694 words in 13:30 (51 wpm)
I tried to take this one in a different direction than my previous attempts. I was getting a little wary of the pattern I developed in my writing. I don't think this one flows as well as some others I have done, but it did successfully break that pattern, I think.
If there was ever a time to pray, this was it. I opened my closet and put together the best costume I could out of the pieces I had assembled since I got into wearing costuming. I had an old hat I found at a garage sale. I had a jacket I bought at Good Will. I had the shirt from the suit I wore at my wedding, and the pants from my first interview. I had a vest that I don’t remember where it came from, and jewelry I collected from lots of different places, too many to name. It had all come together into the pirate outfit I am wearing as I now look at myself in the mirror.
“She just has to notice me,” I thought to myself as I admired my handiwork. An improvised eye patch completed my look, but I couldn’t drive with it down, so I flip it up and pull on my boots. Thank God I spent the money on the boots. They were so worth it.
I got into my car and drove to the party as quickly as I could without getting a ticket. There were lots of cars here, so a pretty good turnout for the party. I parked on the street and stepped out of my car. Nobody was outside, but I could hear noise coming from the back yard of the house where the party was.
I walked up to the door and nervously rang the door bell. After about ten seconds, a man opened the door. To my surprise, he was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers. My mind raced to make sense of his costume, but struggled to even give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Hey!” he said. “Come on in.” He stepped back and revealed the rest of the room to me. She was sitting at a small folding table playing a card game with three other people. None of them was wearing a costume! I looked to the other side of the room and saw another three people in a small cluster, standing around with wine glasses in hand talking. Again, no costumes! She looked up from her card game and made eye contact with me. I felt time stop briefly, but the spell was broken when she put her hand to her mouth and tried in vain to stifle a giggle at my appearance.
My heart was in my throat and my mind raced, trying to remember the invitation. I could have sworn it was a costume party. Why else would I have taken the time to put this ensemble together? Oh my god – I’m the laughingstock!
I stepped hesitantly into the room, my eyes still on her. Taking a risk to defray my embarrassment, I said, “Isn’t this a costume party?” The whole room burst into laughter right away. She stood up and walked towards me.
“Yes,” she said. “Just look at the back yard!” She giggled, which I found to be irresistible. I took some effort to break my gaze from her and focus on the back yard. Everyone there was in costume. “We’re just the welcoming committee!” She laughed out loud now.
“Very clever,” I thought to myself. They kept a bunch of non-costume-wearing folks in the front room to make everyone who shows up think they got the invitation wrong!
I didn’t notice when the door closed, but the doorbell rang again. She took me by the hand and led me quickly out of the room so they could get ready for the next guest’s arrival. I found myself in the main bathroom with her, with the door closed. I couldn’t believe my luck! She put her finger to her lips to shush me. I mimicked her move with my hand, then took the bold step of taking her shushing hand in mine. Our eyes locked together and I leaned in. She leaned into my kiss, too. Fireworks went off in my brain as our lips met! She pulled me closer to her and our kiss lingered.
When the kiss finally broke, she looked up at me. “My name is Amanda.”
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Repetition
Looking over the three writing prompts here, it looks almost like the same story three times. They each follow about the same pattern. At least, that's how I see them, anyway. I hope this doesn't happen to me during November (though I'm sure it will).
Yes, self-doubt is already creeping in, and the month hasn't even started yet! Whatever shall I do? Press on, I suppose.
Yes, self-doubt is already creeping in, and the month hasn't even started yet! Whatever shall I do? Press on, I suppose.
Oct 30 writing prompt - "What is this?"
8 minutes, 264 words, 33 wpm - and I thought I was slow yesterday! I have to say, though, in my defense, I didn't like this prompt much. When I first read it, I spent the first full 60-90 seconds just wondering what the heck I was going to write. Then I didn't like where it was going, so it ended up being short, both in time and in word count. Here we go...
She surveyed the familiar objects on the table next to the bed and sighed. It has been over a year and there really hasn’t been much progress. Working with the child has been the biggest challenge of her life. It was something she was unprepared to do, yet she took up the role because it was her duty.
She picked up a wooden block from the table. She knew every line on its surface. There is a small chip just above the bright red “A” on one face, a deep scar just below the apple on another. “Just one more,” she thought to herself, before raising the object to eye level.
“What is this?” she asked the child. A look of recognition flashed across his face, quickly followed by a look of utter frustration. Then came resignation, as his shoulders sagged. He looked at her pathetically. Then his gaze fell back to the table, defeated.
“That’s okay,” she insisted. “We’ll try again tomorrow.” With that, she placed the block back on the table, stood up and gathered her purse and coat. She walked out of the room, pausing at the doorway to look back for a moment, as she has done every day for the past year. Her husband lay in the bed, staring at her, wishing she wouldn’t leave, but couldn’t say the words. The accident scrambled his brain and took away his words, and his intellect – the two things that made him who he was in his former life.
A tear quietly fell from her eye as she remembered the good times.
She surveyed the familiar objects on the table next to the bed and sighed. It has been over a year and there really hasn’t been much progress. Working with the child has been the biggest challenge of her life. It was something she was unprepared to do, yet she took up the role because it was her duty.
She picked up a wooden block from the table. She knew every line on its surface. There is a small chip just above the bright red “A” on one face, a deep scar just below the apple on another. “Just one more,” she thought to herself, before raising the object to eye level.
“What is this?” she asked the child. A look of recognition flashed across his face, quickly followed by a look of utter frustration. Then came resignation, as his shoulders sagged. He looked at her pathetically. Then his gaze fell back to the table, defeated.
“That’s okay,” she insisted. “We’ll try again tomorrow.” With that, she placed the block back on the table, stood up and gathered her purse and coat. She walked out of the room, pausing at the doorway to look back for a moment, as she has done every day for the past year. Her husband lay in the bed, staring at her, wishing she wouldn’t leave, but couldn’t say the words. The accident scrambled his brain and took away his words, and his intellect – the two things that made him who he was in his former life.
A tear quietly fell from her eye as she remembered the good times.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Oct 29 writing prompt - "The sun shone through the winter air..."
819 words, 16 minutes, 51 wpm - I definitely felt slow today!
The sun shone through the winter air and glistened off the freshly-fallen snow. A child walked slowly but steadily through it, his coat closed tightly around him to keep in what warmth he had. Behind him, a long line of boot prints tracked him back to where he got off the school bus, which let him off at the corner after school.
As he walked, he thought about the chores that would greet him when he got home. Strangely, he looked forward to them since it meant he would be where it is warm, even if it meant he had to take out the garbage. He didn’t have any homework today, and could enjoy the cup of hot chocolate he knew would be ready for him when he arrived.
When he got near the house, he stopped, stunned that the front door to the house was open. Snow had blown and drifted at the front door all the way inside to the tiled floor, presently just a little too dark to see. No footprints lead in or out of the house that he could see.
He approached the door cautiously, wondering what may have happened to his mother, who stays at home during the day. Everything was quiet, and the house was dark – no lights were on. He stepped over the drift and into his home, straining to hear even the slightest sound. As his foot made contact with the tile beyond the door, it squeaked loudly, and he cringed at the noise. If something bad happened here, he didn’t want it to find him!
Rounding the corner and walking into the living room, he noticed as he peered further towards the dining room that the dishes from this morning’s breakfast were still on the table. “That never happens,” he thought. He wanted to cry. He wanted to run away. But most of all, he wanted to find his mother. There was nobody here, though.
He walked down the short hallway and looked into the bathroom. Nothing here, either. He continued down the hall and around the corner, where his mom’s room was. The door was closed, but as he found, not locked. He turned the handle slowly, still listening intently. The door squeaked open as he pushed it forward, and revealed a shocking sight beyond. His mother was lying on the floor next to the bed!
He ran to her side, calling, “Mamma!” She did not respond. He noticed that her lips were starting to turn blue, possibly from the freezing cold that pervaded the house. But then she moved! Her chest rose slightly as she drew in a breath!
Elated, the child did what he was taught, and called 9-1-1 on the phone in the bedroom. He answered the dispatcher’s questions as best he could, and they sent an ambulance to the house to pick his mother up. As the police and paramedics arrived, they told him what a good job he had done in calling and answering the questions the way he did. They took him down to the hospital where his mother was taken, and an officer waited there for his grandmother to arrive. When she did, the adults began to talk about what happened.
The policeman said, “We don’t know exactly what happened here, ma’am, but we suspect she had some kind of allergic reaction. That’s all we know now.”
“But why would the door have been open all day?” asked his grandmother.
“We suspect it wasn’t quite closed all the way and the wind blew it open some time this morning. It was pretty gusty.”
“I see,” said his grandmother skeptically. “I suppose that would have been when Billy went to school. But no, my daughter usually walks with him down to the bus stop. I still don’t see it.” Her voice trailed off as she tried to envision a scenario where her daughter would have left the front door open. She struggled to find it.
Once the commotion had died down, Larry climbed his way down from the attic where he had been hiding. He heard the boy come home and watched through the hole by the light fixture as the boy discovered his mother, whom he had poisoned. He loved to hear the fear and pain in the boy’s voice as he talked to his mother, and then to the dispatcher. He enjoyed seeing the paramedics work on her, knowing that they may think she is going to make it, and reassure the boy all the way to the hospital, and wished he could be there when they eventually had to tell him that his mother had died, and they didn’t know why. Things were going well - his latest concoction was working very effectively.
He walked to the front door and out, over the many tracks made by police and paramedics, leaving evidence behind, but none that anyone would find. Yet.
The sun shone through the winter air and glistened off the freshly-fallen snow. A child walked slowly but steadily through it, his coat closed tightly around him to keep in what warmth he had. Behind him, a long line of boot prints tracked him back to where he got off the school bus, which let him off at the corner after school.
As he walked, he thought about the chores that would greet him when he got home. Strangely, he looked forward to them since it meant he would be where it is warm, even if it meant he had to take out the garbage. He didn’t have any homework today, and could enjoy the cup of hot chocolate he knew would be ready for him when he arrived.
When he got near the house, he stopped, stunned that the front door to the house was open. Snow had blown and drifted at the front door all the way inside to the tiled floor, presently just a little too dark to see. No footprints lead in or out of the house that he could see.
He approached the door cautiously, wondering what may have happened to his mother, who stays at home during the day. Everything was quiet, and the house was dark – no lights were on. He stepped over the drift and into his home, straining to hear even the slightest sound. As his foot made contact with the tile beyond the door, it squeaked loudly, and he cringed at the noise. If something bad happened here, he didn’t want it to find him!
Rounding the corner and walking into the living room, he noticed as he peered further towards the dining room that the dishes from this morning’s breakfast were still on the table. “That never happens,” he thought. He wanted to cry. He wanted to run away. But most of all, he wanted to find his mother. There was nobody here, though.
He walked down the short hallway and looked into the bathroom. Nothing here, either. He continued down the hall and around the corner, where his mom’s room was. The door was closed, but as he found, not locked. He turned the handle slowly, still listening intently. The door squeaked open as he pushed it forward, and revealed a shocking sight beyond. His mother was lying on the floor next to the bed!
He ran to her side, calling, “Mamma!” She did not respond. He noticed that her lips were starting to turn blue, possibly from the freezing cold that pervaded the house. But then she moved! Her chest rose slightly as she drew in a breath!
Elated, the child did what he was taught, and called 9-1-1 on the phone in the bedroom. He answered the dispatcher’s questions as best he could, and they sent an ambulance to the house to pick his mother up. As the police and paramedics arrived, they told him what a good job he had done in calling and answering the questions the way he did. They took him down to the hospital where his mother was taken, and an officer waited there for his grandmother to arrive. When she did, the adults began to talk about what happened.
The policeman said, “We don’t know exactly what happened here, ma’am, but we suspect she had some kind of allergic reaction. That’s all we know now.”
“But why would the door have been open all day?” asked his grandmother.
“We suspect it wasn’t quite closed all the way and the wind blew it open some time this morning. It was pretty gusty.”
“I see,” said his grandmother skeptically. “I suppose that would have been when Billy went to school. But no, my daughter usually walks with him down to the bus stop. I still don’t see it.” Her voice trailed off as she tried to envision a scenario where her daughter would have left the front door open. She struggled to find it.
Once the commotion had died down, Larry climbed his way down from the attic where he had been hiding. He heard the boy come home and watched through the hole by the light fixture as the boy discovered his mother, whom he had poisoned. He loved to hear the fear and pain in the boy’s voice as he talked to his mother, and then to the dispatcher. He enjoyed seeing the paramedics work on her, knowing that they may think she is going to make it, and reassure the boy all the way to the hospital, and wished he could be there when they eventually had to tell him that his mother had died, and they didn’t know why. Things were going well - his latest concoction was working very effectively.
He walked to the front door and out, over the many tracks made by police and paramedics, leaving evidence behind, but none that anyone would find. Yet.
Oct 27 writing prompt - "Give it back"
8 minutes 20 seconds, 458 words (55 wpm) - Note that this is the first time doing one of these and I had no idea where it was going to go once it started. In other words, a good exercise! (Man, I'm rusty.)
“Give it back,” he said, in a calm, even tone. He hadn’t moved towards me yet, but I knew he was going to in moments if I didn’t react, and react the way he wanted me to. I hesitated but a moment and felt the rush of adrenaline overcome me, wash over my head as I turned and ran away from him. It was futile. I knew he could catch me easily, but I didn’t care. I had to do something different this time.
I could hear his footfalls following me as I rounded the corner by the street. The blare of a car horn filled my ears as the Volkswagen Passat narrowly missed me. I heard a sickening thump behind me, accompanied by the screeching of the Passat’s tires, and I knew without looking what had happened. He had almost caught up to me. I thought for an instant that I could feel his hand reaching out for my jacket. A moment later, he was flying through the air, his legs splayed at a crazy angle.
I spun around, trying to get my bearings. I didn’t see him until after he had hit the ground. My vision blurred. I looked back and forth, my eyes uncertain what to focus on. To my right was the driver. To my left, he was lying broken on the pavement, unmoving. After a moment, a faint gasp came from his lips. Then blood sprayed on the pavement as he coughed weakly. The driver had run up to him to see if he was alright. His passenger was yelling at me for running across the street the way I did, but I didn’t hear her.
I walked over to where he was lying, past the driver, and knelt at his head. “It’s mine now. It’s mine for good. It always was,” I said quietly to him. I turned and walked away, leaving him lying in the street. I ignored the pleas of the driver and passenger, and was only faintly aware of the arrival of a police car, flashing lights still visible in the sunlight. I walked behind the old café where he and I used to hang out, back when we considered ourselves best friends and had to stop for a moment to reflect on just how badly things had gotten in the last few years. Was I really able to walk away from him, knowing that he could die on the street, over the matter of this little thing? It was just a thumb drive, the contents of which neither of us had fully understood. But it seemed to hold events of the future, and as we discovered more and more, it was dreadfully accurate. And now it is mine.
“Give it back,” he said, in a calm, even tone. He hadn’t moved towards me yet, but I knew he was going to in moments if I didn’t react, and react the way he wanted me to. I hesitated but a moment and felt the rush of adrenaline overcome me, wash over my head as I turned and ran away from him. It was futile. I knew he could catch me easily, but I didn’t care. I had to do something different this time.
I could hear his footfalls following me as I rounded the corner by the street. The blare of a car horn filled my ears as the Volkswagen Passat narrowly missed me. I heard a sickening thump behind me, accompanied by the screeching of the Passat’s tires, and I knew without looking what had happened. He had almost caught up to me. I thought for an instant that I could feel his hand reaching out for my jacket. A moment later, he was flying through the air, his legs splayed at a crazy angle.
I spun around, trying to get my bearings. I didn’t see him until after he had hit the ground. My vision blurred. I looked back and forth, my eyes uncertain what to focus on. To my right was the driver. To my left, he was lying broken on the pavement, unmoving. After a moment, a faint gasp came from his lips. Then blood sprayed on the pavement as he coughed weakly. The driver had run up to him to see if he was alright. His passenger was yelling at me for running across the street the way I did, but I didn’t hear her.
I walked over to where he was lying, past the driver, and knelt at his head. “It’s mine now. It’s mine for good. It always was,” I said quietly to him. I turned and walked away, leaving him lying in the street. I ignored the pleas of the driver and passenger, and was only faintly aware of the arrival of a police car, flashing lights still visible in the sunlight. I walked behind the old café where he and I used to hang out, back when we considered ourselves best friends and had to stop for a moment to reflect on just how badly things had gotten in the last few years. Was I really able to walk away from him, knowing that he could die on the street, over the matter of this little thing? It was just a thumb drive, the contents of which neither of us had fully understood. But it seemed to hold events of the future, and as we discovered more and more, it was dreadfully accurate. And now it is mine.
Writing prompts
Writing prompts are short sentences or phrases to prompt you to write something - anything - about it. Work it into your story and see where it goes from there. I've only done a couple of these before NaNo started.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)