Sept. 28th's writing sprint.

Well, Saturday's writing didn't flow through to Sunday's, but I'll get back to it... eventually.

Here's what I came up with for today:

The moment she got home, I knew I was in trouble.  

I knew just by the sound of her footsteps, the sound of the key in the door, the sound of the hinges creaking and the door opening.

Hell, I knew I was in trouble the moment I met her.

“You home honey?”

“I’m in here, babe,” I replied “watching TV”.

She was as beautiful today, right now, after an 8 mile run, as she was 2 years ago, when I first saw her.

And there she stood, sweaty, hair all out of place, goofy looking track pants that just didn’t do her figure justice, and I knew she was about to ask me a doozy of a question.

“Honey?”

She looks so cute, I know and she knows, I won’t be able to tell her turn her down, no matter what she asks.

“Ya, babe?”

I could feel it coming down, I didn’t know what it was, but it was going to be a biggie.

My heart began to pound, my hands began to sweat.

She plunked down beside me and cosied up to me.

Did she think it was time to get married? To buy a house? To have a baby?

I could feel my heart leap up to my throat, I could barely breath.

“Don’t ya think it’s time we... took the next step?”

This was it. 

I wasn’t ready for any of this.

What was I getting myself into.

My head began to pound. I could see that she was talking, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying, the pounding was so loud.

“Wh...what do you mean?”

Then she smiled at me, and the pounding stopped. She smile could cure the sick, and sooth my worries.

She giggles a bit, then said “A puppy silly, don’t you think we could get a puppy?”

I smiled back at my beautiful girlfriend.

“Of course we can babe, anything for you.”

Read, comment and hopefully enjoy.  ;)

Cheers

September 27th, 2014

Today's was a tough one. I've been writing, but couldn't seem to pull it together until late into the evening.
On that note, I'll get back at it tomorrow.
Here's a teaser of what I've got going:

The tiny woman lead us through the hall, then down a set of stairs. The basement floor consisted of large stones that didn't quite meet. Water trickled in the large gaps between them. One could easily turn an ankle if not careful, but it was a cool reprieve from the sticky, hot mess of the day.

The woman kept looking back, beckoning us forward.

We did the best we could, but carrying our payload on the uneven rocks was no easy task.

“In here, in here.” she motioned to a curtain. “Private room.”

We followed in to a curtained-off area, hardly a room, and gently set our cargo on the table.

I still don't know where it's going, or how it's going to end.

Comment if you like, but this one is still a work in progress.

September 26th, 2014

I happen to be wearing pink today. It wasn't until well into my adulthood that I embraced the colour. Now, my wardrobe has more than a few pink options. I notices, however, as I passed by my reflection in a window, that ya can’t look tough in pink.

That prompted the idea behind today’s writing blurb:

                        PINK!

INTERIOR - LAUNDRY ROOM -MORNING 

Jake, a fourteen year old boy fanatically digs through the laundry basket.  

                        JAKE 

             Mom!! 

Jake's mom appears at the opening to the laundry room. Well dressed in a stylish business suit, dish towel in one hand, still dripping skillet in the other.  

                        MOM

             Hurry up honey, we're running late. 

Jake begins to toss the items of clothing haphazardly on the floor. 

                        JAKE

             But they’re all PINK! 

A smirk appears on Jake's mom's face. 

                        MOM 

             You didn't sort them, did you? 

                        JAKE 

             I did! I totally did... 

Jake pulls out one red sock from the bottom of the basket. 

                        JAKE (CONT’D) 

             NOOO!! 

                        MOM 

             Looks like you missed one. 

Dejected, Jake slumps down into a heap on the floor along side the pink-tinted laundry. 

                        MOM (CONT’D) 

             Time's a tickin' mister, 

             we gotta get going. 

Jake looks up at his mother with a tear in his eye. 

He pulls out and displays a once-white T-shirt with an elaborately gory skull screen-printed on the front. A variety of pretty pink streaks and splotches now accompany the skull. 

                        JAKE 

             I can’t go to school wearing this. 

Drying the skillet, Jake's mom cocks an eyebrow. 

                        MOM 

             Tell everyone it's the blood and guts. 

She chuckles and leaves the room 

                        MOM (O.S.) (CONT’D) 

             Just pick something Jake, we'll 

             sort it out tonight. 

Jake sorts through the pile one last time, but settles on the skull shirt. Begrudgingly, he slips it over his hear. Disheartened, he looks down at his pink splotches. 

                        JAKE 

                (muttering to himself) 

             No Way I can look tough wearing PINK! 

                                                                                                                        FADE OUT.

And there you have it. Hope you enjoyed reading.

Feel free to comment.

Sept. 25, 2014

Another day, another writing sprint...
Day #4...

Three.

Two.

One.

RIIIINNNGGGGG

And we're off – I can't believe it. It's complete madness.

I’m not the only one who thinks so, either.

Steve's right beside me and Frank's trailing a little behind, but he'll catch up, maybe.

I have no real idea why we keep doing this. I know, I know. We do it because it's expected and encouraged. But the damned rabbit we're all chasing isn't even real, it’s just some over-stuffed status symbol.

A metaphor for a better life perhaps, greener pastures.

If we ever reach it, then what? We win?

And who doesn't want to win?

But what did we really win? I’ll tell ya what – nothing, except maybe heartache and bad knees.

Oh look, Steve's out. It looks like he twisted his leg. He won’t be winning, not today.

And that's the catch, we run like hell because we're told we have to. We push ourselves, sometimes way past the point we should and hurt ourselves beyond repair.

Old Joey used to run with us. He pushed and pushed for years, so hard that he drove himself mad, started getting really unpredictable, aggressive, and began snapping at everyone. He was eventually taken away in a white van, never to be heard from again.

Frank's pulling a head of me now, but we aren't done yet; anything could happen.

This rabbit we chase, this proverbial carrot they dangle in front of our face, is always just out of reach. Even if we ever do catch it, and let's face it, the odds are against us, but if we do, there's always another rabbit, another carrot, another race that we are expected to run.

One thing I do like though, at the end of the day, it does me good, makes the stress of the race all melt away when I hear...

Good Boy.

Comment if you like.
Tell me what it all means, if you can.  ;)

September 24th, 2014

Day #3 Writing Challenge...

I didn't need a prompt or exercise. I was inspired  by real life.

Here's what I came up with today:

The blaring sound of a horn breaks through my concentration, slicing my ideas to bits.

As though waking from a dream, I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button. “Canteen’s here” I announced.

My quiet haven of calm creativity is about to be invaded.

The door to the back shop slides open with a crash. What seems like hordes of men spill into the silence of my front office oasis. The hoard is in fact only four guys, but the noise suggested a much larger number.

Their jostling and joking pierce deep in to my skull. I think I feel a headache coming on.

A momentary reprieve as the tumble of lads dissolve through the front door, out into the parking lot to retrieve snacks and drinks and other moderately tasty treats from the mobile canteen affectionately known as ‘the gut-truck’.

Quickly, I gather any remaining threads of my rapidly dispersing thoughts and try to save them before…

The phone rings. I answer. A faceless, nameless customer asks for information, but is unsure what he’s looking for or even if he has dialed the right number.

Line two begins to ring.

The troops make their way back in through the front door with their chocolate and chips and their coffee and cola. Not a single one of them seem to recognize the sound of a ringing phone.

I quickly take a message from the confused customer on line one and reach line number two before the fourth ring.

On the other end is a supplier trying to sell the newest, shiniest and best version yet of his company’s overpriced thing-a-ma-bob. Thanks, but no thanks.

The cacophony of men passes by, the phones go silent, The door to the back shop slides shut.

My oasis of creativity can resume.

Please note that the people mentioned are only based on people I may (or may not) know, and my use of the term "coffee" is a loose interpretation to the caffeinated beverage available at 'the gut truck.'

Please feel free to comment or commiserate as you see fit.

Writing Exercise - September 23, 2014

Day #2's exercise:  Random Fact

There are approximately 4740 species of frogs around the entire world.

Writing Sprint:

Ribbit.

I’m told there are over 4500 species of frogs in the world, and ya gotta figure there’s about a million of each species. Well, thousands at least. That’s a lot of frogs.

I’m also told that a princess has to kiss a lot of frogs before she finds her prince.

Well, I’m just one frog, and I’m looking for my princess. But the numbers are against me. I’m way out here in the middle of some swamp and all I ever see are other frogs, a few newts and other amphibians. Oh sure, there are fishes and snakes and a whole bunch of bugs, but the bugs are my food and I try to avoid the snakes as best I can, and the fish, well, they aren't much for chitchat.

There was this neighbour frog who was a real looker. Her hind legs were strong and went on forever, but she thought a lot of herself. Was never as careful as she should have been. Ended up in some snake’s den, and was never seen again.

Anyway, I've been looking for a good woman, someone to share a lily pad with, ya know?

I suspect I’ll have to leave my swampy home and venture into the great beyond to find my true love. I’ll miss the old place, but what’s a frog to do. 4740 times a few thousand...

I had better get started.

Ribbit.

If you're so inclined, feel free to comment, or even try the exercise yourself with some random fact.

Please try to be constructive with your comments. Encouragement, not ridicule.

Cheers.

Writing Exerciser - September 22, 2014

As an in-class writing exercise, we were asked to write down 3 words on to a piece of paper, then hand it to the person next to us.
The words were to be as follows:
                              A verb ending in "ing"  
                              A body part
                              An object.

We were then asked to put the words, donated by our neighbour, into a very specific sentence:
After a long day of   (__verb__), he/she discovered that his/her  (__body part__) had grown a (__object__).

The next instruction was simply to write. To take that very bizarre and crazy sentence and use it as the beginning of whatever we wanted to write.

Here's mine:

After a long day of dancing, she discovered that her ear had grown a lamp. Well, not a lamp exactly, but a lamp-shaped growth. It didn't light up, well, not at first. You see, she was dancing for hours on end at the year end Rave by the power plant, and what she and the other guests didn't know, was that there had been a meltdown only hours earlier.
Many of the dancers developed odd shaped growths, but hers was particularly unique. Other growths were  relatively normal, mole-like growths; some with hair, others with mottled skin, but hers, hers was different... it was lamp shaped.
Later on, hours later, sometime near midnight, she discovered that it did, indeed, light up. But only when she had a particularly smashing idea. 
Oddly enough, sometime, when the idea was exceptionally smashing, there could also be heard a distinctive little "ding".


The idea behind the exercise was to get everyone writing, and it work. Everyone in the class wrote crazy funny stuff. It served to free our minds and work our creative writing muscles. It's not meant to produce any great works of literary art, and it's not meant to be perfect, just a way to get in the mood, the zone, the habit of writing.

To that end, we have been challenged to write every day. To keep track, I intend to post my daily writing blurb here, on this very blog. I'll try to see what other writing prompts I can find, and post them here if I use them.

If you're so inclined, feel free to comment, or try the exercises yourself.

Please, only positive and constructive comments. The idea is to be encouraged to write, not ridiculed for creativity.