“Did you like it?” Jenna asked hopefully.
Matthew didn’t look up from his coffee, didn’t want to make it too obvious with too much eye contact.
Thomas said, flatly, “Not at all.”
It took a moment, but then Matthew realized Jenna was talking about last night’s party and Thomas, who had no clue what she was talking about, was being a jerk. Time to be a hero.
Matthew pasted on his most innocent expression. “Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.”
It didn’t work. “Halfway decent? That’s not really flattering,” Jenna said.
Matthew thought quickly. He had to distract her from blowing up at Thomas. Even though Thomas was his best friend and had it coming, Jenna didn’t need any more stress. “Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --” Thomas was buried behind the paper, so Matthew grinned at Jenna wickedly.
Horror stole across her face, and she darted a glance at Thomas. “I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!” She was trying not to giggle and covered it up by throwing at towel at Matthew. He smirked, pleased, when he caught it mid-air. Superjock like Thomas he may not have been, but he’d always had good reflexes.
Gina stumbled into the kitchen and broke up the fun. Gina hung over was a monster, really.
“Now, now, children,” Thomas said. Matthew saw Jenna flinch automatically, and his mood darkened. Jenna was only like that around her father - or when Thomas reminded her of him.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning. I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.” Gina sounded well on her way to being a monster.
Why Thomas was in love with her, Matthew didn’t know, because he was insensitive. “Don’t you teach first grade?”
As much as Gina loved him right back, she would take his head off with the right provocation. It would be best to deflect attention. Matthew poker her. “A little hung over, are we?”
Her response was typical Gina-monster. “Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground.”
In the spirit of sibling love, Matthew decided he’d keep up the charade and play the over-confident class clown. He puffed out his chest. “I’d like to see that.”
Gina glared and closed her eyes.
She wasn’t taking the bait, and Matthew floundered for what to do next, but then Jenna smiled, genuinely cheered up, and said, “So would I.”
(429 words)
Monday, February 9, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Project Assignment # 16 - Proverbs
This week should be fun. Write a piece that incorporates a proverb. It can be any proverb. If you can, give a link if you think it is needed, but it is not imperative that you do. you can include at the bottom the source of the proverb, i.e. Russian, French, Japanese, etc.
Lets set the limit to 500 words. I'll do my best to behave on the word limit.
Here is a handy Proverb Generator.
Lets set the limit to 500 words. I'll do my best to behave on the word limit.
Here is a handy Proverb Generator.
Overview #15 POV
This week was interesting and fun. I used this week not only to practice the shift in POV, but to flesh out a bit the characters that I had recently created. It forced me to think more about what these people would be like. Are they observant, are they deceptive, what kind of idiosyncratic behavior do they have.
I ran long in a couple of posts. And the Second persons point of view really sucked. But at least now I have been exposed to that POV, hopefully I can do it better next time.
I really enjoyed reading Master's scene shifts in the perspective. It really helped me to see what was going on.
I ran long in a couple of posts. And the Second persons point of view really sucked. But at least now I have been exposed to that POV, hopefully I can do it better next time.
I really enjoyed reading Master's scene shifts in the perspective. It really helped me to see what was going on.
Third limited: The Twins
"You take point Joe," Steve ordered as we laid out our plans.
"Why me?" Joe asked petulantly. Mark wanted to elbow him, he knew that Joe was just putting it on, and that he was not really that way.
"Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to." Steve replied, staring down the younger man.
Joe still looked sullen. Mark and Brian had to try not to laugh.
"Brian and Mark, you two are responsible for acquisition and deployment." Steve said. Brain and Mark were pleased with their assignment. Each thinking the same things, their thought patterns so close that there was no hesitation in their actions.
"What will you be doing?" Joe asked, he sounded resigned, but Brian knew better. He loved practicing his deceptions.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." Steve rolled up the plans as he spoke. "Alright men," Steve continued in an official voice, Mark and Brian rolled their eyes behind him. "We have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
"Yes sir!" Mark and Brian slipped away from the table and out into the night. Their target was a party store. They quickly found everything that they needed, stowing it in a black duffel bag, and heading home.
Brian and Mark looked extremely pleased as they walked into the living room of the safehouse. "We've got it!" Mark said. "Yeah, everything," Brian added.
"Excellent. You know what to do." Steve said. He was still busy with the cake.
Mark and Brian grinned and moved about the room, placing items everywhere. Some were tossed with little regard to where they landed, usually Mark, while others were placed very carefully, Brian's work. They were finished in a short time.
Steve and the twins turned out the light just before the deadline. They could hear Joe in the hallway.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!"
"Happy Birthday!" The twins chorused
Happy Birthday!"
David stared in surprise at the sight before him. The room was strung with streamers and balloons. There was a large cake in the middle of the table that had a picture of his Camero in black icing. Twenty-seven candles glowed along the perimeter of the cake.
David swallowed back emotion. "Thank you guys."
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles."
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles. David and Steve were talking quietly when Brian and Mark were surprised.
"Stealth Attack!" Joe yelled and hosed down the Brian and Mark with the slightly sticky stuff. The twins quickly grabbed cans of their own, and the party was under way.
(521)
"Why me?" Joe asked petulantly. Mark wanted to elbow him, he knew that Joe was just putting it on, and that he was not really that way.
"Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to." Steve replied, staring down the younger man.
Joe still looked sullen. Mark and Brian had to try not to laugh.
"Brian and Mark, you two are responsible for acquisition and deployment." Steve said. Brain and Mark were pleased with their assignment. Each thinking the same things, their thought patterns so close that there was no hesitation in their actions.
"What will you be doing?" Joe asked, he sounded resigned, but Brian knew better. He loved practicing his deceptions.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." Steve rolled up the plans as he spoke. "Alright men," Steve continued in an official voice, Mark and Brian rolled their eyes behind him. "We have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
"Yes sir!" Mark and Brian slipped away from the table and out into the night. Their target was a party store. They quickly found everything that they needed, stowing it in a black duffel bag, and heading home.
Brian and Mark looked extremely pleased as they walked into the living room of the safehouse. "We've got it!" Mark said. "Yeah, everything," Brian added.
"Excellent. You know what to do." Steve said. He was still busy with the cake.
Mark and Brian grinned and moved about the room, placing items everywhere. Some were tossed with little regard to where they landed, usually Mark, while others were placed very carefully, Brian's work. They were finished in a short time.
Steve and the twins turned out the light just before the deadline. They could hear Joe in the hallway.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!"
"Happy Birthday!" The twins chorused
Happy Birthday!"
David stared in surprise at the sight before him. The room was strung with streamers and balloons. There was a large cake in the middle of the table that had a picture of his Camero in black icing. Twenty-seven candles glowed along the perimeter of the cake.
David swallowed back emotion. "Thank you guys."
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles."
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles. David and Steve were talking quietly when Brian and Mark were surprised.
"Stealth Attack!" Joe yelled and hosed down the Brian and Mark with the slightly sticky stuff. The twins quickly grabbed cans of their own, and the party was under way.
(521)
First person: Joe
"You take point Joe," Steve ordered me as we laid out our plans to surprise David. This was going to be fun. I don't think that David even knows that we know it is his birthday.
"Why me?" I asked petulantly, I had certain rolls to fulfill. They expected me to complain about it, and I would not disappoint them.
"Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to." Steve replied, staring me down. I smiled internally, but I pouted for good measure. The other two were trying not to laugh.
Steve gave the twins their assignment, motioning to the schematic that was stretched out on the table. One that we had memorized in the first few minutes.
The twins were smiling at each other. They would be getting the party supplies.
(574)
"What will you be doing?" I asked.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." Steve rolled up the plans as he spoke. "Alright men," Steve continued in an official voice, Mark and Brian rolling their eyes behind him. "We have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
"Yes sir!" I snapped off a sharp salute and left the table. I walked down the hall and took my position as the twins left the safe house. I ran through various excuses and scenarios in my mind, different ways to distract David if we needed more time.
It seemed like it was no more than ten minutes before the twins were back, though I knew it had been at least an hour. We did not know when David would be back, but we would be ready.
I could hear the twins reporting to Steve and the ensuing ruckus of the preparations.
A short while later I could hear David's car coming. It was not hard to miss it. I clicked the walkie-talkie in my pocket to give them some warning.
David walked in the door. He seemed a little surprise to see me in the hallway.
"What is going on Joe? Why are you not in your bunk?" David asked. He sounded almost to tired to care why.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." I said.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!"
"Happy Birthday!"
Happy Birthday!" I yelled, slapping him on the back.
David stared in surprise at the sight before him. The room was strung with streamers and balloons. There was a large cake in the middle of the table that had a picture of his Camero in black icing. Twenty-seven candles glowed along the perimeter of the cake.
I watched David swallow back emotion. "Thank you guys."
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles."
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
I slipped past our leader and palmed a can of silly string. I could hear David and Steve talking behind me.
"Stealth Attack!" I yelled and hosed down the twins with the slightly sticky stuff. They quickly grabbed cans of their own, and the party was under way.
"Why me?" I asked petulantly, I had certain rolls to fulfill. They expected me to complain about it, and I would not disappoint them.
"Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to." Steve replied, staring me down. I smiled internally, but I pouted for good measure. The other two were trying not to laugh.
Steve gave the twins their assignment, motioning to the schematic that was stretched out on the table. One that we had memorized in the first few minutes.
The twins were smiling at each other. They would be getting the party supplies.
(574)
"What will you be doing?" I asked.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." Steve rolled up the plans as he spoke. "Alright men," Steve continued in an official voice, Mark and Brian rolling their eyes behind him. "We have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
"Yes sir!" I snapped off a sharp salute and left the table. I walked down the hall and took my position as the twins left the safe house. I ran through various excuses and scenarios in my mind, different ways to distract David if we needed more time.
It seemed like it was no more than ten minutes before the twins were back, though I knew it had been at least an hour. We did not know when David would be back, but we would be ready.
I could hear the twins reporting to Steve and the ensuing ruckus of the preparations.
A short while later I could hear David's car coming. It was not hard to miss it. I clicked the walkie-talkie in my pocket to give them some warning.
David walked in the door. He seemed a little surprise to see me in the hallway.
"What is going on Joe? Why are you not in your bunk?" David asked. He sounded almost to tired to care why.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." I said.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!"
"Happy Birthday!"
Happy Birthday!" I yelled, slapping him on the back.
David stared in surprise at the sight before him. The room was strung with streamers and balloons. There was a large cake in the middle of the table that had a picture of his Camero in black icing. Twenty-seven candles glowed along the perimeter of the cake.
I watched David swallow back emotion. "Thank you guys."
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles."
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
I slipped past our leader and palmed a can of silly string. I could hear David and Steve talking behind me.
"Stealth Attack!" I yelled and hosed down the twins with the slightly sticky stuff. They quickly grabbed cans of their own, and the party was under way.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
First Person: Gina
Even though the bedroom door was closed, I could hear my housemates’ conversation. It grated on my nerves, my ears aching with each syllable. I had to kill them all. Or drink their coffee.
“Did you like it?” Jenna, so hopeful. I groaned.
“Not at all.” Thomas, so insensitive. Or dense - he probably didn’t know Jenna had been fretting over whether he’d like his birthday party for nearly a month.
“Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.” And Matthew, too lighthearted for his own good, and naive enough to think he could hide from me, his own sister, the fact that he was in love with my best friend.
“Halfway decent? That’s not really flattering,” Jenna said.
I winced. I knew that tone - hurt.
Matthew was just as dense as Thomas. “Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --”
“I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!” That sounded better. Amused.
Thomas wouldn’t be amused, though. I heaved myself out of bed, dragged on my bathrobe, and stumbled into the kitchen. Being so suddenly upright upset my equilibrium, and I felt the urge to puke.
“Now, now, children,” Thomas said, paternal and condescending. Time to defuse a bomb.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning. I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.” I made more of it than it was, being hung over. I rested my head in my arms and wished I’d stayed in bed.
Thomas’s riposte was unsympathetic. “Don’t you teach first grade?”
Matthew prodded me in the shoulder. “A little hung over, are we?” His voice was light, teasing.
I opened an eye and glared at him. I was the older one and the better fighter by far. “Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground.”
“I’d like to see that.” Matthew puffed out his chest, but darted a glance at Jenna. He was grandstanding to keep her cheered up.
I glared again and closed my eye. I needed sleep.
Matthew’s tactic worked, at least, for Jenna sounded cheerful when she said, “So would I.”
(369 words)
“Did you like it?” Jenna, so hopeful. I groaned.
“Not at all.” Thomas, so insensitive. Or dense - he probably didn’t know Jenna had been fretting over whether he’d like his birthday party for nearly a month.
“Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.” And Matthew, too lighthearted for his own good, and naive enough to think he could hide from me, his own sister, the fact that he was in love with my best friend.
“Halfway decent? That’s not really flattering,” Jenna said.
I winced. I knew that tone - hurt.
Matthew was just as dense as Thomas. “Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --”
“I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!” That sounded better. Amused.
Thomas wouldn’t be amused, though. I heaved myself out of bed, dragged on my bathrobe, and stumbled into the kitchen. Being so suddenly upright upset my equilibrium, and I felt the urge to puke.
“Now, now, children,” Thomas said, paternal and condescending. Time to defuse a bomb.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning. I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.” I made more of it than it was, being hung over. I rested my head in my arms and wished I’d stayed in bed.
Thomas’s riposte was unsympathetic. “Don’t you teach first grade?”
Matthew prodded me in the shoulder. “A little hung over, are we?” His voice was light, teasing.
I opened an eye and glared at him. I was the older one and the better fighter by far. “Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground.”
“I’d like to see that.” Matthew puffed out his chest, but darted a glance at Jenna. He was grandstanding to keep her cheered up.
I glared again and closed my eye. I needed sleep.
Matthew’s tactic worked, at least, for Jenna sounded cheerful when she said, “So would I.”
(369 words)
Friday, February 6, 2009
Third Person Limited: David
David stared out the rain streaked windshield of his old Camero, lost in thought. He was another year older today. Not that anyone would know it.
He was parked near a cemetery, nobody was around. He was almost tempted to just go to sleep here, just to avoid thinking about what his life had lead him to. He was not usually so morose. This was his life, it was what he was, and who he was, but at times he grew tired of it. He grew tired at times of the lies, of the deaths, of starting again and again, of everything. Then he would remember why he was doing this. A face would float into his minds eye. A sweet little girl, just a child, cold and lifeless in his arms.
He knew that Steve would look after the others, he was dependable. David almost cracked a smile at the thought of Steve looking after the twins and young Joe, almost.
Sighing, David turned the ignition and the car roared to life. David liked the sound of his car, it was throaty and deep, a reassuring rumble. He pulled away from the curb, leaving the dead behind him, like he so often did. "At least none of these were by my hand." He thought as he drove a winding path back to the safe house.
Pulling up the the house, all was dark. David assumed that his men were asleep as they should be. He climbed out of his car and walked up the short path to the door and unlocked it. He was almost startled to see Joe standing in the hallway.
"What is going on Joe? Why are you not in your bunk?" David asked. He was almost to tired to care why.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!, Happy Birthday!, Happy Birthday!" His men shouted at him.
David's felt his eyes widen in surprise. He didn't know how they knew. He was almost speechless. David blinked, suppressing any visible emotion.
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles." Steve said from beside his commander.
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
"Thank you Steve." David said to his second
"Your welcome boss. What did you wish for?"
"You know I can't tell you that." David said with a smile.
Behind them Joe, Mark, and Brian were busy hosing each other down with silly string.
(I know that this is a shift in Scene. I should have planned it better, but I realized only Steve stayed put, the others all left, so to do another character would necessitate a change. (around 470 words))
He was parked near a cemetery, nobody was around. He was almost tempted to just go to sleep here, just to avoid thinking about what his life had lead him to. He was not usually so morose. This was his life, it was what he was, and who he was, but at times he grew tired of it. He grew tired at times of the lies, of the deaths, of starting again and again, of everything. Then he would remember why he was doing this. A face would float into his minds eye. A sweet little girl, just a child, cold and lifeless in his arms.
He knew that Steve would look after the others, he was dependable. David almost cracked a smile at the thought of Steve looking after the twins and young Joe, almost.
Sighing, David turned the ignition and the car roared to life. David liked the sound of his car, it was throaty and deep, a reassuring rumble. He pulled away from the curb, leaving the dead behind him, like he so often did. "At least none of these were by my hand." He thought as he drove a winding path back to the safe house.
Pulling up the the house, all was dark. David assumed that his men were asleep as they should be. He climbed out of his car and walked up the short path to the door and unlocked it. He was almost startled to see Joe standing in the hallway.
"What is going on Joe? Why are you not in your bunk?" David asked. He was almost to tired to care why.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!, Happy Birthday!, Happy Birthday!" His men shouted at him.
David's felt his eyes widen in surprise. He didn't know how they knew. He was almost speechless. David blinked, suppressing any visible emotion.
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles." Steve said from beside his commander.
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
"Thank you Steve." David said to his second
"Your welcome boss. What did you wish for?"
"You know I can't tell you that." David said with a smile.
Behind them Joe, Mark, and Brian were busy hosing each other down with silly string.
(I know that this is a shift in Scene. I should have planned it better, but I realized only Steve stayed put, the others all left, so to do another character would necessitate a change. (around 470 words))
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Third Person Limited: Thomas
Jenna’s voice interrupted Thomas’s perusal of the business section of the Journal. “Did you like it?”
She knew how much he hated being interrupted during his time with the paper. “Not at all.”
“Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.” Matthew chimed in, and Thomas realized that whatever Jenna had been asking about, it wasn’t the morning paper. Or the stocks. Or anything. Especially since his stocks had gone down.
“Halfway decent? That’s not really flattering.” Jenna’s tone was hurt, vaguely, but sometimes she was oversensitive. She got it from their mother.
“Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --” Matthew began.
Jenna interrupted him with a flurry of cloth. “I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!”
Thomas glanced up in time to see Matthew snatch a tea towel from mid-air. Thomas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jenna did like to use cooking implements as projectile weapons. It was incredibly juvenile.
“Did I really? Because all I heard was a question, ‘did you like it?’ And judging by your tone, you wanted honesty --” Matthew’s sudden trepidation was confusing, and Thomas wished he’d just pretended he hadn’t heard Jenna at all.
“Now, now, children,” Thomas said in his best imitation of Father. It had never failed to work on him.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning. I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.” Gina sounded ill.
Thomas lifted his head and studied her. Her usually flawless pale skin was shadowed, dark bruises around her eyes. Then he registered her comment. She was complaining about children? It was entirely counterintuitive.
“Don’t you teach first grade?”
Matthew teased her. “A little hung over, are we?”
Gina growled. “Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground.”
“I’d like to see that.” And there was Matthew’s false bravado. His years as the class clown hadn’t taught him a thing.
Jenna seemed to think he was entertaining and egged him on with a, “So would I.”
(355 words)
She knew how much he hated being interrupted during his time with the paper. “Not at all.”
“Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.” Matthew chimed in, and Thomas realized that whatever Jenna had been asking about, it wasn’t the morning paper. Or the stocks. Or anything. Especially since his stocks had gone down.
“Halfway decent? That’s not really flattering.” Jenna’s tone was hurt, vaguely, but sometimes she was oversensitive. She got it from their mother.
“Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --” Matthew began.
Jenna interrupted him with a flurry of cloth. “I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!”
Thomas glanced up in time to see Matthew snatch a tea towel from mid-air. Thomas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jenna did like to use cooking implements as projectile weapons. It was incredibly juvenile.
“Did I really? Because all I heard was a question, ‘did you like it?’ And judging by your tone, you wanted honesty --” Matthew’s sudden trepidation was confusing, and Thomas wished he’d just pretended he hadn’t heard Jenna at all.
“Now, now, children,” Thomas said in his best imitation of Father. It had never failed to work on him.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning. I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.” Gina sounded ill.
Thomas lifted his head and studied her. Her usually flawless pale skin was shadowed, dark bruises around her eyes. Then he registered her comment. She was complaining about children? It was entirely counterintuitive.
“Don’t you teach first grade?”
Matthew teased her. “A little hung over, are we?”
Gina growled. “Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground.”
“I’d like to see that.” And there was Matthew’s false bravado. His years as the class clown hadn’t taught him a thing.
Jenna seemed to think he was entertaining and egged him on with a, “So would I.”
(355 words)
Second Person: Steve
"You take point Joe," you order as we laid out our plans, you look pointedly at Joe, almost daring him to argue.
"Why me?" Joe asked petulantly. He dared, and you had to fight back your frustration.
"Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to," you replied, staring down the younger man. Joe could get whiny. Being the youngest on the team, You rolled your eyes at his antics. But you know that Joe is a good man, a great soldier, and an even better friend.
Joe was sullen and the twins were not helping, you want to head slap them, but you know it wouldn't do any good. You turn to look at the others.
"Brian and Mark, you two are responsible for acquisition and deployment." you said made motions to the schematic that was stretched out on the table.
You can almost see the thoughts darting through their minds.
"What will you be doing?" Joe asked, resigned to his position.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." You rolled up the plans as you spoke. "Alright men," you continued in an official voice, "We have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
You sit back as the others darted off to accomplish their tasks. Good men, you mused.
You thought back to your beginnings, the training, the long hours, the forced trust that springs up between men who watch your back.
You shook your head, standing up. You are glad that you had a domestic motheras you move to fulfill your roll in the op. Grabbing the blank cake you set to decorating it as the others periodically checked in with you. You were just putting the candles on the cake after decorating it with a picture of the Camero when Brian and mark returned.
You look up and see them carrying a black duffel bag between them that bulged with items. They looked extremely pleased. "We've got it!" Mark said. "Yeah, everything," Brian added.
"Excellent. You know what to do."
You only pay passing attention to what Brian and Mark are doing. You can hear them tousling in the background. After they are finished you reach over and flicked off the light, throwing the room into darkness. You can hear Joe faintly in the hallway.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it. You flinched slightly at the tone in your commanders voice as he drew near.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!" You yelled.
"Happy Birthday!" the rest of the team chorused.
You watch as David's eyes widened in surprise and see the slight emotion in his otherwise still face. You can see what it means to him.
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles." you said from beside your commander.
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
"Thank you Steve."
"Your welcome boss. What did you wish for?"
"You know I can't tell you that." David said with a smile.
Behind them Joe, Mark, and Brian were busy hosing each other down with silly string.
(I have never written second person in my life so this will probably really suck. But it was interesting all the same. Let me know how I can make it better. I brought my word count back down again.) ;)
"Why me?" Joe asked petulantly. He dared, and you had to fight back your frustration.
"Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to," you replied, staring down the younger man. Joe could get whiny. Being the youngest on the team, You rolled your eyes at his antics. But you know that Joe is a good man, a great soldier, and an even better friend.
Joe was sullen and the twins were not helping, you want to head slap them, but you know it wouldn't do any good. You turn to look at the others.
"Brian and Mark, you two are responsible for acquisition and deployment." you said made motions to the schematic that was stretched out on the table.
You can almost see the thoughts darting through their minds.
"What will you be doing?" Joe asked, resigned to his position.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." You rolled up the plans as you spoke. "Alright men," you continued in an official voice, "We have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
You sit back as the others darted off to accomplish their tasks. Good men, you mused.
You thought back to your beginnings, the training, the long hours, the forced trust that springs up between men who watch your back.
You shook your head, standing up. You are glad that you had a domestic motheras you move to fulfill your roll in the op. Grabbing the blank cake you set to decorating it as the others periodically checked in with you. You were just putting the candles on the cake after decorating it with a picture of the Camero when Brian and mark returned.
You look up and see them carrying a black duffel bag between them that bulged with items. They looked extremely pleased. "We've got it!" Mark said. "Yeah, everything," Brian added.
"Excellent. You know what to do."
You only pay passing attention to what Brian and Mark are doing. You can hear them tousling in the background. After they are finished you reach over and flicked off the light, throwing the room into darkness. You can hear Joe faintly in the hallway.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it. You flinched slightly at the tone in your commanders voice as he drew near.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!" You yelled.
"Happy Birthday!" the rest of the team chorused.
You watch as David's eyes widened in surprise and see the slight emotion in his otherwise still face. You can see what it means to him.
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles." you said from beside your commander.
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
"Thank you Steve."
"Your welcome boss. What did you wish for?"
"You know I can't tell you that." David said with a smile.
Behind them Joe, Mark, and Brian were busy hosing each other down with silly string.
(I have never written second person in my life so this will probably really suck. But it was interesting all the same. Let me know how I can make it better. I brought my word count back down again.) ;)
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Second Person: Jenna
You ask, “Did you like it?” He never looks at you, but then neither did Father, and you’ve accepted your pathetic need for approval.
Your brother says, “Not at all,” and it stings.
Your fingers twitch for a the nearest cooking-worthy weapon.
“Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.” Your boyfriend is hardly any help.
“Halfway decent?” You manage to keep the hurt out of your voice, keep drying the dishes. “That’s not really flattering.”
“Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --” Your boyfriend goes on the defensive, wicked, mischievous.
It does the trick. You smile. “I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!” You fling the tea-towel at him, but he catches it mid-air, damn his reflexes. He has amazing hands - you learned that last night on the couch, mid-kisses, but you’ll never tell your brother.
“Did I really? Because all I heard was a question, ‘did you like it?’ And judging by your tone, you wanted honesty --” Your boyfriend looks at your brother, and you can sense the anxiety, the fear in him of one finds out that the other has been up to.
Your brother’s “Now, now, children” is obnoxiously reminiscent of your father, and you wish he’d look away from the newspaper at least once this morning.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning.” Your best friend looks ill and tired, but it’s all her own fault. “I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.”
If she weren’t so pretty and popular she’d be easier to like, sometimes, because your brother actually looks at her.
“Don’t you teach first grade?” Your brother hardly sounds sympathetic, but it means something, that he actually knows what her occupation his.
Your boyfriend - her brother - is genuinely unsympathetic. “A little hung over, are we?” Still, she is your friend, and you glare at him in her defense.
“Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground.” You know that sound, and a bruising is sure to follow.
“I’d like to see that.” Your boyfriend plays the macho bravo, but you know they all know who’d win.
Still, you love him and his antics, because he has a brave heart. You say, “So would I.”
(397 words)
Your brother says, “Not at all,” and it stings.
Your fingers twitch for a the nearest cooking-worthy weapon.
“Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.” Your boyfriend is hardly any help.
“Halfway decent?” You manage to keep the hurt out of your voice, keep drying the dishes. “That’s not really flattering.”
“Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --” Your boyfriend goes on the defensive, wicked, mischievous.
It does the trick. You smile. “I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!” You fling the tea-towel at him, but he catches it mid-air, damn his reflexes. He has amazing hands - you learned that last night on the couch, mid-kisses, but you’ll never tell your brother.
“Did I really? Because all I heard was a question, ‘did you like it?’ And judging by your tone, you wanted honesty --” Your boyfriend looks at your brother, and you can sense the anxiety, the fear in him of one finds out that the other has been up to.
Your brother’s “Now, now, children” is obnoxiously reminiscent of your father, and you wish he’d look away from the newspaper at least once this morning.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning.” Your best friend looks ill and tired, but it’s all her own fault. “I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.”
If she weren’t so pretty and popular she’d be easier to like, sometimes, because your brother actually looks at her.
“Don’t you teach first grade?” Your brother hardly sounds sympathetic, but it means something, that he actually knows what her occupation his.
Your boyfriend - her brother - is genuinely unsympathetic. “A little hung over, are we?” Still, she is your friend, and you glare at him in her defense.
“Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground.” You know that sound, and a bruising is sure to follow.
“I’d like to see that.” Your boyfriend plays the macho bravo, but you know they all know who’d win.
Still, you love him and his antics, because he has a brave heart. You say, “So would I.”
(397 words)
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
First Person: Steve
"You take point Joe," I ordered as we laid out our plans, I looked pointedly at Joe, almost daring him to argue. Joe was a good man, he would do as he was told, even if he didn't like it.
"Why me?" Joe asked petulantly. I knew it would come, and so I suppressed a growl of frustration. I looked up at Joe again. "Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to." I stared Joe down. I knew that Joe could get whiny; I was almost sure at times that he felt it was a duty to act like a child. I know Joe is a good man, a great soldier, and an even better friend.
I looked away from Joe who still looked sullen. My gaze fell on the other two members of the team. Mark and Brian were trying not to laugh. I rolled my eyes and fought back an urge to head slap them. I knew it wouldn't do any good; it would only relieve a little irritation.
"Brian and Mark, you two are responsible for acquisition and deployment." I motioned to the schematic making sure that they understood. It was important that every op go off without a hitch; and to do that I knew it was essential that everyone knew their parts.
I could almost see the thoughts darting through Mark and Brian's minds. I could definitely see the sparkle of merriment and mischief in their eyes.
"What will you be doing?" Joe asked me; he finally sounded resigned to his position in the op.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." I rolled up the plans as I spoke, I knew that they would have committed it to memory by now, it was what they train to do. "Alright men," I said looking at my watch, "we have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
I sat back and watched as the others darted off to accomplish their tasks. Good men. I mused. I have never worked with better.
I thought back to how I got started, the training, the long hours, the forced trust that springs up between men who watch your back. It was a brutal life, but one that made a difference in the world. I was proud of who I was, and of what I had become.
My musing did not last long, I had work to do. I shook my head and stood up.
I am glad that I had a domestic mother, I thought to myself. I grabbed the blank cake from the counter and set to work. I stopped occasionally as the others radioed in SIT-REP. I took special care with the Camero, making sure that I matched the color and the tiny imperfections in the body of the car. It would not just be A Camero, it would be David's Camero. I was just putting the candles on the cake after finishing the car when Brian and mark returned.
I looked up from the counter where I was working and saw them carrying in a black duffel bag between them that bulged with items. They looked extremely pleased. "We've got it!" Mark said. "Yeah, everything," Brian added.
"Excellent. You know what to do." I said. I didn't bother to pay attention to what they were doing. I knew that I could count on them to do it right, even if it took them a while. I could hear them tousling in the background. I nodded when the others reported that their preparation were complete. I reached over and flicked off the lights, throwing the room into darkness. I could faintly hear Joe in the hallway, his voice muffled by the door.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!" I shouted.
"Happy Birthday!" The twins and Joe chorused
I watched as David's eyes widened in surprise. I knew that anyone who knew him less than his team would not see the slight emotion in his otherwise still face. The deeper breaths; the blink that meant that he was touched. I could see what it meant to him.
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles." I said from beside my commander.
I watched David lean in and draw in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
"Thank you Steve."
"Your welcome boss. What did you wish for?"
"You know I can't tell you that." David said with a smile.
I smiled. Behind us, Joe, Mark, and Brian were busy hosing each other down with silly string.
"Why me?" Joe asked petulantly. I knew it would come, and so I suppressed a growl of frustration. I looked up at Joe again. "Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to." I stared Joe down. I knew that Joe could get whiny; I was almost sure at times that he felt it was a duty to act like a child. I know Joe is a good man, a great soldier, and an even better friend.
I looked away from Joe who still looked sullen. My gaze fell on the other two members of the team. Mark and Brian were trying not to laugh. I rolled my eyes and fought back an urge to head slap them. I knew it wouldn't do any good; it would only relieve a little irritation.
"Brian and Mark, you two are responsible for acquisition and deployment." I motioned to the schematic making sure that they understood. It was important that every op go off without a hitch; and to do that I knew it was essential that everyone knew their parts.
I could almost see the thoughts darting through Mark and Brian's minds. I could definitely see the sparkle of merriment and mischief in their eyes.
"What will you be doing?" Joe asked me; he finally sounded resigned to his position in the op.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." I rolled up the plans as I spoke, I knew that they would have committed it to memory by now, it was what they train to do. "Alright men," I said looking at my watch, "we have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
I sat back and watched as the others darted off to accomplish their tasks. Good men. I mused. I have never worked with better.
I thought back to how I got started, the training, the long hours, the forced trust that springs up between men who watch your back. It was a brutal life, but one that made a difference in the world. I was proud of who I was, and of what I had become.
My musing did not last long, I had work to do. I shook my head and stood up.
I am glad that I had a domestic mother, I thought to myself. I grabbed the blank cake from the counter and set to work. I stopped occasionally as the others radioed in SIT-REP. I took special care with the Camero, making sure that I matched the color and the tiny imperfections in the body of the car. It would not just be A Camero, it would be David's Camero. I was just putting the candles on the cake after finishing the car when Brian and mark returned.
I looked up from the counter where I was working and saw them carrying in a black duffel bag between them that bulged with items. They looked extremely pleased. "We've got it!" Mark said. "Yeah, everything," Brian added.
"Excellent. You know what to do." I said. I didn't bother to pay attention to what they were doing. I knew that I could count on them to do it right, even if it took them a while. I could hear them tousling in the background. I nodded when the others reported that their preparation were complete. I reached over and flicked off the lights, throwing the room into darkness. I could faintly hear Joe in the hallway, his voice muffled by the door.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!" I shouted.
"Happy Birthday!" The twins and Joe chorused
I watched as David's eyes widened in surprise. I knew that anyone who knew him less than his team would not see the slight emotion in his otherwise still face. The deeper breaths; the blink that meant that he was touched. I could see what it meant to him.
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles." I said from beside my commander.
I watched David lean in and draw in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
"Thank you Steve."
"Your welcome boss. What did you wish for?"
"You know I can't tell you that." David said with a smile.
I smiled. Behind us, Joe, Mark, and Brian were busy hosing each other down with silly string.
First Person: Jenna
“Did you like it?” I sneaked a glance at Thomas, but he was buried in the business section of the paper. My brother was such a square.
His next words stung. “Not at all.”
I took a deep breath to stop myself from beating him over the head with the nearest cooking implement.
Matthew was hardly any help. “Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.”
“Halfway decent?” I supposed that was precisely the support I should expect from my not-really-boyfriend. “That’s not really flattering.”
Matthew arched an eyebrow. “Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --”
His eyes gleamed wickedly, and I knew immediately what he meant. “I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!” I flung a tea towel at him, but he caught in mid-air. Damn his reflexes. He had good hands. But there was no way I’d let him tell Thomas, my brother, that I’d been making out with his best friend last night.
“Did I really? Because all I heard was a question, ‘did you like it?’ And judging by your tone, you wanted honesty --” Matthew started, and I could see discomfort in the line of his shoulders. He was so insecure sometimes.
Then Thomas broke in with a, “Now, now, children.” He sounded so much like Father, buried in the newspaper just like Father. He had no clue what I’d asked him about. Figured.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning.” Gina looked pretty wrecked, but I was hardly sympathetic after her antics with the Schnapps. “I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.”
Given how much she’d drunk the night before, I was pretty impressed that she’d made it out of bed so early. I wanted to kick her, sometimes, because even wrecked she was ten times as pretty as me.
Thomas actually looked at her instead of the paper. “Don’t you teach first grade?” He was so in love with her and didn’t even know it. What made it worse was that Gina loved him right back. I wondered how we’d ended up in this bizarre tango, Gina in love with my brother and me in love with hers and neither of them understanding a thing.
Matthew patted her shoulder. “A little hung over, are we?” I glared at him. He was about as nice to her as Thomas was to me.
“Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground,” Gina said. I winced; I knew that sound, and that meant danger.
“I’d like to see that.” Matthew drew himself up to his full height, which was impressive, but he was a skinny runt, and we all knew it.
I loved him anyway. I smiled and said, “So would I.”
(479 words)
His next words stung. “Not at all.”
I took a deep breath to stop myself from beating him over the head with the nearest cooking implement.
Matthew was hardly any help. “Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.”
“Halfway decent?” I supposed that was precisely the support I should expect from my not-really-boyfriend. “That’s not really flattering.”
Matthew arched an eyebrow. “Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --”
His eyes gleamed wickedly, and I knew immediately what he meant. “I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!” I flung a tea towel at him, but he caught in mid-air. Damn his reflexes. He had good hands. But there was no way I’d let him tell Thomas, my brother, that I’d been making out with his best friend last night.
“Did I really? Because all I heard was a question, ‘did you like it?’ And judging by your tone, you wanted honesty --” Matthew started, and I could see discomfort in the line of his shoulders. He was so insecure sometimes.
Then Thomas broke in with a, “Now, now, children.” He sounded so much like Father, buried in the newspaper just like Father. He had no clue what I’d asked him about. Figured.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning.” Gina looked pretty wrecked, but I was hardly sympathetic after her antics with the Schnapps. “I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.”
Given how much she’d drunk the night before, I was pretty impressed that she’d made it out of bed so early. I wanted to kick her, sometimes, because even wrecked she was ten times as pretty as me.
Thomas actually looked at her instead of the paper. “Don’t you teach first grade?” He was so in love with her and didn’t even know it. What made it worse was that Gina loved him right back. I wondered how we’d ended up in this bizarre tango, Gina in love with my brother and me in love with hers and neither of them understanding a thing.
Matthew patted her shoulder. “A little hung over, are we?” I glared at him. He was about as nice to her as Thomas was to me.
“Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground,” Gina said. I winced; I knew that sound, and that meant danger.
“I’d like to see that.” Matthew drew himself up to his full height, which was impressive, but he was a skinny runt, and we all knew it.
I loved him anyway. I smiled and said, “So would I.”
(479 words)
Monday, February 2, 2009
Third Person Limited: Steve
"You take point Joe," Steve ordered as they laid out their plans, HE looked pointedly at Joe, almost daring him to argue.
"Why me?" Joe asked petulantly. He dared, and Steve suppressed a growl of frustration.
"Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to." Steve replied, staring down the younger man. Joe could get whiny. Being the youngest on the team, Steve was sure he almost felt it was a duty to act like a child at times. But he knew that Joe was a good man, a great soldier, and an even better friend.
Joe still looked sullen. The other two were trying not to laugh. Steve wanted to head slap them, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. He turned to look at the twins.
"Brian and Mark, you two are responsible for acquisition and deployment." Steve made motions to the schematic that was stretched out on the table, pointing out spots of particular interest.
Steve could almost see the thoughts darting through their minds. He could definitely see the sparkle of merriment in their eyes.
"What will you be doing?" Joe asked, resigned to his position.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." Steve rolled up the plans as he spoke. "Alright men," Steve continued in an official voice, "We have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
Steve sat back as the others darted off to accomplish their tasks. Good men. he mused to himself. He had never worked with better.
Steve thought back to his beginnings, the training, the long hours, the forced trust that springs up between men who watch your back.
Steve shook his head and stood up. He was so glad that he had a domestic mother, one that taught him many things. Grabbing the blank cake he set to decorating it as the others periodically checked in with him. He was just putting the candles on the cake after decorating it with a picture of the Camero when Brian and mark returned.
Steve looked up and saw them carrying a black duffel bag between them that bulged with items. They looked extremely pleased. "We've got it!" Mark said. "Yeah, everything," Brian added.
"Excellent. You know what to do."
Steve only paid passing attention to what Brian and Mark were doing. He could hear them tousling in the background. Steve reached over and flicked off the light, throwing the room into darkness, and grinned in anticipation. They could hear Joe in the hallway; Steve could hear him faintly.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!"
"Happy Birthday!"
Happy Birthday!"
Steve watched as David's eyes widened in surprise and saw the slight emotion in his otherwise still face. He could see what it meant to him.
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles." Steve said from beside his commander.
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
"Thank you Steve."
"Your welcome boss. What did you wish for?"
"You know I can't tell you that." David said with a smile.
Behind them Joe, Mark, and Brian were busy hosing each other down with silly string.
(let me know if I am getting these wrong or anything that I should change, anything that I could do better.)
"Why me?" Joe asked petulantly. He dared, and Steve suppressed a growl of frustration.
"Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to." Steve replied, staring down the younger man. Joe could get whiny. Being the youngest on the team, Steve was sure he almost felt it was a duty to act like a child at times. But he knew that Joe was a good man, a great soldier, and an even better friend.
Joe still looked sullen. The other two were trying not to laugh. Steve wanted to head slap them, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. He turned to look at the twins.
"Brian and Mark, you two are responsible for acquisition and deployment." Steve made motions to the schematic that was stretched out on the table, pointing out spots of particular interest.
Steve could almost see the thoughts darting through their minds. He could definitely see the sparkle of merriment in their eyes.
"What will you be doing?" Joe asked, resigned to his position.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." Steve rolled up the plans as he spoke. "Alright men," Steve continued in an official voice, "We have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
Steve sat back as the others darted off to accomplish their tasks. Good men. he mused to himself. He had never worked with better.
Steve thought back to his beginnings, the training, the long hours, the forced trust that springs up between men who watch your back.
Steve shook his head and stood up. He was so glad that he had a domestic mother, one that taught him many things. Grabbing the blank cake he set to decorating it as the others periodically checked in with him. He was just putting the candles on the cake after decorating it with a picture of the Camero when Brian and mark returned.
Steve looked up and saw them carrying a black duffel bag between them that bulged with items. They looked extremely pleased. "We've got it!" Mark said. "Yeah, everything," Brian added.
"Excellent. You know what to do."
Steve only paid passing attention to what Brian and Mark were doing. He could hear them tousling in the background. Steve reached over and flicked off the light, throwing the room into darkness, and grinned in anticipation. They could hear Joe in the hallway; Steve could hear him faintly.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!"
"Happy Birthday!"
Happy Birthday!"
Steve watched as David's eyes widened in surprise and saw the slight emotion in his otherwise still face. He could see what it meant to him.
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles." Steve said from beside his commander.
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
"Thank you Steve."
"Your welcome boss. What did you wish for?"
"You know I can't tell you that." David said with a smile.
Behind them Joe, Mark, and Brian were busy hosing each other down with silly string.
(let me know if I am getting these wrong or anything that I should change, anything that I could do better.)
Third Person Limited: Jenna
“Did you like it?” Jenna asked. She sneaked a glance at Thomas, but he didn’t look up from the business section of the paper.
“Not at all,” he said. Jenna frowned, hurt. She’d worked so hard on the birthday cake she’d brought to his office yesterday, and he had said nary a word about it. Now she knew the truth.
Matthew frowned and blew on the surface of his coffee. “Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.”
“Halfway decent?” Jenna echoed. Matthew was ambivalent about everything, but he’d seen her slave over that cake. “That’s not really flattering.”
Matthew arched an eyebrow. “Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --”
For a moment, Jenna was confused, but then her indignation devolved into laughter. She tossed a hand towel at Matthew, who caught it deftly from mid-air. “I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!” Matthew always picked up the innuendo no one else would suspect. If he started telling Thomas, her brother, about when they were making out on the couch last night, she’d kill him.
“Did I really? Because all I heard was a question, ‘did you like it?’ And judging by your tone, you wanted honesty --” Matthew’s voice took on that didactic edge it got when he felt cornered - or sarcastic.
“Now, now, children.” Thomas sounded so much like their father. Jenna resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning.” Gina hauled herself into the only other empty chair at the kitchen table and slumped over, resting her head on her arms. “I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.”
Finally, Gina was out of bed. At Thomas’s party after school, all his coworkers had brought their children, and it had somehow fallen to Gina to look after them. Once the children were gone, Gina had hit a bottle of Schnapps pretty hard.
Thomas peered at her over the top of his newspaper. “Don’t you teach first grade?”
Gina glared weakly and closed her eyes. Jenna smothered a laugh. Gina was crazy in love with Thomas and didn’t understand his near-robotic lack of emotion.
Matthew patted her shoulder. “A little hung over, are we?” His tone dripped with insincerity. He was as nice to his sister as Thomas was to his.
“Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground,” Gina said. The growl in her voice was a genuine threat; Jenna had heard it before.
Matthew puffed his chest out. “I’d like to see that.”
For a moment, Jenna could picture Gina chasing Matthew around the kitchen, armed with a rolling pin or another of Jenna’s baking implements. Matthew was fast, but Gina was strong. Jenna laughed. “So would I.”
(479 words)
“Not at all,” he said. Jenna frowned, hurt. She’d worked so hard on the birthday cake she’d brought to his office yesterday, and he had said nary a word about it. Now she knew the truth.
Matthew frowned and blew on the surface of his coffee. “Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.”
“Halfway decent?” Jenna echoed. Matthew was ambivalent about everything, but he’d seen her slave over that cake. “That’s not really flattering.”
Matthew arched an eyebrow. “Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --”
For a moment, Jenna was confused, but then her indignation devolved into laughter. She tossed a hand towel at Matthew, who caught it deftly from mid-air. “I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!” Matthew always picked up the innuendo no one else would suspect. If he started telling Thomas, her brother, about when they were making out on the couch last night, she’d kill him.
“Did I really? Because all I heard was a question, ‘did you like it?’ And judging by your tone, you wanted honesty --” Matthew’s voice took on that didactic edge it got when he felt cornered - or sarcastic.
“Now, now, children.” Thomas sounded so much like their father. Jenna resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning.” Gina hauled herself into the only other empty chair at the kitchen table and slumped over, resting her head on her arms. “I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.”
Finally, Gina was out of bed. At Thomas’s party after school, all his coworkers had brought their children, and it had somehow fallen to Gina to look after them. Once the children were gone, Gina had hit a bottle of Schnapps pretty hard.
Thomas peered at her over the top of his newspaper. “Don’t you teach first grade?”
Gina glared weakly and closed her eyes. Jenna smothered a laugh. Gina was crazy in love with Thomas and didn’t understand his near-robotic lack of emotion.
Matthew patted her shoulder. “A little hung over, are we?” His tone dripped with insincerity. He was as nice to his sister as Thomas was to his.
“Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground,” Gina said. The growl in her voice was a genuine threat; Jenna had heard it before.
Matthew puffed his chest out. “I’d like to see that.”
For a moment, Jenna could picture Gina chasing Matthew around the kitchen, armed with a rolling pin or another of Jenna’s baking implements. Matthew was fast, but Gina was strong. Jenna laughed. “So would I.”
(479 words)
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Third person omniscient distant
"You take point Joe," Steve ordered as they laid out their plans
"Why me?" Joe asked petulantly.
"Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to." Steve replied, staring down the younger man.
Joe still looked sullen. The other two were trying not to laugh.
"Brian and Mark, you two are responsible for acquisition and deployment." Steve made motions to the schematic that was stretched out on the table, pointing out spots of particular interest.
The twins grinned at each other, each thinking the same thing.
"What will you be doing?" Joe asked, resigned to his position.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." Steve rolled up the plans as he spoke. "Alright men," Steve continued in an official voice, Mark and Brian rolling their eyes behind him. "We have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
"Yes sir!" The three other men slipped away from the table, each intent on his task.
~~~~~~~~~~
Brian and Mark returned an hour later, carrying a black duffel bag between them that bulged with items. They looked extremely pleased. "We've got it!" Mark said. "Yeah, everything," Brian added.
"Excellent. You know what to do."
Mark and Brian grinned and moved about the room, placing items everywhere. Some were tossed with little regard to where they landed. Others were placed very carefully. They were finished in a short time.
Steve and the twins turned out the light just before the deadline. They could hear Joe in the hallway.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!"
"Happy Birthday!"
Happy Birthday!"
David stared in surprise at the sight before him. The room was strung with streamers and balloons. There was a large cake in the middle of the table that had a picture of his Camero in black icing. Twenty-seven candles glowed along the perimeter of the cake.
David swallowed back emotion. It had been a long time since anyone had acknowledged his birthday. "Thank you guys."
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles."
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
"Thank you Steve."
"Your welcome boss. What did you wish for?"
"You know I can't tell you that." David said with a smile.
Behind them Joe, Mark, and Brian were busy hosing each other down with silly string.
(467 words)
"Why me?" Joe asked petulantly.
"Because you are the best at spinning a line of bull. Plus, I told you to." Steve replied, staring down the younger man.
Joe still looked sullen. The other two were trying not to laugh.
"Brian and Mark, you two are responsible for acquisition and deployment." Steve made motions to the schematic that was stretched out on the table, pointing out spots of particular interest.
The twins grinned at each other, each thinking the same thing.
"What will you be doing?" Joe asked, resigned to his position.
"I will be running the op from here. Someone needs to make sure it goes smoothly." Steve rolled up the plans as he spoke. "Alright men," Steve continued in an official voice, Mark and Brian rolling their eyes behind him. "We have a go. Meet back here at 17:30. Full deployment by 19:00."
"Yes sir!" The three other men slipped away from the table, each intent on his task.
~~~~~~~~~~
Brian and Mark returned an hour later, carrying a black duffel bag between them that bulged with items. They looked extremely pleased. "We've got it!" Mark said. "Yeah, everything," Brian added.
"Excellent. You know what to do."
Mark and Brian grinned and moved about the room, placing items everywhere. Some were tossed with little regard to where they landed. Others were placed very carefully. They were finished in a short time.
Steve and the twins turned out the light just before the deadline. They could hear Joe in the hallway.
"They told me to tell you that they were going out to the club. They were just going to leave a note, but Steve put me on disciplinary, so I had to stay." Joe's voice had a pout to it.
"I don't care, you should have stopped them. Do you have any idea how much this could jeopardize..." David opened the door and flicked on the light switch.
"Surprise!"
"Happy Birthday!"
Happy Birthday!"
David stared in surprise at the sight before him. The room was strung with streamers and balloons. There was a large cake in the middle of the table that had a picture of his Camero in black icing. Twenty-seven candles glowed along the perimeter of the cake.
David swallowed back emotion. It had been a long time since anyone had acknowledged his birthday. "Thank you guys."
"Well boss, make a wish and blow out the candles."
David leaned in, drawing in a breath. He paused for a moment and then blew out all the candles.
"Thank you Steve."
"Your welcome boss. What did you wish for?"
"You know I can't tell you that." David said with a smile.
Behind them Joe, Mark, and Brian were busy hosing each other down with silly string.
(467 words)
Overview #14 - The Lie
I had fun with this challange, though it was a bit tough at times. I tried not to do the same form of lie twice. I did an innocent lie, a direct lie, a life changing lie, a character that was lying to himself. A lie of omission. It was interesting to try to come up with different situations. If you really stop and think about how much we lie in general, most being harmless, we tend to tell a lot of halve truths. I did find it interesting, like Master said, that we did not do any confrontations of a person being caught in a lie. Perhaps it is because we as writers, want our lies to be believed.
Third Person Distant Omniscient
“Did you like it?” Jenna asked.
“Not at all,” Thomas said without looking up from the newspaper.
Matthew frowned and blew on the surface of his coffee in faint hopes of cooling it. “Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.”
“Halfway decent?” Jenna echoed. “That’s not really flattering.”
Matthew arched an eyebrow. “Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --”
Jenna’s indignation devolved into laughter, and she tossed a hand towel at Matthew, who caught it deftly from mid-air. “I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!”
“Did I really? Because all I heard was a question, ‘did you like it?’ And judging by your tone, you wanted honesty --” Matthew’s voice had taken on a didactic edge.
“Now, now, children,” Thomas began.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning.” Gina hauled herself into the only other empty chair at the kitchen table and slumped over, resting her head on her arms. “I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.”
Thomas peered at her over the top of his newspaper. “Don’t you teach first grade?”
Gina glared weakly and closed her eyes.
Matthew patted her shoulder with mock-sympathy. “A little hung over, are we?”
“Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground,” Gina said.
Matthew puffed his chest out. “I’d like to see that.”
Jenna laughed. “So would I.”
(249 words)
“Not at all,” Thomas said without looking up from the newspaper.
Matthew frowned and blew on the surface of his coffee in faint hopes of cooling it. “Really? I thought it was at least halfway decent.”
“Halfway decent?” Jenna echoed. “That’s not really flattering.”
Matthew arched an eyebrow. “Were you asking for flattery? Because last night you insisted on a whole lot of honesty --”
Jenna’s indignation devolved into laughter, and she tossed a hand towel at Matthew, who caught it deftly from mid-air. “I wasn’t talking about last night, and you know it!”
“Did I really? Because all I heard was a question, ‘did you like it?’ And judging by your tone, you wanted honesty --” Matthew’s voice had taken on a didactic edge.
“Now, now, children,” Thomas began.
“Don’t even start with the children. Please. Not this morning.” Gina hauled herself into the only other empty chair at the kitchen table and slumped over, resting her head on her arms. “I never want to see another human being under the age of fourteen for the rest of my life.”
Thomas peered at her over the top of his newspaper. “Don’t you teach first grade?”
Gina glared weakly and closed her eyes.
Matthew patted her shoulder with mock-sympathy. “A little hung over, are we?”
“Not so hung over I can’t pound you into the ground,” Gina said.
Matthew puffed his chest out. “I’d like to see that.”
Jenna laughed. “So would I.”
(249 words)
Overview #14 - the Lie
This was an interesting piece, mostly about characterization, third person limited point of view, and dialogue. At least, for me, those were the techniques I relied on most to get the lie across with as little telling as possible. The most fun lies are by far the secret agent lies, so I tried not to do too many of them. Some are lies I like to play with all the time and which would be fun to effectuate in real life; some were plot moment experiments. Overall, it is interesting to see what both of us considered a lie. The other interesting twist was noting how the lies were characterized. On the whole, there was little condemnation of lying, which was unexpected. Perhaps writers are at least as morally ambiguous as lawyers.
Project #15: POV
Here it is, that illusory trick - point of view. A cardinal rule for writing is that one should not shift point of view within scenes or within paragraphs or, heaven forbid, within sentences. Unless another character is a telepath, but don't go using that scenario this week. This week's assignment is going to be an exercise in technical skill - the opening scene should be a conversation of sorts, nothing complicated, with at least three characters. The points of view from which to write should be in the following order:
1 - third person omniscient distant (i.e. from third person but not limited to a particular character; avoid going into everyone's head)
2 - third person limited (from third person but limited to a particular character; i.e. just that character's thoughts)
3 - first person (from the point of view of "I"; same character as in the previous exercise)
4 - second person (because, as much as it's a rather obnoxious way of writing, being able to do it should teach one how to avoid it; this is from the point of view of "you"; same character from previous exercise)
5 - third person limited from a different character
6 - first person from yet another character
7 - third limited or first, your choice, from whichever characters are left
Keep it 100-500 words in length.
1 - third person omniscient distant (i.e. from third person but not limited to a particular character; avoid going into everyone's head)
2 - third person limited (from third person but limited to a particular character; i.e. just that character's thoughts)
3 - first person (from the point of view of "I"; same character as in the previous exercise)
4 - second person (because, as much as it's a rather obnoxious way of writing, being able to do it should teach one how to avoid it; this is from the point of view of "you"; same character from previous exercise)
5 - third person limited from a different character
6 - first person from yet another character
7 - third limited or first, your choice, from whichever characters are left
Keep it 100-500 words in length.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Incognito
“What’s your name?” the girl asked.
Jesse shoved his hands into his pockets and hoped his hat covered his hair adequately. “Thom,” he said. He would answer to that in a crowd.
“Oh.” The girl’s expression was disappointed. “It’s just - you look like Jesse Carlisle.”
“Who?” he asked, and was pleased that his innocent mien was holding. He wouldn’t be much of an actor if he couldn’t keep up this one small façade.
The girl looked exasperated. “The villian from the new Angel Revelations film,” she said. She flipped her hair over her shoulder with an impatient gesture. “I suppose since you’re a boy you don’t really care, but Jesse Carlisle’s a really hot, really talented actor from England.”
Jesse blinked and tried not to let his surprise show. His managers had ranted and raved about the reviews he was getting in the press, but he’d never been confronted so brazenly by a teenage girl’s opinion. “Oh. I’m sure he’d be, er, really flattered to hear you say that.”
“You really look like him,” the girl said again, and peered closer.
He backed up a step. “I guess that’s a compliment, then,” he said cautiously.
The girl studied his face a moment longer, then sighed and stepped back. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Thom.” She waved and walked away.
Jesse watched her go, relief spreading through him. He nearly had a heart attack when Thom came careening around the corner with a cry of, “Jesse!”
The girl, who was halfway down the pavement, turned around. Her eyes went wide.
Jesse grabbed Thom’s wrist and dragged him into the nearest shop. “Time to go!”
(274 words)
Jesse shoved his hands into his pockets and hoped his hat covered his hair adequately. “Thom,” he said. He would answer to that in a crowd.
“Oh.” The girl’s expression was disappointed. “It’s just - you look like Jesse Carlisle.”
“Who?” he asked, and was pleased that his innocent mien was holding. He wouldn’t be much of an actor if he couldn’t keep up this one small façade.
The girl looked exasperated. “The villian from the new Angel Revelations film,” she said. She flipped her hair over her shoulder with an impatient gesture. “I suppose since you’re a boy you don’t really care, but Jesse Carlisle’s a really hot, really talented actor from England.”
Jesse blinked and tried not to let his surprise show. His managers had ranted and raved about the reviews he was getting in the press, but he’d never been confronted so brazenly by a teenage girl’s opinion. “Oh. I’m sure he’d be, er, really flattered to hear you say that.”
“You really look like him,” the girl said again, and peered closer.
He backed up a step. “I guess that’s a compliment, then,” he said cautiously.
The girl studied his face a moment longer, then sighed and stepped back. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Thom.” She waved and walked away.
Jesse watched her go, relief spreading through him. He nearly had a heart attack when Thom came careening around the corner with a cry of, “Jesse!”
The girl, who was halfway down the pavement, turned around. Her eyes went wide.
Jesse grabbed Thom’s wrist and dragged him into the nearest shop. “Time to go!”
(274 words)
Inter-office Cooperation
Jennifer hung back and watched Samantha talking to the really hot lawyer who worked in the firm on the third floor. Sam worked at that office too, ostensibly as a secretary, so the were probably talking business, but goodness gracious the man was fun to watch.
As soon as the man was gone, Jennifer stepped out from the around the corner as if she’d just gotten off the elevator, and she slung an arm around Sam’s shoulders.
“So I saw you talking to Counselor Hotness,” she said.
Sam rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t talk about one of the senior partners like that.”
Jennifer craned her neck to peer at the man’s retreating figure. “He’s really a senior partner? He’s so young.”
“He’s a hotshot litigator.” Sam steered the both of them toward the hoagie stand that stood next to the Starbucks kiosk. “Come on - let’s get some food.”
“You should totally come on to him,” Jennifer said. “Isn’t that what hotshot lawyers do? Spend way too many hours at work and have sordid love affairs with their secretaries?”
“I’m glad you think so much of the legal profession,” Sam drawled. “And there are rules about that sort of thing - sexual harassment goes every which way now.”
Jennifer laughed. “You need to loosen up a bit, Sam. You get to see him every day, enjoy his Adonis-like beauty. You should be a happy, happy girl!”
Sam opened her mouth to reply, but her cell phone rang. She checked the number and winced. “It’s one of the senior partners. Go - get us the usual.” She pushed Jennifer toward the hoagie stand.
Jennifer, still laughing, went to stand in line behind the other office workers on her lunch break. She didn’t see the smirk that crossed Sam’s face as she answered the phone, didn’t hear the conversation that followed.
“What is it, Counselor Hotness?”
“Is that what she calls me?”
“That’s a direct quote.”
“She still thinks you’re a secretary and doesn’t know you’re my wife, right?”
“It’s going to stay that way as long as possible,” Sam said, and darted a glance at Jennifer, who was flirting with one of the mail room boys from the accounting firm on the fourth floor. “Now get home and check on our son, all right?”
Her husband laughed and disconnected. Sam slid her cell phone into her bag and went to join Jennifer at her usual table.
“You know,” Sam said, “I should tell him you call him Counselor Hotness.”
Jennifer snorted delicately. “You don’t have the nerve.”
Same smiled and lied. “That’s true.”
(430 words)
As soon as the man was gone, Jennifer stepped out from the around the corner as if she’d just gotten off the elevator, and she slung an arm around Sam’s shoulders.
“So I saw you talking to Counselor Hotness,” she said.
Sam rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t talk about one of the senior partners like that.”
Jennifer craned her neck to peer at the man’s retreating figure. “He’s really a senior partner? He’s so young.”
“He’s a hotshot litigator.” Sam steered the both of them toward the hoagie stand that stood next to the Starbucks kiosk. “Come on - let’s get some food.”
“You should totally come on to him,” Jennifer said. “Isn’t that what hotshot lawyers do? Spend way too many hours at work and have sordid love affairs with their secretaries?”
“I’m glad you think so much of the legal profession,” Sam drawled. “And there are rules about that sort of thing - sexual harassment goes every which way now.”
Jennifer laughed. “You need to loosen up a bit, Sam. You get to see him every day, enjoy his Adonis-like beauty. You should be a happy, happy girl!”
Sam opened her mouth to reply, but her cell phone rang. She checked the number and winced. “It’s one of the senior partners. Go - get us the usual.” She pushed Jennifer toward the hoagie stand.
Jennifer, still laughing, went to stand in line behind the other office workers on her lunch break. She didn’t see the smirk that crossed Sam’s face as she answered the phone, didn’t hear the conversation that followed.
“What is it, Counselor Hotness?”
“Is that what she calls me?”
“That’s a direct quote.”
“She still thinks you’re a secretary and doesn’t know you’re my wife, right?”
“It’s going to stay that way as long as possible,” Sam said, and darted a glance at Jennifer, who was flirting with one of the mail room boys from the accounting firm on the fourth floor. “Now get home and check on our son, all right?”
Her husband laughed and disconnected. Sam slid her cell phone into her bag and went to join Jennifer at her usual table.
“You know,” Sam said, “I should tell him you call him Counselor Hotness.”
Jennifer snorted delicately. “You don’t have the nerve.”
Same smiled and lied. “That’s true.”
(430 words)
Friday, January 30, 2009
What Did You Do?
David stared in shock at what he saw. He was not sure if sleep deprivation was causing him to hallucinate, or what he was seeing was real. He closed and slowly opened his eyes again, the sight did not change.
"What did you do?" David advanced on his men, the three of them backing away from their leader.
Joe, Brian and Mark backed up until they were against the wall.
David was tired, he was sore, he had been pushed about as far as he could go. And now, he was angry.
Joe was edging away from his angry commander, but froze when David barked "Attention!" They all jerked to a halt and felt themselves snap to attention, years of training betraying their desire to run from the ire of their commander.
"I asked you a question." David's voice was deadly quiet.
David sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as Joe broke into a rambling story.
Steve, who was standing to the side rolled his eyes at Joe's story.
"And that's what happened." Joe finally seemed to take a breath, the others nodding.
"Just fix it." David said in exasperation. He turned to Steve, his second in command and walked away with him, conversing quietly.
"Yes sir." they chorused meekly and moved away from their commander, gathering tools.
David turned to look at the damage. The drivers side mirror had been sheered off of the car body.
Brian shot a look at Mark. "What if...?"
"Shut it. What he doesn't know won't kill us."
"You and your stupid ideas Joe." Mark growled at him.
"Hey, I kept him from killing us, and if we play it smart, he'll never know what really happened." Joe shot back.
The others grumbled as they set to repairing their leaders car.
"What did you do?" David advanced on his men, the three of them backing away from their leader.
Joe, Brian and Mark backed up until they were against the wall.
David was tired, he was sore, he had been pushed about as far as he could go. And now, he was angry.
Joe was edging away from his angry commander, but froze when David barked "Attention!" They all jerked to a halt and felt themselves snap to attention, years of training betraying their desire to run from the ire of their commander.
"I asked you a question." David's voice was deadly quiet.
David sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as Joe broke into a rambling story.
Steve, who was standing to the side rolled his eyes at Joe's story.
"And that's what happened." Joe finally seemed to take a breath, the others nodding.
"Just fix it." David said in exasperation. He turned to Steve, his second in command and walked away with him, conversing quietly.
"Yes sir." they chorused meekly and moved away from their commander, gathering tools.
David turned to look at the damage. The drivers side mirror had been sheered off of the car body.
Brian shot a look at Mark. "What if...?"
"Shut it. What he doesn't know won't kill us."
"You and your stupid ideas Joe." Mark growled at him.
"Hey, I kept him from killing us, and if we play it smart, he'll never know what really happened." Joe shot back.
The others grumbled as they set to repairing their leaders car.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Another Left Behind
The four young men waited. They had been there for a while, marking time until the fifth arrived and they could be on their way.
Joe, Steve, and Mark were getting impatient for David to get there. They tossed a baseball back and forth, acting like the young men that they were, but anxious to be gone.
Steve checked his watch again for the tenth time. "He's never late, at least I have never known him to be late. Do you guys think something happened to him?"
"Naw," Mark piped up, deftly catching the ball that Brian had careened at his head. "He's probably just stuck in traffic or something. Nothing to be worried about."
"Yeah," Brian said taking his turn with the ball, "I mean, have you ever known a time that David couldn't handle himself?"
"I suppose not, but it's still strange that he's not here yet," Steve said, glancing at his watch again.
"Oh, you worry to much. Someone would think you were his mother." Joe reached over and punched Steve on the shoulder.
Steve sighed and pulled down his shirt sleeve to cover his watch, trying not to think about the minutes passing by. Steve kept an eye out for David as the others game of catch turned into at throwing contest that devolved into a wrestling match.
Steve perked up at the sound of a roaring engine heading their way.
David pulled up to the curb in his black Camero that he drove and opened the door. Killing the engine he stepped out and faced his crew.
"Where ya been man?" Joe called from the pile of bodies on the ground.
"You okay boss?" Steve asked quietly?
Rain had begun to fall, and David did not bother to take off his sunglasses even though the sun was starting to go down.
David looked down at his men on the ground until they pulled themselves to their feet, dusting off their clothes. He looked over at Steve. "I'm fine." His voice was flat, nothing to hint at any type of emotion at all. "Get in." He ordered them.
The three men piled into the back, still shoving each other playfully.
Steve slid into the passenger and David climbed behind the wheel.
"Boss..."
"I said I'm fine." His tone was harsh. The three in the back quieted down suddenly.
David started the car with a roar and accelerated away from the curb, rounding corners and blowing through stop signs until they reached the highway.
Joe, Mark and Brian began talking quietly. David looked in the rear view mirror at the city he was leaving behind. "I'm fine he whispered to himself."
But he knew it was a lie.
Joe, Steve, and Mark were getting impatient for David to get there. They tossed a baseball back and forth, acting like the young men that they were, but anxious to be gone.
Steve checked his watch again for the tenth time. "He's never late, at least I have never known him to be late. Do you guys think something happened to him?"
"Naw," Mark piped up, deftly catching the ball that Brian had careened at his head. "He's probably just stuck in traffic or something. Nothing to be worried about."
"Yeah," Brian said taking his turn with the ball, "I mean, have you ever known a time that David couldn't handle himself?"
"I suppose not, but it's still strange that he's not here yet," Steve said, glancing at his watch again.
"Oh, you worry to much. Someone would think you were his mother." Joe reached over and punched Steve on the shoulder.
Steve sighed and pulled down his shirt sleeve to cover his watch, trying not to think about the minutes passing by. Steve kept an eye out for David as the others game of catch turned into at throwing contest that devolved into a wrestling match.
Steve perked up at the sound of a roaring engine heading their way.
David pulled up to the curb in his black Camero that he drove and opened the door. Killing the engine he stepped out and faced his crew.
"Where ya been man?" Joe called from the pile of bodies on the ground.
"You okay boss?" Steve asked quietly?
Rain had begun to fall, and David did not bother to take off his sunglasses even though the sun was starting to go down.
David looked down at his men on the ground until they pulled themselves to their feet, dusting off their clothes. He looked over at Steve. "I'm fine." His voice was flat, nothing to hint at any type of emotion at all. "Get in." He ordered them.
The three men piled into the back, still shoving each other playfully.
Steve slid into the passenger and David climbed behind the wheel.
"Boss..."
"I said I'm fine." His tone was harsh. The three in the back quieted down suddenly.
David started the car with a roar and accelerated away from the curb, rounding corners and blowing through stop signs until they reached the highway.
Joe, Mark and Brian began talking quietly. David looked in the rear view mirror at the city he was leaving behind. "I'm fine he whispered to himself."
But he knew it was a lie.
Helping a Friend
“I did it because I had to.” His eyes were dark, solemn. His calm expression belied the stain of arterial spray across his face, the gore dripping from his hands.
“Eddie,” she said. Her voice wavered, but her gun didn’t.
He kept his hands in the air, his back to the wall. “You know what they did to me. I had no choice. It was the only way.”
She took a deep breath to steady herself before the memories hit, because they always did, at just the wrong moment. Eddie’s voice, so small and soft as he wept in the darkness in the bed across from hers, the sound of fists on flesh coming from the shadows across the hall -- she did know what they’d done to him, and heaven help her if she wasn’t fiercely glad he’d done it.
“You can’t stay here,” she said finally. “Find the Merchant - he’ll get you out safely.”
“They won’t just let me walk out of here alive.”
She gestured with the gun. “Then distract them.”
He studied her expression.
She sighed. “Don’t hit anything vital.”
“All right.” And he lunged. They grappled, exchanged blow for blow in smooth martial precision, and then he pinned her down, shot her through the shoulder. He was out the window and down the fire escape in two seconds. Three seconds later, back-up arrived. Simons knelt beside her and put pressure on the wound, screaming into his cell phone for a bus.
The paramedics arrived quickly enough, but Eddie was a good shot and even though her shoulder hurt something fierce she knew she would be fine. As the paramedics wheeled her away on the stretched, Simons hovered anxiously.
“Did the suspect say anything?”
“No. I had him cornered and we fought and he got my gun and --”
Simons smoothed a hand over her hair. “Hey, hey, it’s not your fault. See you at the hospital.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. She’d see Eddie again. In the meantime, he was safe.
(336 words)
“Eddie,” she said. Her voice wavered, but her gun didn’t.
He kept his hands in the air, his back to the wall. “You know what they did to me. I had no choice. It was the only way.”
She took a deep breath to steady herself before the memories hit, because they always did, at just the wrong moment. Eddie’s voice, so small and soft as he wept in the darkness in the bed across from hers, the sound of fists on flesh coming from the shadows across the hall -- she did know what they’d done to him, and heaven help her if she wasn’t fiercely glad he’d done it.
“You can’t stay here,” she said finally. “Find the Merchant - he’ll get you out safely.”
“They won’t just let me walk out of here alive.”
She gestured with the gun. “Then distract them.”
He studied her expression.
She sighed. “Don’t hit anything vital.”
“All right.” And he lunged. They grappled, exchanged blow for blow in smooth martial precision, and then he pinned her down, shot her through the shoulder. He was out the window and down the fire escape in two seconds. Three seconds later, back-up arrived. Simons knelt beside her and put pressure on the wound, screaming into his cell phone for a bus.
The paramedics arrived quickly enough, but Eddie was a good shot and even though her shoulder hurt something fierce she knew she would be fine. As the paramedics wheeled her away on the stretched, Simons hovered anxiously.
“Did the suspect say anything?”
“No. I had him cornered and we fought and he got my gun and --”
Simons smoothed a hand over her hair. “Hey, hey, it’s not your fault. See you at the hospital.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. She’d see Eddie again. In the meantime, he was safe.
(336 words)
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Easier to Lie
“Hey kid, why aren’t you in school?”
Spencer lifted his head and blinked, confused. He’d been so engrossed in his abnormal psychology textbook that he hadn’t even noticed he’d wandered a little too far from campus.
The truant officer who loomed over him looked like every other jerkface cop who’d given him trouble since he’d started, but Spencer didn’t recognize his face. He must have been new, then, and the others probably hadn’t thought to warn him about the little fifteen-year-old kid who had a free pass from the dean of psychology over at UNLV.
“I’m on my way to class, actually.” Spencer pushed his glasses up his nose, clutched his textbook to his chest.
“Then I’ll walk you,” the cop said. He grabbed Spencer by the collar and started to haul him toward the high school.
“Sir, really, I’m not a high school student,” Spencer said. “I mean, I am high school age, but --”
The cop shook him once, roughly, and Spencer felt, rather sourly, like a mistreated puppy.
“Shut up, kid. Who’s your homeroom teacher?”
“Sir --”
“Who?”
Spencer sighed. “Mrs. Putnam.” It was no use telling the truth when they got like this. The cop didn’t let up on his grip on Spencer’s collar, so he had to tacitly consent to being dragged along like a sack of potatoes. He’d been into the high school before on excursions just like this, and he didn’t miss the garish lockers, the crookedly-drawn posters announcing football games and prom.
He didn’t miss any of it.
The cop dragged him down the hall to Mrs. Putnam’s room. He flung open the door, chest puffed out like a grand-standing terrier, and hauled Spencer in front of her desk.
“You missing a student, ma’am?” He kept his voice gruff. Did he think he was Clint Eastwood?
Mrs. Putnam peered at Spencer over the top of her glasses and smiled sympathetically. “You must be new, Officer Jenkins. Mr. Reid is not a student here, or at any high school in this district. Perhaps your fellow officers neglected to mention it to you. Spencer, aren’t you late for class?”
“My Jung seminar was cancelled for the day, actually.” Spencer felt the cop’s grip on him relax, and he squirmed free. “Have a good day, Mrs. Putnam. Sorry to interrupt.” And he left the humiliated cop behind. Some days, it was just easier to lie.
(402)
Spencer lifted his head and blinked, confused. He’d been so engrossed in his abnormal psychology textbook that he hadn’t even noticed he’d wandered a little too far from campus.
The truant officer who loomed over him looked like every other jerkface cop who’d given him trouble since he’d started, but Spencer didn’t recognize his face. He must have been new, then, and the others probably hadn’t thought to warn him about the little fifteen-year-old kid who had a free pass from the dean of psychology over at UNLV.
“I’m on my way to class, actually.” Spencer pushed his glasses up his nose, clutched his textbook to his chest.
“Then I’ll walk you,” the cop said. He grabbed Spencer by the collar and started to haul him toward the high school.
“Sir, really, I’m not a high school student,” Spencer said. “I mean, I am high school age, but --”
The cop shook him once, roughly, and Spencer felt, rather sourly, like a mistreated puppy.
“Shut up, kid. Who’s your homeroom teacher?”
“Sir --”
“Who?”
Spencer sighed. “Mrs. Putnam.” It was no use telling the truth when they got like this. The cop didn’t let up on his grip on Spencer’s collar, so he had to tacitly consent to being dragged along like a sack of potatoes. He’d been into the high school before on excursions just like this, and he didn’t miss the garish lockers, the crookedly-drawn posters announcing football games and prom.
He didn’t miss any of it.
The cop dragged him down the hall to Mrs. Putnam’s room. He flung open the door, chest puffed out like a grand-standing terrier, and hauled Spencer in front of her desk.
“You missing a student, ma’am?” He kept his voice gruff. Did he think he was Clint Eastwood?
Mrs. Putnam peered at Spencer over the top of her glasses and smiled sympathetically. “You must be new, Officer Jenkins. Mr. Reid is not a student here, or at any high school in this district. Perhaps your fellow officers neglected to mention it to you. Spencer, aren’t you late for class?”
“My Jung seminar was cancelled for the day, actually.” Spencer felt the cop’s grip on him relax, and he squirmed free. “Have a good day, Mrs. Putnam. Sorry to interrupt.” And he left the humiliated cop behind. Some days, it was just easier to lie.
(402)
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Hurt
Elizabeth swallowed all the words she wanted to say to Damien, all the avowals of love and unending passion. She knew she had to say the words that would drive him away, that would keep him safe.
Damien looked at her with his emotions evident in his face.
And even though she knew it would make them both miserable, she said the words.
"I don't love you Damien, I never did."
Elizabeth watched as something died in his eyes. Damien nodded and turned away from Elizabeth.
Elizabeth watched him go, knowing that it was best for the both of them. She watched him until he turned the corner and walked out of her life forever.
She allowed only a single tear to run down her face. Elizabeth wiped away the tear and turned to her equipment.
Damien looked at her with his emotions evident in his face.
And even though she knew it would make them both miserable, she said the words.
"I don't love you Damien, I never did."
Elizabeth watched as something died in his eyes. Damien nodded and turned away from Elizabeth.
Elizabeth watched him go, knowing that it was best for the both of them. She watched him until he turned the corner and walked out of her life forever.
She allowed only a single tear to run down her face. Elizabeth wiped away the tear and turned to her equipment.
Small White Lie
"So what do you think?" Sara turned in a circle next to her friend, showing off the dress she was wearing.
Heather stifled a small smile, "do you like it?"
Sara smiled, "yes I do." The dress was a frilly, frothy type of concoction. Pink and white. It was almost as if she had stepped out of Victorian England. Heather was surprised that the design had lasted so long.
"Then I think it looks great."
Heather stifled a small smile, "do you like it?"
Sara smiled, "yes I do." The dress was a frilly, frothy type of concoction. Pink and white. It was almost as if she had stepped out of Victorian England. Heather was surprised that the design had lasted so long.
"Then I think it looks great."
Speaking in Tongues
Michael stared helplessly at the newspaper. Behind him, a pair of women conversed in low, hushed tones. They were speaking Russian.
“Tonight, then,” the first said. “It will be simple - just infiltrate the party. I will take down the guards. The vault is in his office on the third floor.”
“Third floor - facing the garden or the street?”
“The street - it will make for an easy escape. Here, take this make-up compact. Beneath the powder compartments are some electronic skeleton keys, one for his office door, one for the safe.”
There was a rustling of fabric as the women exchanged items.
“Thank you. And the dead drop?”
“At the Champs Elysées fifteen minutes after infiltration.”
“I’ll be there.”
Greg trotted back from the ice cream stand, studying his newly-acquired treat. “Can you even read French?” he asked, gesturing to Michael’s newspaper.
“Not at all,” Michael said. He’d told Greg, once, long ago, that his mother had been French, but if Greg couldn’t remember, it was his own downfall.
Greg leaned in and lowered his voice. “Those chicks behind you are hot. Gonna try to talk to one of them?”
“They’re tourists like we are, man,” Michael said.
“How do you know?”
“They’re speaking in Russian.”
“Oh. Do you understand Russian?” Greg licked at his ice cream.
Michael shot him a look.
Greg raised one hand in a defensive gesture. “Hey, we’re on vacation. I thought it’d be safe to ask.”
“Whatever. I’m going back to the hotel.”
“Why?”
“I have some stuff I want to do,” Michael said. “Touristy stuff. Meet you at Notre Dame tonight for the evening mass?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m gonna go on that Hemingway tour, if you’re in,” Greg said. His expression said he didn’t care whether or not Michael came.
Good.
Michael slid the newspaper into a nearby recycling bin. “All right. Catch you later.” He turned and headed for the hotel. He had a date tonight - at the Champs Elysées.
(329 words)
“Tonight, then,” the first said. “It will be simple - just infiltrate the party. I will take down the guards. The vault is in his office on the third floor.”
“Third floor - facing the garden or the street?”
“The street - it will make for an easy escape. Here, take this make-up compact. Beneath the powder compartments are some electronic skeleton keys, one for his office door, one for the safe.”
There was a rustling of fabric as the women exchanged items.
“Thank you. And the dead drop?”
“At the Champs Elysées fifteen minutes after infiltration.”
“I’ll be there.”
Greg trotted back from the ice cream stand, studying his newly-acquired treat. “Can you even read French?” he asked, gesturing to Michael’s newspaper.
“Not at all,” Michael said. He’d told Greg, once, long ago, that his mother had been French, but if Greg couldn’t remember, it was his own downfall.
Greg leaned in and lowered his voice. “Those chicks behind you are hot. Gonna try to talk to one of them?”
“They’re tourists like we are, man,” Michael said.
“How do you know?”
“They’re speaking in Russian.”
“Oh. Do you understand Russian?” Greg licked at his ice cream.
Michael shot him a look.
Greg raised one hand in a defensive gesture. “Hey, we’re on vacation. I thought it’d be safe to ask.”
“Whatever. I’m going back to the hotel.”
“Why?”
“I have some stuff I want to do,” Michael said. “Touristy stuff. Meet you at Notre Dame tonight for the evening mass?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m gonna go on that Hemingway tour, if you’re in,” Greg said. His expression said he didn’t care whether or not Michael came.
Good.
Michael slid the newspaper into a nearby recycling bin. “All right. Catch you later.” He turned and headed for the hotel. He had a date tonight - at the Champs Elysées.
(329 words)
Bento
“Do you like it?” Hitomi asked anxiously. She hovered beside him on the bench, watching as he picked at the onigiri with his chopsticks. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was probably one of the only Japanese boys in the world who hated onigiri, even ones made to look like cute usagi and koinu and koneko. He wondered if he could peel away some of the nori and just pick at the rice; he hated red beans, too.
“It’s good,” he said finally, and took a tiny stab of the rice. He didn’t know how to tell her that it was his mother’s fault for marrying a gaijin, for turning him into a mixed-breed who wasn’t Japanese enough to like onigiri and not German enough to like sausage. He speared up a piece of tempura and chewed it thoughtfully. It was delicious. “Saaa...Hitomi-chan, oishii!”
She beamed and clapped her hands. “I’m glad you like it, Richie-san. I’ll see you in class, ne?” And she bounded over to her waiting friends, whereupon they burst into mad giggles.
As soon as she was out of sight, Richie finished the tempura and dumped the onigiri. Then he dug into his backpack for the lunch his mother had packed and ate all but the sausage. He even ate the saurkraut.
(224 words)
“It’s good,” he said finally, and took a tiny stab of the rice. He didn’t know how to tell her that it was his mother’s fault for marrying a gaijin, for turning him into a mixed-breed who wasn’t Japanese enough to like onigiri and not German enough to like sausage. He speared up a piece of tempura and chewed it thoughtfully. It was delicious. “Saaa...Hitomi-chan, oishii!”
She beamed and clapped her hands. “I’m glad you like it, Richie-san. I’ll see you in class, ne?” And she bounded over to her waiting friends, whereupon they burst into mad giggles.
As soon as she was out of sight, Richie finished the tempura and dumped the onigiri. Then he dug into his backpack for the lunch his mother had packed and ate all but the sausage. He even ate the saurkraut.
(224 words)
Monday, January 26, 2009
K-rock
“I really, really like this band,” Tommy said. He nodded his head to the beat, watching his iPod screen.
Jeff craned his neck to peer over Tommy’s shoulder at the music video. They boys in the video - four - wore outrageously gothic outfits and headbanged wildly. They were all Asian of one sort or another - Japanese or Chinese or Korean; Jeff had never been able to tell which.
“Can you even understand what they’re saying?” he asked.
Tommy rolled his eyes. “It’s not about the lyrics, man. Jingles have proven that a song is good even with different lyrics. It’s about the music.”
Again with the high-browed aesthetic philosophy. Tommy’s older brother really had to put his philosophy books on a shelf Tommy couldn’t reach.
“Do you have any of their other stuff?” Jeff asked.
“Only what I could find on YouTube. They’re Korean, but they can sing in English and Japanese too,” Tommy said. He pointed. “Look at that! He can totally shred. When was the last time you saw an American act that good?”
“Whatever,” Jeff said, but he was secretly impressed.
“According to some of the fan forums I checked out, this song is a couple of years old, but I don’t read Korean, so I haven’t gotten a line on anything more recent,” Tommy said. “I’d really, really like one of their CDs. Maybe my mom’ll get me one for Christmas.”
Across the hallway at the other bank of lockers, Hyun Lee was rearranging the contents of his backpack. Jeff spotted him immediately.
“Hey, the exchange student - he’s Korean, right? I’ll bet he’d know.” Jeff beckoned. “Hey, Hyun Lee, come over here!”
Hyun Lee turned and raised his eyebrows. Jeff nodded. He didn’t really like talking to Hyun Lee, because all the girls flirted with him and thought he was pretty, but he barely spoke English, and the sudden rush of popularity was enough to annoy pretty much every other guy in the junior class.
Hyun Lee crossed the hall, dodging some of the older students, and came to stand beside them.
“Yes?”
Jeff pointed to Tommy’s iPod screen. “You know this band? They’re Korean.”
Hyun Lee studied the screen thoughtfully, and an unreadable expression crossed his face. But then he shrugged. “Sorry. Never heard of them.”
“Thanks anyway, man,” Jeff said.
Hyun Lee nodded and went back to his locker. Tommy and Jeff began arguing about whether or not Asian kids could even do real rock’n’roll, and neither of them noticed Hyun Lee, smirking, pick up a guitar case and head for the door.
(429 words)
Jeff craned his neck to peer over Tommy’s shoulder at the music video. They boys in the video - four - wore outrageously gothic outfits and headbanged wildly. They were all Asian of one sort or another - Japanese or Chinese or Korean; Jeff had never been able to tell which.
“Can you even understand what they’re saying?” he asked.
Tommy rolled his eyes. “It’s not about the lyrics, man. Jingles have proven that a song is good even with different lyrics. It’s about the music.”
Again with the high-browed aesthetic philosophy. Tommy’s older brother really had to put his philosophy books on a shelf Tommy couldn’t reach.
“Do you have any of their other stuff?” Jeff asked.
“Only what I could find on YouTube. They’re Korean, but they can sing in English and Japanese too,” Tommy said. He pointed. “Look at that! He can totally shred. When was the last time you saw an American act that good?”
“Whatever,” Jeff said, but he was secretly impressed.
“According to some of the fan forums I checked out, this song is a couple of years old, but I don’t read Korean, so I haven’t gotten a line on anything more recent,” Tommy said. “I’d really, really like one of their CDs. Maybe my mom’ll get me one for Christmas.”
Across the hallway at the other bank of lockers, Hyun Lee was rearranging the contents of his backpack. Jeff spotted him immediately.
“Hey, the exchange student - he’s Korean, right? I’ll bet he’d know.” Jeff beckoned. “Hey, Hyun Lee, come over here!”
Hyun Lee turned and raised his eyebrows. Jeff nodded. He didn’t really like talking to Hyun Lee, because all the girls flirted with him and thought he was pretty, but he barely spoke English, and the sudden rush of popularity was enough to annoy pretty much every other guy in the junior class.
Hyun Lee crossed the hall, dodging some of the older students, and came to stand beside them.
“Yes?”
Jeff pointed to Tommy’s iPod screen. “You know this band? They’re Korean.”
Hyun Lee studied the screen thoughtfully, and an unreadable expression crossed his face. But then he shrugged. “Sorry. Never heard of them.”
“Thanks anyway, man,” Jeff said.
Hyun Lee nodded and went back to his locker. Tommy and Jeff began arguing about whether or not Asian kids could even do real rock’n’roll, and neither of them noticed Hyun Lee, smirking, pick up a guitar case and head for the door.
(429 words)
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Bright Lights
Bright lights burst overhead. Red, white, and every other color you could imagine. The heat is fading with the setting sun. Rock music blares in the background, and families and friends mill about the large grassy fields. There is an abundance of food and laughter flows as freely as soda and beer. Snap lights glow in the gathering darkness, children running wild in the night. A yearly celebration of freedom.
Where have you been?
"Where have you been?!"
"I was out with a friend."
"A friend?"
"Yes."
"So what did you do?"
"We went to a movie."
"Which one?"
"Australia. What is going on? Why are you so worried about where I have been."
"Haven't you heard the news?"
"Apparently not. What happened?"
"The Rebel leader in Kazakhstan has been assassinated."
"Really? When did that happen?"
"Just now. They said that the assassin might have been injured."
"Well that would make them easier to find I suppose."
The woman walked into her room wincing just slightly. She shrugged out of her long coat and looked at the white bandage on her arm. Oh, she knew alright. And the world was better off without him.
"I was out with a friend."
"A friend?"
"Yes."
"So what did you do?"
"We went to a movie."
"Which one?"
"Australia. What is going on? Why are you so worried about where I have been."
"Haven't you heard the news?"
"Apparently not. What happened?"
"The Rebel leader in Kazakhstan has been assassinated."
"Really? When did that happen?"
"Just now. They said that the assassin might have been injured."
"Well that would make them easier to find I suppose."
The woman walked into her room wincing just slightly. She shrugged out of her long coat and looked at the white bandage on her arm. Oh, she knew alright. And the world was better off without him.
Project Assignment # 14 - The Lie
This week is to write a piece in which a lie is used. It can be a big lie, it can be a small lie, an innocuous lie or one that is life changing. You can use characters you have established, create new characters or write a random scene between two people. It can be dialoug or otherwise. It can be a lie of convenience or of malice. The sky is the limit.
Lets sent the word count to 500
Lets sent the word count to 500
Overview #13- Places
I thoroughly enjoyed this project. It was fun to describe both real and imagined places. Places I have been and places I have not. I did fudge at one point and described a person, but I thought it was not so bad.
The first place I described, the kitchen, is a most familiar place. I did struggle to come up with the sounds that make up the kitchen. The various tones. I found myself the next day listening and trying to define those sounds. Most were accurate, some were not.
I found that I alternated between real places and imaginary places.
This was a really fun week.
The first place I described, the kitchen, is a most familiar place. I did struggle to come up with the sounds that make up the kitchen. The various tones. I found myself the next day listening and trying to define those sounds. Most were accurate, some were not.
I found that I alternated between real places and imaginary places.
This was a really fun week.
Overview #13 - Places
I'd been wanting to do this exercise for a while, because I needed it desperately. My limited sense of spatial perception makes it almost impossible for me to properly describe scenery while writing a scene, and often it's clear where the characters are in relation to each other but the setting is blank - at least to me, or it's filled in by a scene from real life, a place I really know, which is why I started off with an actual place. I just sat there in the library and turned phrases over in my head until I thought I had an accurate verbal picture of a place I avoid rather strenuously. I tried to mix it up a bit - I think I only did one outdoor scene, but I did different places - a library, a pub/bar/thing, a habitation, a work-place. It was good fun, seeing the places through someone else's eyes, or even my own.
I take it back, I did two outdoor scenes, one of which was a confederate army camp. Even though I know such long description wouldn't really fly in my ordinary narration, I do have to learn how to weave it in, and I thought I'd take the opportunity to learn to describe physical detail as well as try to create an emotional backdrop of a location, and I think I did all right. Who knows what comes next?
I take it back, I did two outdoor scenes, one of which was a confederate army camp. Even though I know such long description wouldn't really fly in my ordinary narration, I do have to learn how to weave it in, and I thought I'd take the opportunity to learn to describe physical detail as well as try to create an emotional backdrop of a location, and I think I did all right. Who knows what comes next?
Grease-monkey Central
The battered radio in the corner blared loud dance-rock, and someone somewhere hummed tunelessly to the beat. In counterpoint to the music someone was drilling, or using a high-powered screwdriver, or something, because there was a repetitive, high-pitched power-tool shriek, occasionally punctuated by curses as something went wrong. The scent of gasoline and oil was overwhelming, and both substances were smeared across the floor in casual splashes, as if Jackson Pollock had come through drunk. Cold air blew in a steady draft beneath the bottom of the garage door, which needed new weather-stripping. Someone hit his head on something he shouldn’t have, which set off a round of cursing and a series of metallic thuds as car parts landed on the ground. Three tall red tool-boxes stood free and proud in the middle of the cement floor like misplaced modern art sculptures and were scrupulously organized, if grease-stained. Someone - perhaps the chief mechanic’s wife - had nailed a coat rack to the back wall, and from it hung several grey, oil-stained overalls, each paired with a different-colored bandanna; there was one for each mechanic. The microwave in the opposite corner from the radio let out a ping and emitted smoke and the scent of too-cooked instant burrito, and the punch-clock on top of it rattled dangerously. In ten minutes, the corpse-like cars up on blocks would be swarmed with boys in overalls, and lunch break would begin.
(248 words)
(248 words)
Friday, January 23, 2009
What better place to die than Death Valley
Heat and sunlight beat down mercilessly out of the cloudless sky. It can be felt as a throbbing against dry, ashy, feverish skin. No trace of moisture is held in the air as hot as an oven. It is a wonder anything survives here at all. A few scraggly brown bushes, and the ever present cactus. How could anything get that big out here, here in the middle of nothing, nothing. Breathing is a torment, the dry air parching the throat. If you could, you would stop breathing to find a bit of relief. Feet have become long numb to the searing heat of the sand, callouses forming, it is hard to walk in a straight line in the best of circumstances in this desert, but being dehydrated makes it almost impossible. The shade of a large cactus is a welcome reprieve from the tortuous sun and heat. It doesn't even matter that the spikes are a good inch and a half long. Doesn't matter. Mirages promise water and deliver hell in return, shimmering oh so invitingly just out of reach.
Book of Dead Names
The Book of Dead Names was a shambles from the outside. It was a in a seedy neighborhood that butted up against the ritzy neighborhood where the stars, tycoons, and politicos let down their hair for the weekend. They rolled up in their limos and strolled down red carpets and didn’t see, halfway down the nearest alley, a simple wooden door.
The wood was old and dark with age, an anachronism against the city concrete, and the brick walls were riddled with old bullet holes. Just inside the door was a cramped hallway lined with hooks from which hung a dazzling array of coats, jackets, cloaks, cardigans, and more. Beyond the maze of coats, too reminiscent of a wardrobe leading to another world, was the Book of Dead Names itself.
It looked like an ancient library in a manor house, only there was a bar along the back wall, long and straight and staffed by a trio of forgettable but strangely identical young men in suits. The walls were lined with books and paneled with velvet. The carpet was deep red, plush, and thick velvet drapes separated a single room into intimate nooks and crannies where tables for two and three nestled. Each table was antique and different, as if the proprietors of the place had hit up a multitude of estate sales from the seventeenth century onward. Some tables had games on them - chess, checkers, go - and others had tall, thin glass vases overflowing with artfully arranged corpses of flowers. The light - from overhead, in a creaking chandelier; from the walls in sconces; from the tables, in lamps - was all candles, all soft and warm and golden.
It was the perfect place to escape every day world, and a perfect excuse to never go back.
(296 words)
The wood was old and dark with age, an anachronism against the city concrete, and the brick walls were riddled with old bullet holes. Just inside the door was a cramped hallway lined with hooks from which hung a dazzling array of coats, jackets, cloaks, cardigans, and more. Beyond the maze of coats, too reminiscent of a wardrobe leading to another world, was the Book of Dead Names itself.
It looked like an ancient library in a manor house, only there was a bar along the back wall, long and straight and staffed by a trio of forgettable but strangely identical young men in suits. The walls were lined with books and paneled with velvet. The carpet was deep red, plush, and thick velvet drapes separated a single room into intimate nooks and crannies where tables for two and three nestled. Each table was antique and different, as if the proprietors of the place had hit up a multitude of estate sales from the seventeenth century onward. Some tables had games on them - chess, checkers, go - and others had tall, thin glass vases overflowing with artfully arranged corpses of flowers. The light - from overhead, in a creaking chandelier; from the walls in sconces; from the tables, in lamps - was all candles, all soft and warm and golden.
It was the perfect place to escape every day world, and a perfect excuse to never go back.
(296 words)
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Safe Harbor?
Wind, cold and biting, howls across the open expanse of the beach. Sand turned into a stinging wall. Wave upon wave march into the shallows, crashing and sending up a drenching spray. Gulls cry cheerlessly overhead and the sun plays hide and don't seek in the gray clouds. Lighting strikes the waves.
Light flashes and disappears, repeating again and again, as old as time. It flows from the rocky, barren jut of land that dares to protrude into the icy dark waters. Fog mists across the land, obscuring everything, save for the light. A low bellow, more of a moan really comes from the mists, warning of dangers; of the rocks and the shallows. It warns and guides ships, if any there are that are foolish enough to try to make port on a day like this, safely into the harbor.
Light flashes and disappears, repeating again and again, as old as time. It flows from the rocky, barren jut of land that dares to protrude into the icy dark waters. Fog mists across the land, obscuring everything, save for the light. A low bellow, more of a moan really comes from the mists, warning of dangers; of the rocks and the shallows. It warns and guides ships, if any there are that are foolish enough to try to make port on a day like this, safely into the harbor.
My Own Prison
The sound of the water dripping from the crack in the mortar at the top corner might have been enough to drive a man mad, if he had not been already mad enough to lie in the middle of the flagstones and count the other flagstones on the remaining five surfaces and assign them names. The one with the pebbles shoved into the corner to make its edges line up ought to have some sort of masculine name, for its surface was rough. Some of the other flagstones were made of a darker rock, curiously smooth, either by age or by nature. The mortar between each rectangular piece of hell was surprisingly white up in the ceiling, but darkened as it approached the floor, approached the misery huddled in the middle of it all. The door was made of iron, rusted dark with time and water, and creaked when opened, clanked like a cannon when slammed. The flab in the bottom of the door was just large enough to fit a soup ladle through, though the flat tin dish of tepid soup was long untouched. A window - high, slanting, barely enough to let in sunlight - broke the uniform precision of the flagstones and bricks, and the air that seeped down was salty, from the sea. The constant drip of water was enough to drive a man mad, but after dark, the pattering of tiny feet and the swish of worm-like tails was enough to drive a man to terror.
Summer Fun
Voices echo off of the damp red sandstone. Some in German, some in Italian, and others that are unidentifiable. The almost inaudible click of cameras are a steady background hum. The scrape of sneakers on the rough stone is a counterpoint. Fingers seek holds in the rock, muscles working in unison to pull yourself up the precarious cliff-face. Hands scrabble for purchase as climbers scuttle up the rock face and underneath the ridge that is Double Arch. Rain sheets out of the sky, mottling and then staining the exposed rock. The rough shelves remain dry, water cascading past. You could reach out and touch it. Peering over the edge, it is a wonder that you were able to get up here in the first place. From the bottom it seems impossibly high, and from the top, even more so. The rock is scarred from nature and people. Danny loves jenny, or so it says. And now to get down again. Sliding down, you swear you are going to wear a hole in the butt of your pants. It was worth it for the perfect shot, the shot that you only could have gotten from inside Double Arch.
******
The narrow canyon holds an even narrower path, twisting and turning. Revealing and then hiding breathtaking vista's. Our goal is Pine Tree Arch. Should have brought a walking stick.
********
Getting to Delicate Arch is no picnic. Slick rock itself seems a daunting task. It is three quarters of a mile to get to slick rock, up and down paths, that teem with hikers, both coming and going. and then you are faced with slick rock. A vast expanse of exposed red rock, steep and treacherous when wet. Carin lead the way. After slick rock you are faced with another though part of the trail, over and around you follow only the Carin. At last you come around a turn, and there it is, Delicate Arch, standing as a lone sentinel for the valley below.
(We hiked many arches, but I thought I would limit myself to three. Pictures can be found on Facebook, under the Arches Trip.)
******
The narrow canyon holds an even narrower path, twisting and turning. Revealing and then hiding breathtaking vista's. Our goal is Pine Tree Arch. Should have brought a walking stick.
********
Getting to Delicate Arch is no picnic. Slick rock itself seems a daunting task. It is three quarters of a mile to get to slick rock, up and down paths, that teem with hikers, both coming and going. and then you are faced with slick rock. A vast expanse of exposed red rock, steep and treacherous when wet. Carin lead the way. After slick rock you are faced with another though part of the trail, over and around you follow only the Carin. At last you come around a turn, and there it is, Delicate Arch, standing as a lone sentinel for the valley below.
(We hiked many arches, but I thought I would limit myself to three. Pictures can be found on Facebook, under the Arches Trip.)
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Hideaway
The sound of the water from behind the waterfall was an almost deafening roar, multiplied and refracted by the rocky surface. On the other side of the watery curtain, sunlight filtered through the trees, green and gold, and set the dust-motes in the pool alight like the flecks of gold in a piece of tiger's eye. But behind the waterfall was the best place. The roof was low, but not so low as to force a stoop, and the walls were rough, rounded, with the occasional surprise stalactites and stalagmites, and the ground was equally rough, but a steady nest of blankets and scraps had rendered a space at the back fit for human living. Just beyond the grasp of the light, where the bright brown succumbed to black shadow, someone had hewn a shelf into the wall and littered it with treasures - a piece of colored glass worn smooth by water and time, a piece of rock with the fossil of a leaf imprinted, a whistle made of bone, and an old leather-bound Bible lined with a spider-web of names printed in Cyrillic. It was a safe place to hide, and peaceful. When the roar of the waterfall faded into the background, the rest was silence.
(210 words)
(210 words)
Change
"Everything changes," Joe said.
"And everything stays the same," Kevin shot back. "Enough with the sentiments. You boys read or what?"
"Ready!" they chorused.
Kevin checked his rifle one last time, then peered over the ridge of their trench. A row of tan hats across no man's land peeked over the ridge of the opposite trench.
And then there was the barbed wire too.
"Something's changing, I can feel it," Joe said, and the green gas hit.
"And everything stays the same," Kevin shot back. "Enough with the sentiments. You boys read or what?"
"Ready!" they chorused.
Kevin checked his rifle one last time, then peered over the ridge of their trench. A row of tan hats across no man's land peeked over the ridge of the opposite trench.
And then there was the barbed wire too.
"Something's changing, I can feel it," Joe said, and the green gas hit.
Making Camp
Canvas tents, colorless from exposure to the weather, form a neat grid in parallel rows marked out by stakes and ropes by the pickets who ran on ahead. A campfire ringed with muddy stones marks the center of the camp. The fire that crackles in the middle is smoky from the damp wood, and grey-uniformed boys build a pile of boughs and twigs off to one side of it. A large black pot, dangling from a make-shift tripod, hangs over the slow flames, and the scent of fern stew washes over the crowd of young men gathered at the fire. Some rest, stretched along the carpet of dead leaves and pine needles, knapsacks as pillows, hats tilted over their faces to block out the white-blinding sun and the haze of black motion that is a swarm of gnats that never seems to leave. Rifles are scattered here and there like fallen matchsticks, though they are laid with a certain deliberately insouciant air, and each is within hand’s reach of at least one man. The largest tent, closest to the fire, has its front flaps open, and inside is a morass of boxes, papers, and glass lanterns so the commanders can study the night away. The clerk’s desk - wooden, rickety, a relic from a big-time law-firm in a small town - is tucked into the corner, stained with ink and covered with quills, a pen knife incongruously tucked into the midst of the feathers. At the edge of the camp, also in a scrupulously neat row, is a series of wooden crosses, cobbled together by twine and someone’s bowie knife, hammered into place my a rifle butt, and twined with garlands of dead flowers.
(287 Words)
(287 Words)
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Possible Adventure Awaits
Quartz columns rose tall, topped by a dome that glowed in the early morning sunlight. A granite bench sat in the precise center of the dome, looking up one could see a circle that one could imagine watching the stars through. Ancient trees bordered the clearing that is filled with lush grass and spring wild flowers. The sky is an impossible blue, mirrored by a small pond next to the stately structure. A path flows from the small sanctuary along the curve of the pond and into the woods. Roses grow in profusion along the pond, butterflies playing tag in the bushes. Wind whispers through the trees, promises of adventure carried on the breeze, beckoning you to follow to what ever end it held.
A soft tread is heard and a lithe figure moves into sight. Tall and beautiful, he is fluid even in in stillness. Bright green eyes watch out of an intelligent looking face. Black hair hangs long, tied back. His clothing would allow him to fade back into the trees. Is this the promised adventure?
A soft tread is heard and a lithe figure moves into sight. Tall and beautiful, he is fluid even in in stillness. Bright green eyes watch out of an intelligent looking face. Black hair hangs long, tied back. His clothing would allow him to fade back into the trees. Is this the promised adventure?
Sector Quarters
Sector quarters in central looked like jumped-up dormitories. There was little privacy to be had for the six agents, but the commander had a bunk of her own separated by a flimsy curtain. The beds, at least, were large and comfortable, because wet-work agents had to be well-rested and at their physical peak to perform their job duties properly. The plainest of the sector quarters had seven beds, seven desks, seven drawer bureaus, and two bathrooms to keep everyone clean. Each desk - cheap faux-wood topped, wobbly legs - was equipped with a computer and a telephone. The mini-kitchen would have barely fed three college boys, and the den was cramped, but the space was habitable. Some sectors who managed to agree on something had a television or a sound-system installed as well, but it came at their own expense and they took it with them.
Sector five’s quarters were spartan spare and neat. All the beds were made to military inspection, firm enough to bounce a quarter off of. Uniforms and towels were folded at the foot of each bed, and seven pairs of shoes lined the wall just inside the door. The desks were organized with everything at right angles. The carpet - plain grey flecked with blue - was scrupulously vacuumed, and it looked as though no one lived there at all.
Except for the morass of electronics that took up the den in one corner. The latest in all gaming technology was to be had in a complicated web of wires artfully spliced and plugged and twined together. The sound system - connected to the sleek, thin, flat-screen television - was wired up all along the walls for surround sound.
And stacked against the walls was the greatest collection of fantasy RPGs ever owned.
Sector five’s quarters were spartan spare and neat. All the beds were made to military inspection, firm enough to bounce a quarter off of. Uniforms and towels were folded at the foot of each bed, and seven pairs of shoes lined the wall just inside the door. The desks were organized with everything at right angles. The carpet - plain grey flecked with blue - was scrupulously vacuumed, and it looked as though no one lived there at all.
Except for the morass of electronics that took up the den in one corner. The latest in all gaming technology was to be had in a complicated web of wires artfully spliced and plugged and twined together. The sound system - connected to the sleek, thin, flat-screen television - was wired up all along the walls for surround sound.
And stacked against the walls was the greatest collection of fantasy RPGs ever owned.
Monday, January 19, 2009
My Sometimes Personal Hell.
Steam billows out of pots. Something that looks like a cauldron sits in a corner, squat and fat; issuing forth thin streams of steam, only this one is gleaming silver instead of crusted black with age. Peering inside one can see bones of some as yet unidentified amount of chicken, along with bits of vegetables. The air itself shimmers as heat rolls off of the long flat-top. Almost every burner is occupied with pots or pans. Some reducing sauces, some holding mixtures of fluid and solid, waiting to be turned into soup. The floor is mottled concrete, white and yellow embedded in it's surface; which is all littered with a few peels here and there, a stray mushroom or a puddle of water. People walk back and forth, not exactly hurrying, but not slacking either. Calls echo through the room, warning of hot pots or the passage of a person. Delicious scents poor out of the various pots and out of the ovens. The hum of the coolers, the din of the hoods, and the swish, slam and rumble, slosh of the dishwasher are the accompaniment to this cacophony of sounds. Not to mention the splash of a person trying to prevent another flood, much like a sailor bails a leaky boat, it is a constant chore to keep the kitchen afloat, and water free. Hot fat sizzles in a pan, and hisses, flames leaping as food is added. The oven door opens and closes in an irregular pattern, usually with another bang. The clack of a wooden spoon as it hits the floor is followed by a low curse of frustration. Greetings are called out as residents pass by, gossip and news being exchanged. The swinging door bangs against the frame it sits in. A quiet hiss and click is heard as vegetables are cut, followed by the slightly sinister sound of metal on metal as a knife is sharpened. There is a sharp clatter as an empty pan is dropped. The food piles up in the back room as it is delivered throughout the day. Music plays in the background. And at the end of the night all is silence and darkness.
(354 words. Yes the kitchen really is this noisy.)
(354 words. Yes the kitchen really is this noisy.)
The Law Library
The library at the law school is a vast contradiction of Victorian grandeur and modern technological convenience. The walls and dividers, bookcases and desks, are made of a suspiciously red shade of deep, dark wood that is too red to be real rosewood or cherry wood, and the walls, desks, bookcases are just a shade different - orange, really, like orange sauce on orange chicken, and it all smacks of woodstain instead of wholesale slaughter of trees of a particular breed. The soothing tones of the wood, coupled with the warm, golden light from overhead is enough to make one pretend that one is in the vast library of a victorian manor, searching through books full of information otherwise lost to the ages. The bookshelves - affectionately called the stacks by the students - are lined up in perfect military precision, like soldiers awaiting deployment - or giant dominos just waiting to be knocked over, to cause a miniature earthquake and an explosion of dusty pages and creaking leather bindings. The desk tops, the carpets, they’re all a mottled shade of greys, blues, and whites, the desks like faux granite, the carpets as if someone had drawn a rhomboid labyrinth in white chalk on blue-grey granite and then smudged it all, leaving the lines fuzzy and indistinct. The windows overlook the parking lot, a sky that is grey with winter and city life and a a smattering of students, dashing to and fro, all bundled up to ward off the cold. Libraries are too quiet and best viewed with music playing in one’s ears for none of the world to hear, and then it’s easy to imagine the opening panning shots of a film across the grandeur of a stately library in a mansion.
And then comes the scent of studious desperation.
(299 words - and yes, I was totally in the library when I wrote this)
And then comes the scent of studious desperation.
(299 words - and yes, I was totally in the library when I wrote this)
Project #13: Places
That's right. Places! This week's assignment is to describe places, either places you've been, you are, or you've thought up as backdrops for stories you've written, are writing, or imagine one day you might write. No dialogue, maybe a character for point-of-view or something, but go ahead, pull a Charles Dickens or an Anne Rice and wax as poetical as you like (just kidding, keep it to prose) about a place. Any place. 100-300 words. Apologies for this being a day late.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Overview #12 Random phrase.
My only excuse for lack of posting is that sickness, life, and writers block all hit at once.
It was a good challenge, but I was terrible at posting. End of discussion. This next week should be better.
It was a good challenge, but I was terrible at posting. End of discussion. This next week should be better.
Overview #12 - Random Phrase
I'm not sure that this week's challenge ended up being what we wanted it to be, but it was good times nonetheless. I'd been meaning to do a dialogue-only challenge, and I suppose this sort of took its place. It was fun, remembering how much implication can be had in dialogue alone, which is, to me at least, what makes reading plays so much fun. Life hit us both at the same time, so any other readers - I suspect there are none - may have been shortchanged, but c'est la vie.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Tell Me What You Know
"Tell me what you know!"
"Captain, he can't tell you anything if you keep hitting him."
"Talk, ya lily-livered beast!"
"Maybe you should take the gag off of him first."
"Oh. Right. There - now tell me the truth, you commie pinko spy!"
"Captain, the kid's Greek. The Greeks invented democracy."
"It's just an expression, sailor. Aren't you supposed to be swabbing the decks?"
"Well, one of the lasses heard a bit of muffled screaming and thought I should come check on the, er, progress of the interrogation."
"I'm only hitting him. He can talk if he has a black eye."
"About that."
"What is it now, sailor?"
"Well, Bosun Benny - he told me to tell you he's seen this kid before, and, well, last he checked, the kid'd had his tongue cut out. Hence the muffled screaming. Or that might've been the gag. Or maybe it's not the same kid Benny saw at all. You know Benny - he was drunk the entire time we were going through the Aegean --"
"Sailor, open his mouth."
"Aye, Cap'n."
"Oh. He is missing a tongue."
"Well-spotted, sir. Shall I fetch a quill and parchment?"
"I can't read, sailor."
"Of course. Swabbing the decks it is for me, then. Cheerio!"
"Captain, he can't tell you anything if you keep hitting him."
"Talk, ya lily-livered beast!"
"Maybe you should take the gag off of him first."
"Oh. Right. There - now tell me the truth, you commie pinko spy!"
"Captain, the kid's Greek. The Greeks invented democracy."
"It's just an expression, sailor. Aren't you supposed to be swabbing the decks?"
"Well, one of the lasses heard a bit of muffled screaming and thought I should come check on the, er, progress of the interrogation."
"I'm only hitting him. He can talk if he has a black eye."
"About that."
"What is it now, sailor?"
"Well, Bosun Benny - he told me to tell you he's seen this kid before, and, well, last he checked, the kid'd had his tongue cut out. Hence the muffled screaming. Or that might've been the gag. Or maybe it's not the same kid Benny saw at all. You know Benny - he was drunk the entire time we were going through the Aegean --"
"Sailor, open his mouth."
"Aye, Cap'n."
"Oh. He is missing a tongue."
"Well-spotted, sir. Shall I fetch a quill and parchment?"
"I can't read, sailor."
"Of course. Swabbing the decks it is for me, then. Cheerio!"
Tell Me What You Know
"So, tell me what you know."
"The suspect in question did in fact have the gun. The GSR came back positive."
"Are you sure about that?"
"I also know that on the night in question the victim met with the suspect. They met at the local bar. The Mas-Spec confirmed that there was a cocktail of burbon and vodka in his system."
"And?"
"And I also know that he didn't do it."
"You know this for certain."
"Yes."
(Curse this blasted writers block... everything sounds lame to me.)
"The suspect in question did in fact have the gun. The GSR came back positive."
"Are you sure about that?"
"I also know that on the night in question the victim met with the suspect. They met at the local bar. The Mas-Spec confirmed that there was a cocktail of burbon and vodka in his system."
"And?"
"And I also know that he didn't do it."
"You know this for certain."
"Yes."
(Curse this blasted writers block... everything sounds lame to me.)
Where Angels Fear to Tread
Pass from life into beyond
out into the brightest dawn
Hear to walk amongst the dead
it is not where the angels fear to tread
(a little pathetic I know, but I am drawing a blank, dratted writers block.)
out into the brightest dawn
Hear to walk amongst the dead
it is not where the angels fear to tread
(a little pathetic I know, but I am drawing a blank, dratted writers block.)
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Where Angels Fear to Tread
"I don't think we should go over there, Raphael."
"Why not?"
"Well, it's a bit...muddy."
"Abbadon, it's a swamp. Of course it's muddy. Now come on - I want to see what all the cheering is about."
"Now look here, Raphael, Michael told us to go straight to Bethlehem, no detours."
"It's not a detour per se, it's just - a pause. To take in the sights. Come on, Abbadon, don't be such a girl - when was the last time you were on earth?"
"When I landed on my head in the middle Persia because someone was not paying attention to his shield hand and bashed me in the face while he was dueling Olivier during the War in Heaven."
"Persia was muddy then, you know."
"Only because I landed in the cradle of Civilization. In the river. And don't call me a girl - just because I happen to have more effeminate features to my androgyny doesn't mean you need to be insulting --"
"Oooh, look, there's cake!"
"Raphael - wait, no, no - don't --!"
"Hey Abbadon, was that Raphael just now?"
"Oh, hello Israfel. Yes, that was Raphael."
"Huhn. And that's Mardi Gras in the distance? In the French Quarter?"
"Yes."
"I thought you two were on your way to Bethlehem."
"We were. Someone got sidetracked by Lucifer's annual side-show."
"I thought that was the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition."
"Same difference. When - if - Raphael comes back, tell him I'll meet him at the Inn. In Bethlehem. Oh, you're not going too are you, Israfel?"
"Wise men do say, only fools rush in --"
"Shut it, Israfel. To Bethlehem I go."
(285 words)
"Why not?"
"Well, it's a bit...muddy."
"Abbadon, it's a swamp. Of course it's muddy. Now come on - I want to see what all the cheering is about."
"Now look here, Raphael, Michael told us to go straight to Bethlehem, no detours."
"It's not a detour per se, it's just - a pause. To take in the sights. Come on, Abbadon, don't be such a girl - when was the last time you were on earth?"
"When I landed on my head in the middle Persia because someone was not paying attention to his shield hand and bashed me in the face while he was dueling Olivier during the War in Heaven."
"Persia was muddy then, you know."
"Only because I landed in the cradle of Civilization. In the river. And don't call me a girl - just because I happen to have more effeminate features to my androgyny doesn't mean you need to be insulting --"
"Oooh, look, there's cake!"
"Raphael - wait, no, no - don't --!"
"Hey Abbadon, was that Raphael just now?"
"Oh, hello Israfel. Yes, that was Raphael."
"Huhn. And that's Mardi Gras in the distance? In the French Quarter?"
"Yes."
"I thought you two were on your way to Bethlehem."
"We were. Someone got sidetracked by Lucifer's annual side-show."
"I thought that was the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition."
"Same difference. When - if - Raphael comes back, tell him I'll meet him at the Inn. In Bethlehem. Oh, you're not going too are you, Israfel?"
"Wise men do say, only fools rush in --"
"Shut it, Israfel. To Bethlehem I go."
(285 words)
Don't Antagonize the Dragons
"Don't antagonize the dragons. You told him this, Helena?"
"Word for word, sir."
"I see. Then why is Sir Cyrano's leg lying at the entrance of that cave over there?"
"Probably because Sir Cyrano skipped the Dragon's Horde 101 lecture in his second year of Squire School and thought the treasure lying in the back of the cave was just waiting for a new owner, sir."
"Helena, aren't you supposed to be locked up in a tower, in distress?"
"I was, sir, but Sir Cyrano did make it all the way through the Rescue a Fair Maiden course in his final year of Squire School."
"Of course he did. Well, why don't you have the Wicked Witch escort you back to the top of the tower, and you just wait until the next knight-in-training comes along, and I'll tell Sir Cyrano's parents that they've lost their sixth son."
"Sixth?"
"I have hopes for their seventh. Seventh son of a seventh son and all."
"Word for word, sir."
"I see. Then why is Sir Cyrano's leg lying at the entrance of that cave over there?"
"Probably because Sir Cyrano skipped the Dragon's Horde 101 lecture in his second year of Squire School and thought the treasure lying in the back of the cave was just waiting for a new owner, sir."
"Helena, aren't you supposed to be locked up in a tower, in distress?"
"I was, sir, but Sir Cyrano did make it all the way through the Rescue a Fair Maiden course in his final year of Squire School."
"Of course he did. Well, why don't you have the Wicked Witch escort you back to the top of the tower, and you just wait until the next knight-in-training comes along, and I'll tell Sir Cyrano's parents that they've lost their sixth son."
"Sixth?"
"I have hopes for their seventh. Seventh son of a seventh son and all."
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
For Sunday post - Don't Antagonize the Dragons
Don't antagonize the Dragons
"I told you not to do that."
"Yeah but you didn't tell me what would happen." The voice was whining
"Well what did you expect? That nothing would happen?" Sarcasm layered thickly in this voice. "Use your head. Fire burns, yes? And you are mostly made of stuff that will burn, yes? So it stands to reason that your hair would burn right?"
"I suppose so."
"I can't believe you went and poked the dragon. Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'don't antagonize the dragons?' Though I must say, you certainly look ridiculous."
"Oh shut up."
"I told you not to do that."
"Yeah but you didn't tell me what would happen." The voice was whining
"Well what did you expect? That nothing would happen?" Sarcasm layered thickly in this voice. "Use your head. Fire burns, yes? And you are mostly made of stuff that will burn, yes? So it stands to reason that your hair would burn right?"
"I suppose so."
"I can't believe you went and poked the dragon. Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'don't antagonize the dragons?' Though I must say, you certainly look ridiculous."
"Oh shut up."
Monday, January 12, 2009
Project Assignment #12 - Random Phrase
Okay, this week instead of a random word it will be a random phrase. It can be anything, and like last time we will switch off choosing the phrase. Lets set the word limit at 400. It can be fandom or original, poetry or prose. The sky is the limit.
Sorry for not having the challenge up yesterday, but I am still sick and a little slow.
Sorry for not having the challenge up yesterday, but I am still sick and a little slow.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Overview #11 - Sense Sketch
So this was an exercise in self-defeat. My original intention was that this be an exercise in description, i.e. practicing describing the world with the absence of a single sense, to practice describing other sensory imagery, but I ended up going for characterization instead. I wondered how people missing certain senses conducted themselves, and mostly it was deception, pretending to have a sense one did not have as the absence of certain senses can often go unnoticed. I attempted to pull a Madness and ran a connecting scene with two different missing senses. In retrospect, I wanted to try someone who was missing a sense of smell, but my math was flawed. Still, it was interesting to write, and a little characterization exercise never hurt anyone.
Wouldn't If She Could
She doesn’t really like hip-hop music, but she concedes that it has a steady beat and is probably simple enough to dance to. She hates that her parents still treat her like a child even though she already has her driver’s license and can see herself around town. She supposes that it makes her elder brother feel better, that he can be her big, strong, brave chaperone to fend off all those boys who won’t talk to her because they can’t talk to her.
She knows why her parents are so afraid to let her go out alone, but she isn’t afraid like they are. So what if she can’t scream for help? She wouldn’t scream if she could - she’d fight.
So she steals a cup of punch and slips away from her brother’s side while he’s distracted by one of the cheerleaders he likes so much, and she heads for the other side of the dance floor. She spots a boy, a quiet boy who sits behind her in math, and she opens her mouth to shape her lips around a soundless greeting. How anyone can talk to each other over this cacophony is a mystery anyway.
But he cups a hand over his ear like he can’t hear her, and she knows. He’s deaf. It means he speaks the same way she does, with flicks of the wrist and graceful hands. So she sets down her cup of punch and says hello the proper way. He’s funny and charming - he likes poetry and math and wants to be a writer when he grows up. She wonders if he’d like to dance with her, because the music is certainly loud enough for him to feel the backbeat, but then her brother calls her name, and she turns.
He scolds her for running off, and her reply is a series of quick, cutting gestures. She was fine on her own. Plus, he was scoring with the cheerleader. That makes him blush, and when he finally backs off, she discovers that the handsome boy she was talking too has vanished.
(350 words)
She knows why her parents are so afraid to let her go out alone, but she isn’t afraid like they are. So what if she can’t scream for help? She wouldn’t scream if she could - she’d fight.
So she steals a cup of punch and slips away from her brother’s side while he’s distracted by one of the cheerleaders he likes so much, and she heads for the other side of the dance floor. She spots a boy, a quiet boy who sits behind her in math, and she opens her mouth to shape her lips around a soundless greeting. How anyone can talk to each other over this cacophony is a mystery anyway.
But he cups a hand over his ear like he can’t hear her, and she knows. He’s deaf. It means he speaks the same way she does, with flicks of the wrist and graceful hands. So she sets down her cup of punch and says hello the proper way. He’s funny and charming - he likes poetry and math and wants to be a writer when he grows up. She wonders if he’d like to dance with her, because the music is certainly loud enough for him to feel the backbeat, but then her brother calls her name, and she turns.
He scolds her for running off, and her reply is a series of quick, cutting gestures. She was fine on her own. Plus, he was scoring with the cheerleader. That makes him blush, and when he finally backs off, she discovers that the handsome boy she was talking too has vanished.
(350 words)
Feel the Beat
He can feel the beat, the way it throbs through his limbs and hints that maybe he’d like to move, to sway in time with the others, because even though he has no clue what sort of music is playing, he has a genuine sense of time and can count.
Just because he cannot hear the electric guitars or piano or rappers’ voices doesn’t mean he can’t dance. He simply chooses not to.
So it’s a pleasant surprise when a girl slides up to him, holding a cup of punch and smiles at him.
He smiles back. She opens her mouth to speak, and maybe he ought to be able to hear her voice, or maybe no one else would hear her either. He cups a hand around one ear in a universal gesture and shrugs apologetically.
She takes it in totally the wrong way, but it lights up his night. He can only watch, confused, as she sets down her cup of punch. And then she raises her hands and begins to draw words in the air, and he cannot stop his smile.
Her name is Sylvia, and she’s a history major. She lives nearby, and she came to the dance with from friends. She’s been signing all her life, and she loves old noir films.
He’s almost worked up the nerve to ask her to dance when she suddenly turns her head. He’s confused, because he doesn’t know what she saw - and then he realizes she can hear. She turns and continues to sign, but the person who approaches - a boy, taller, more handsome than he could ever hope to be - isn’t signing.
She can hear.
He wonders why he feels suddenly and painfully betrayed, and while she’s distracted he ducks into the crowd.
(296 words)
Just because he cannot hear the electric guitars or piano or rappers’ voices doesn’t mean he can’t dance. He simply chooses not to.
So it’s a pleasant surprise when a girl slides up to him, holding a cup of punch and smiles at him.
He smiles back. She opens her mouth to speak, and maybe he ought to be able to hear her voice, or maybe no one else would hear her either. He cups a hand around one ear in a universal gesture and shrugs apologetically.
She takes it in totally the wrong way, but it lights up his night. He can only watch, confused, as she sets down her cup of punch. And then she raises her hands and begins to draw words in the air, and he cannot stop his smile.
Her name is Sylvia, and she’s a history major. She lives nearby, and she came to the dance with from friends. She’s been signing all her life, and she loves old noir films.
He’s almost worked up the nerve to ask her to dance when she suddenly turns her head. He’s confused, because he doesn’t know what she saw - and then he realizes she can hear. She turns and continues to sign, but the person who approaches - a boy, taller, more handsome than he could ever hope to be - isn’t signing.
She can hear.
He wonders why he feels suddenly and painfully betrayed, and while she’s distracted he ducks into the crowd.
(296 words)
He Can
There are sounds in the world that some people never hear, and textures that they never feel because their minds are overridden by one overwhelming sense. Some people say he’s lacking that sense, but he likes to think he’s overcome it, because no one can tell he operates without it. They just talk about slick Shane, with his ever-present shades, his charming fedora, and his dapper cane, and never think twice about the fact that he always hears things they can’t hear and never really faces anyone he talks to.
After classes get out - Shane records lectures and transcribes them on his braille typewriter when he gets home as one form of studying - he heads to the office to get some work done. He can hear the lilt in voices as the secretaries turn to him and tell him hello. He can tell when their cheer is genuine or forced by the grit of teeth behind their words, and he always tips his fedora politely.
Once in the elevator, he listens to the gears whirr and waits for the giant metal death-trap to take him where The Powers That Be choose for the day. Sometimes it’s upstairs for briefings and strategy discussions. Today it’s downstairs for training, training, and more training.
He can tell whether or not a gun is empty by the weight of it in his hand, and he can tell the caliber of the bullets by the way they roll in his palm, but the curve of the barrel between his fingers. He can tell where a man is standing by the sound of his breathing and he imagines, in the aftermath of rapid gunfire, that he can hear a man’s heart before it stops.
(290 words)
After classes get out - Shane records lectures and transcribes them on his braille typewriter when he gets home as one form of studying - he heads to the office to get some work done. He can hear the lilt in voices as the secretaries turn to him and tell him hello. He can tell when their cheer is genuine or forced by the grit of teeth behind their words, and he always tips his fedora politely.
Once in the elevator, he listens to the gears whirr and waits for the giant metal death-trap to take him where The Powers That Be choose for the day. Sometimes it’s upstairs for briefings and strategy discussions. Today it’s downstairs for training, training, and more training.
He can tell whether or not a gun is empty by the weight of it in his hand, and he can tell the caliber of the bullets by the way they roll in his palm, but the curve of the barrel between his fingers. He can tell where a man is standing by the sound of his breathing and he imagines, in the aftermath of rapid gunfire, that he can hear a man’s heart before it stops.
(290 words)
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