(I did my writing bright and early this morning! The first sentence was the prompt and I gave myself 20 minutes.)
- - - -
The old man walked along the long slow curve of the highway, whistling to himself. Thunder rumbling in the distance warned of a coming storm. Somewhere in the miles ahead, he'd have to find some shelter, but for now he was content to make his way slowly on, his worldly possessions safely tucked away in the worn, old army green rucksack he had slung over his shoulder. He half-heartedly stuck out his thumb as cars zoomed past.
"Nobody stops for hitchhikers anymore," he thought to himself. "It's a sad state of affairs when everyone is too darn concerned with their own busy lives to worry about an old man walkin' along the road by his lonesome." He shook his head sadly and continued on his way.
His faith in humanity was restored, at least temporarily, when a light blue Mazda with Nevada plates pulled over to the shoulder just ahead of him. He jogged up to the passenger side door and peered inside. A skinny kid, dressed entirely in black, peered over his sunglasses and grinned.
"Hey, man. You need a lift?" The old man smiled back gratefully.
"Like peanut butter needs jelly!" he said. "Mind if I throw my rucksack in back there? I swear it gets heavier with each mile." He tossed his rucksack behind him and settled into his seat. "So. Where we headed, son?"
The kid laughed. "I thought maybe you would know. I've kinda run out of people who will answer my calls, y'know? I was drivin' along wondering what I would do, where I would go, when I saw you with your thumb out. I thought that I'd see where you needed to go and head there myself."
"Well, now. I guess between the two of us, we can make a plan of some kind," the old man replied. "I've always wanted to try my luck at deep sea fishing. Whaddaya say we head toward the Gulf and see if we can find us a fishin' boat that will take us in for a spell?"
- - - -
This story turned out much friendlier than I was expecting. When I first saw that old guy walking along, I was sure that he was going to get picked up by a serial killer. Or end up being a serial killer himself. You can see that in the "at least temporarily" bit I threw in. Thought I was giving a little foreshadowing, but it turns out they're both just normal guys who are down on their luck. Who woulda guessed? Also - dialogue is fun! :)
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Going Home - Quick Write 9/29/10
(I didn't do my quick write until after work today, and I can feel the difference in my focus and creativity. Gonna have to make sure I do my writing in the morning from now on.)
- - - -
I hadn't seen Jackie in twenty years, yet there she sat.
"Girl, you are a sight for sore eyes!" she said as she engulfed me in a bear hug. "Where have you been keeping yourself? What are you up to? Sit down here and let me take a good look at you!" Setting her knitting aside, Jackie thumped the cushion next to her.
She looked just like I remembered. Her curly, black hair drifted loosely around her plump face as she gazed up at me. Her fingers sparkled with several gaudy gemstone-filled rings - probably all paste unless she had made some dramatic changes to her income lately - and any number of chains in varying sizes and styles encircled her comfortable neck. Her housedress was a grass green field scattered with tiny pink roses. I could picture her standing on the front stoop, calling me in for supper, in this very same pattern, although it seemed that the field had increased some in acreage over the years. Her feet, clad in matching green slippers, were tucked demurely under the edge of the loveseat. She was such a perfect match for my fondest memories that I wanted to climb into her lap and rummage through the pockets of her housedress for hard candies as I had when I was 5 years old.
"Well, what are you waiting for, dear?" she asked. "Come over here and tell ol' Jackie what's what in your life." After everything that had happened, I was finally home. I realized I was finally back where it was safe to let down my hair, open my heart, and reveal my sorrows. I didn't need another invitation.
"Oh, Jackie!" I wailed, throwing myself into the empty seat next to her. "I just don't know what I'm going to do!"
- - - -
I thought this was a great beginning sentence, but it took me most of my 20 minutes to figure out who Jackie was talking to. That's why so much of this writing is focused on Jackie's appearance. That was my way of stalling until the other character decided to reveal herself. I have no idea what the dramatics are about... kinda curious about that, actually.
- - - -
I hadn't seen Jackie in twenty years, yet there she sat.
"Girl, you are a sight for sore eyes!" she said as she engulfed me in a bear hug. "Where have you been keeping yourself? What are you up to? Sit down here and let me take a good look at you!" Setting her knitting aside, Jackie thumped the cushion next to her.
She looked just like I remembered. Her curly, black hair drifted loosely around her plump face as she gazed up at me. Her fingers sparkled with several gaudy gemstone-filled rings - probably all paste unless she had made some dramatic changes to her income lately - and any number of chains in varying sizes and styles encircled her comfortable neck. Her housedress was a grass green field scattered with tiny pink roses. I could picture her standing on the front stoop, calling me in for supper, in this very same pattern, although it seemed that the field had increased some in acreage over the years. Her feet, clad in matching green slippers, were tucked demurely under the edge of the loveseat. She was such a perfect match for my fondest memories that I wanted to climb into her lap and rummage through the pockets of her housedress for hard candies as I had when I was 5 years old.
"Well, what are you waiting for, dear?" she asked. "Come over here and tell ol' Jackie what's what in your life." After everything that had happened, I was finally home. I realized I was finally back where it was safe to let down my hair, open my heart, and reveal my sorrows. I didn't need another invitation.
"Oh, Jackie!" I wailed, throwing myself into the empty seat next to her. "I just don't know what I'm going to do!"
- - - -
I thought this was a great beginning sentence, but it took me most of my 20 minutes to figure out who Jackie was talking to. That's why so much of this writing is focused on Jackie's appearance. That was my way of stalling until the other character decided to reveal herself. I have no idea what the dramatics are about... kinda curious about that, actually.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Tabby Goes Out - Quick Write 9/28/10
(The first sentence was provided as a writing prompt. The rest was written in about 25 minutes with about 5 minutes of editing/rewriting following. Again, my goal is quantity, not quality at this point.)
- - - -
Carl was his name, and sailing was his game. At least, that's what he told anyone who asked. In reality, he worked in the little booth at the end of the pier where tourists could book whale watching tours and rent those ridiculous yellow paddle-boats by the half hour. Tabby's friends either didn't realize this, or they figured that she was more likely to go out with him if they didn't tell her. She was betting on the latter. They were always telling her that she was too picky, although she preferred to think of herself as discerning.
He showed up at the door flourishing a handful of slightly wilted daisies. Daisies were Tabby's favorite flower (apparently her friends had no qualms about sharing her secrets with him), so this would have worked in his favor, except that she recognized them as being hastily pulled from the flowerbed of her neighbor 3 doors down. Mrs. Granger was going to be ticked! Tabby, not wanting to start the date out on a sour note, thanked him, put the flowers in a vase, and made a mental note to send Mrs. Granger an apology. She grabbed a light jacket and followed him down the step.
Things only got worse from there. Carl's vehicle was less a "car" and more a "pile of rust trained to take car shape". Tabby could feel the evening air swirling up through the holes in the floorboards. She tried desperately to stop her brain from picturing all the ways this car could kill them on the short ride to the theater: failing brakes, poisonous fumes, just plain falling to pieces as they scooted along at top speed (which, thankfully, was about 45 mph). As Carl awkwardly tried to parallel park in a spot that wasn't quite big enough, Tabby realized she had been holding onto the door handle so tightly her hand hurt. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She took a couple of calming breaths as he walked around to her side.
She waited for him to wrestle her door open, and they walked toward the theater. Her heart sank when she saw the movies listed on the marquee. There were 2 children's cartoons, a horror flick, and a documentary about the indigenous peoples of South America. Which of these gems was this guy going to pick for their very first (blind!) date? She quickly scanned the board, looking for the shortest movie. That way if he asked her opinion, she'd have a reason for picking one.
Carl didn't ask her opinion, though. He sauntered up to the little window and purchased two tickets for the documentary. At least there was the chance she'd learn about some South American dart poisons. Then she'd have a way of dealing with her friends at work tomorrow. Tabby found a couple of only slightly crooked seats together (near the emergency exit) and settled in. She was trying to ignore the way her new pumps were sticking to the floor when Carl returned from the concession stand. "It was much cheaper to buy one extra large soda and popcorn rather than getting 2 mediums of each," he said. "I didn't think you'd mind." He grinned at her and held out a glistening tub of popcorn as big as her head.
Tabby sighed. It was going to be a long night.
- - - -
I was totally freaked out by this beginning sentence because I don't know the first thing about sailing. Suddenly, I realized that Carl was just as ignorant about sailing (and apparently women) as I am. I kind of thought this was going to turn into a romantic comedy, but something tells me that these two aren't going to have a second date. :)
- - - -
Carl was his name, and sailing was his game. At least, that's what he told anyone who asked. In reality, he worked in the little booth at the end of the pier where tourists could book whale watching tours and rent those ridiculous yellow paddle-boats by the half hour. Tabby's friends either didn't realize this, or they figured that she was more likely to go out with him if they didn't tell her. She was betting on the latter. They were always telling her that she was too picky, although she preferred to think of herself as discerning.
He showed up at the door flourishing a handful of slightly wilted daisies. Daisies were Tabby's favorite flower (apparently her friends had no qualms about sharing her secrets with him), so this would have worked in his favor, except that she recognized them as being hastily pulled from the flowerbed of her neighbor 3 doors down. Mrs. Granger was going to be ticked! Tabby, not wanting to start the date out on a sour note, thanked him, put the flowers in a vase, and made a mental note to send Mrs. Granger an apology. She grabbed a light jacket and followed him down the step.
Things only got worse from there. Carl's vehicle was less a "car" and more a "pile of rust trained to take car shape". Tabby could feel the evening air swirling up through the holes in the floorboards. She tried desperately to stop her brain from picturing all the ways this car could kill them on the short ride to the theater: failing brakes, poisonous fumes, just plain falling to pieces as they scooted along at top speed (which, thankfully, was about 45 mph). As Carl awkwardly tried to parallel park in a spot that wasn't quite big enough, Tabby realized she had been holding onto the door handle so tightly her hand hurt. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She took a couple of calming breaths as he walked around to her side.
She waited for him to wrestle her door open, and they walked toward the theater. Her heart sank when she saw the movies listed on the marquee. There were 2 children's cartoons, a horror flick, and a documentary about the indigenous peoples of South America. Which of these gems was this guy going to pick for their very first (blind!) date? She quickly scanned the board, looking for the shortest movie. That way if he asked her opinion, she'd have a reason for picking one.
Carl didn't ask her opinion, though. He sauntered up to the little window and purchased two tickets for the documentary. At least there was the chance she'd learn about some South American dart poisons. Then she'd have a way of dealing with her friends at work tomorrow. Tabby found a couple of only slightly crooked seats together (near the emergency exit) and settled in. She was trying to ignore the way her new pumps were sticking to the floor when Carl returned from the concession stand. "It was much cheaper to buy one extra large soda and popcorn rather than getting 2 mediums of each," he said. "I didn't think you'd mind." He grinned at her and held out a glistening tub of popcorn as big as her head.
Tabby sighed. It was going to be a long night.
- - - -
I was totally freaked out by this beginning sentence because I don't know the first thing about sailing. Suddenly, I realized that Carl was just as ignorant about sailing (and apparently women) as I am. I kind of thought this was going to turn into a romantic comedy, but something tells me that these two aren't going to have a second date. :)
Monday, September 27, 2010
Bob's Brain - Quick Write 9/27/10
(This is what came of a 20 minute quick write. The highlighted portion was my starting prompt. I did minimal editing afterward, as I am mostly working on increasing productivity at this point.)
- - - -
The neurologist pointed him into his office. Bob slouched past him and threw himself into the same overstuffed chair as always. Every Tuesday was the same. He plopped his steel-toed boots up on the coffee table on top of the same old scuff marks and tilted his head back. The same water stain, rust colored and shaped like a horse's head, gazed calmly down at him. Just like always, he fought the urge to grab the uniformly sharpened pencils out of the doctor's pencil jar and fling them, one by one, at the little white spot that marked the horse's eye. He closed his own eyes and took a deep breath.
"So, they tell me you're having a hard time this week, Bob," Dr. Pritchard said. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
Bob opened his eyes just enough to peek at the doctor. The view was hazy, and his eyelashes looked as thick as tree trunks. He imagined the doctor lost in a darkening, fog-covered forest. He pictured a cloud of insects hovering over a shallow puddle. Moisture collected on the leaves overhead before dripping onto the forest floor. A gentle breeze swirled the fog, and a single bird call pierced the silence. The snap of a branch underfoot was the only indicator of the wild things that crept closer and closer...
"Well?" the doctor's voice snapped Bob back to the cluttered office and the overstuffed chair. "You know, you're going to have to talk to me eventually, Bob."
- - - -
As always, your comments and constructive criticisms are encouraged. I always work harder when I have an audience. :) Personally, I think I may have gone a little overboard in trying to show the repetition Bob was feeling. I am happy with the imagery of the forest, though.
- - - -
The neurologist pointed him into his office. Bob slouched past him and threw himself into the same overstuffed chair as always. Every Tuesday was the same. He plopped his steel-toed boots up on the coffee table on top of the same old scuff marks and tilted his head back. The same water stain, rust colored and shaped like a horse's head, gazed calmly down at him. Just like always, he fought the urge to grab the uniformly sharpened pencils out of the doctor's pencil jar and fling them, one by one, at the little white spot that marked the horse's eye. He closed his own eyes and took a deep breath.
"So, they tell me you're having a hard time this week, Bob," Dr. Pritchard said. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
Bob opened his eyes just enough to peek at the doctor. The view was hazy, and his eyelashes looked as thick as tree trunks. He imagined the doctor lost in a darkening, fog-covered forest. He pictured a cloud of insects hovering over a shallow puddle. Moisture collected on the leaves overhead before dripping onto the forest floor. A gentle breeze swirled the fog, and a single bird call pierced the silence. The snap of a branch underfoot was the only indicator of the wild things that crept closer and closer...
"Well?" the doctor's voice snapped Bob back to the cluttered office and the overstuffed chair. "You know, you're going to have to talk to me eventually, Bob."
- - - -
As always, your comments and constructive criticisms are encouraged. I always work harder when I have an audience. :) Personally, I think I may have gone a little overboard in trying to show the repetition Bob was feeling. I am happy with the imagery of the forest, though.
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