Sunday March 18th, 2012

The exercise:

Let us see what we can do with: controls.

Morning drywalling, afternoon chopping wood, evening comatose.

Oh, hey. Heads up: I've got a theme week planned for this week. As before, you'll have the choice to either take each day's prompt on its own or to concoct a story that spans the seven days.

But to be honest, I think what I've got planned has some fun possibilities for those who wish to take on the week long challenge.

Mine:

Haley studied the instrument panel, silently comparing the readings with their ideal ranges. Everything was showing what she expected it to, including the one dial that was glowing red to indicated being out of the mandated range: Current Elevation.

Glancing out of her side window, Haley felt like she could brush her fingertips along the tree tops. Every few minutes she heard the hull of the airship being tickled by the tallest pines.

It was nerve wracking, stroke inducing stuff, but they didn't dare fly any higher. Radar and federal scouts were scouring the clouds and discovery by either could end only one way.

So Haley took her shift at the controls and tried to remember to breathe, and while Luis and Wade were in the pilot's seat she tried not to think.

Saturday March 17th, 2012

The exercise:

A four line poem about: simple.

I spent most of the day helping Kat's parents hang drywall on their basement ceiling. Arms, neck, and shoulders are not happy with me right now.

Just wait until I tell them we're going back for more tomorrow!

Mine:

The salesman promised it was simple,

The ad proclaimed ease.

Four days later it's still in pieces...

Someone help me please!

Friday March 16th, 2012

The exercise:

Four lines of prose about: after life.

Kat and I attended an information session for vegetable farmers this morning, put on by the main local supply store. It was a bit overly focused on chemical solutions to pests and weeds for our tastes, but there was still some useful stuff.

Plus it was good to meet and hang out with other farmers in the area.

Mine:

For the vast majority of humans, after life comes death. What happens after death, I understand, is a matter of some debate.

I'm one of the lucky ones, I suppose, since after my life on Earth came... more life. Good luck for me and very, very bad luck for those who stuck me six feet deep and expected me to stay put.

Thursday March 15th, 2012

The exercise:

Beware the ides of March, for they bring tidings of: fast.

Okay, maybe it's not such a scary time after all.

All definitions of the word welcome, of course. My take was inspired by my experience yesterday morning - I had to go in for a blood test that required me to fast for it. Those ones are firmly entrenched at the bottom of my list of blood tests.

I may or may not actually have said list of blood tests, ranked from Misery to Just Shoot Me.

Okay, I don't. But I should.

Mine:

"And how long have you been fasting?"

"Since ten o'clock last night," I reply over the rumbling complaints coming from my belly.

"Twelve hours, right on the dot," the lab tech says with a smile. "Very impressive."

"I know the instructions say twelve to fourteen hours, but I can't imagine you get many people who are at the far end of that range."

"Just the keeners," she says, tapping away at her keyboard.

"Yeah, well, my stomach starts eating itself at thirteen, so I've got a pretty narrow window to work with."

Wednesday March 14th, 2012

The exercise:

Today we write about: karma.

At my writing group last Wednesday someone brought up Bruce Cockburn's Call Me Rose, which begins 'My name was Richard Nixon, only now I'm a girl. You wouldn't know it but I used to be the king of the world'.

She suggested that it would be an interesting prompt to start off with "My name was", insert the name of your choice (either famous or not or fictional), and go from there. So feel free to go that route, or take another spin altogether.

Mine:

My name was Brad Pitt but they don't call me that anymore. I used to break hearts on an hourly basis - even in my sleep. I couldn't walk down the street of any town in America without being mobbed by paparazzi and autograph hounds.

It was all rather tiring. I just wanted to be left alone. Now I am of average height and looks, my hair has more bad days than good, and acne considers my face prime real estate. Girls don't look twice at me, boys don't need to decide if they'd be better off with me as a friend or foe.

In fact, nobody seems to care about me one way or the other.

It's all quite lonely and depressing, really.

Tuesday March 13th, 2012

The exercise:

Two haiku about: the meadow.

It was hailing when I woke up this morning. Didn't last long, and the sun was out for most of the remainder of the day, but... come on. I don't need that right after I get out of bed.

Mine:

I know where you've been.

Your windblown hair carries the

scent of wildflowers.

*     *     *

Winter has passed on,

life returns to the meadow;

wild horses rejoice.

Monday March 12th, 2012

The exercise:

It's been less than a month since last time, but I felt inspired to bring around the first line prompt again.

So take the opening line I provide and then go with it where you will, be it poetry or prose. Ready? Here we go:

There's a ghost wind blowing...

Mine:

There's a ghost wind blowin',

Givin' voices to the trees;

I can hear them talkin',

Yeah they're talkin' to me.

George is in the cherry,

Old Rosie's in the pine,

Wishin' they got married

When they still had the time.

The willow is cryin',

Must be my Grandma Sue -

Spent her whole life lyin'

To save a face or two.

The ash is dear Andrew,

Callin' out for a smoke,

And sweet gentle Matthew,

Well surely he's the oak.

The ghost wind keeps blowin',

Givin' voices to these trees;

Please don't you stop talkin',

Yeah keep talkin' to me.