doesn’t mean you can’t take action to tip the scales in your favor. If you do your homework now, there’s a greater chance that it’ll get done and you’ll face no repercussion. But if you wait till tomorrow...”
Marsh set aside his manual and reached for his backpack. “It’s creepy, you know,” he said. “You’re a worse nag than my mum, and you’re a dude.”
Tabris arched an eyebrow.
“Well,” Marsh amended, “you’re sort of a dude.”
Tabris threw his head back and laughed, shook out his massive gold-tipped wings. “I’m an angel, and there’s nothing else like me on earth.”
“Except Israfel, Asrael, and Gabriel,” Marsh said.
Tabris swiped at him, and Marsh dodged, laughing.
At the foot of the stairs, Marsh’s mother stared at her son’s madness and shook her head. The doctors had told them it was hereditary; she should have known it would fall on her shoulders, one way or another. In her family, the dice were always loaded.
(369 words)
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Overview #83: Raise a character
So...I spent a bit too much time on his childhood and then skipped straight to his death. I guess, in my head, the full novel would cover his adolescence, which is pretty much why I skipped it. I hadn't intended to make Cody a super-genius (in my head he was always smart, but Kyle was meant to be the special one) and I really didn't intend for Cody to die (but it looks like Elise died too), but in the end it worked, and I'm okay with it. So...now I at least have the hang of Cody.
Poor Cody.
I killed him.
Poor Cody.
I killed him.
Project Assignment #84 - Deadlines
This week is about deadlines! Deadlines for work, applications to school, projects...
Do your characters crack under pressure? Do they carefully plan out everything so there is hardly any stress involved? Do they perform best when time is short? Are they procrastinators or the type that is right on top of things? Do they abhor deadlines with a passion or work best when they have one?
500 words max
Have Fun!!
Do your characters crack under pressure? Do they carefully plan out everything so there is hardly any stress involved? Do they perform best when time is short? Are they procrastinators or the type that is right on top of things? Do they abhor deadlines with a passion or work best when they have one?
500 words max
Have Fun!!
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