The exercise:
Let us write about: the widow maker.
When I was out chopping wood this afternoon, Kat's mother came out to bring some back to the house. She jokingly (I think) referred to one of the logs as 'the widow maker', since it's rather precariously balanced. And her husband is not the most careful man I've ever met. For the record, I don't think this log could kill you, but it would certainly mess you up.
Anyway, it stuck in my head, so now we all get to write about it.
Writing is going well. Will update later.
Update: here's day four. Best word count so far, brought to you by the power of dialogue. And Arctic Monkeys.
Update: here's day four. Best word count so far, brought to you by the power of dialogue. And Arctic Monkeys.
Mine:
The dagger he called The Widow Maker was his favorite. He only saved it for assignments in which his target was a married man, more often than not an unfaithful one. He did not often get paid to eliminate citizens with impeccable reputations, after all.
The weapon was a beautiful, custom made affair. Perfectly balanced, never dulled, a handle that made it feel like an extension of his arm. A true work of art. It was no wonder it was his weapon of choice.
11 comments:
Not sure about the party, but it will be nice to be able to relax a little this weekend! Although I envy you your NanoWriMoness, I think I was right not to sign up this time round. Sad, too.
I liked both today's writing and yesterday's; I think the fact that you're having to spend more time writing every day is starting to show :)
The widowmaker
Charles Ascugimento, Head of Building Security, glared at his deputy LeFevre. LeFevre was a short man with broad shoulders and a narrow waist and tiny feet; the overall impression someone meeting him for the first time got was that he was an inverted triangle with a head.
"What," said Charles with deliberation, "is this?" He pointed at a charity collection box sitting on his desk.
"A charity collection box," said LeFevre smoothly. His brow would have been sweating if it weren't for a Botox overdose two weeks earlier, and he was suddenly grateful he could move so few muscles in his face.
"I can see that," said Charles. "But the label attached to it, identifying it. What is the meaning of that?"
LeFevre attempted to smile and failed, deadened muscles ignoring his brain's demands. "It is, in fact, an identification tag. One attached by a practical joker I should imagine."
"Oh you should, should you?" Charles stared at him intently, wondering if perhaps LeFevre was telling the truth. Not a muscle twitched in his face, he seemed almost supernaturally serene.
"Very well," he said turning away. "Get rid of the box, but keep any funds in it."
LeFevre nodded and collected the box from the table. It was a collection box, labelled Soon-to-be-widows-and-orphans fund, and contained money that Charles's staff collected for their dependents. It would not be a good idea for Charles to find out that he was nicknamed the Widowmaker.
Its nice to write about random stuff, its easier than sitting and trying to think of ideas at a desk.
The Widowmaker
The doors opened ponderously to admit sunlight and fresh air to mingle
with the smells of oil and dust of an unused garage.
The two boys peeked in, looking for something specific, and as their eyes
adjusted to the relative darkness of the room, it slowly took form
among the clutter of parts, workbenches and tools.
The large round headlight, the two wheels shod in rubber,
the large two cylinder engine nestled in between them,
and the letters YAMAHA on the yellow tank and RD 350 on the side covers.
The Widowmaker.
A bit tricky today but here's mine:
A raging fire that showed no mercy stopped at nothing in its way. The flames danced and multiplied disproportionately as the wind fed their fury. It was a manifestation of an arsonist’s vision: to devour land by the hectares. Many days passed before the fire was smothered. Now the area would never be the same again. Fire fighters saw it as a monster in the making. But Gladys, standing in the spot where her house had been, thought of it as a widow maker.
all - you guys did great! :)
Widow maker - still sound fresh to me. :)
The world of fantasy left you frantically thinking about that undiscovered space when you’re in your dreams.
“It’s filled with white clouds and nearly quite empty right?” the kid said this to her widow mother with wide open eyes that is full of curiosity.
“Yes my dear, dream whatever you want and share with us. There’s always an interesting idea that came up in our mind before you solidify it and make it come true.” the mother replied with a smile as she bring him closer and hugged him.
marc: ah, they're having a lover's quarrel and they don't even know it, the princess and jerry. i am so looking forward to today's chapter. i want to tip my hat to you but since i'm not wearing a hat today, methinks i should wait until the end of the month. well done. keep it up!
excellent stories, everyone.
widow maker:
She eyes the man wearing a black baseball cap sitting at the end of the bar through the smoke of her cigarette. He has barely touched his drink, a beer that he has requested be served in a glass. Quite peculiar, she thinks. She smiles but he doesn't see her, his eyes fixed at the large TV monitor on the wall.
When finally she finishes her cigarette, she fishes out another stick from her purse. She waits for the men near her to come up and offer to light her cigarette, but she notices that none of the men are smoking, despite the bar being a smoking bar. She opens her purse again and starts to look for her matchbook. Not there.
She hears the click of a lighter and suddenly there's light in front of her. She lights her cigarette and as she blows smoke, her eyes follow the trail of lighter then hand then arm then...it's him. She smiles. She looks at his lighter again, a Widowmaker Zippo, with what she thought was an orchid etched on its face, but she looks again and it's a woman's flower. She looks at him with a raised eyebrow, but the corners of her mouth reveal her amusement.
"I bought it from e-bay," he says, winks at her and walks back to his seat at the end of the bar.
lol; like the surprise ending.
Widowmaker
Double headed axe
Bites through trees with ease
Beware the backswing
It's been a long day, but here's my offering.
Loving the novel, Marc!
Marc- I have so much I would like to say to you, but am a bit shy about using this space to gush. Only a bit though. 1. I wouldn't mind living in MA. Canada will still be my back up thought. 2. I love when I read books and miss the most obvious only to have it smack me upside the head. Your novel has done this once already. 3. I found this to be a difficult prompt today. Very challenging and equally as appreciated.
Greg- I love your characters. They always cause a guilty smile to creep up. Today was no exception.
Gada- Fun read. I hope to see more. Tomorrow is my favorite day on this blog. Be sure to come back and check it out!
Watermark- Wonderful description. A friend of mine lives in CA and frequently talks about the forest fires. Like his retellings, yours sounds firsthand.
Zhongming- I'm still here (in reference to your comment from yesterday), just a day behind as of late. If you miss me, you can always visit my blog. I cross post my entries there. And I am quite sure Marc would welcome you to go back through past prompts as well.
Your writing today was very sweet. I love how you always build off of deep emotions.
Summerfield- I loved the change of pace from death to life. Well done!
Morgana- I loved it. Simple, but really quite funny!
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I am guessing that the length of my comments is why my post cannot be accepted. The two combined are more than 4,096 characters apparently.
Language Is A Virus
Witwenhersteller, AKA Widowmaker
That is what some Germans called the F 104 Starfighter, also called a manned rocket. A single engine, single seater short winged jet fighter flown by the U.S., Canada and Germany that glided like a rock, thus landed at over 100 MPH. The German airforce had only English technical manuals and since many technicians were on compulsory service, experience was lacking and with the language barrier, they tended to have more accidents.
It could fly at over one hundred thousand feet altitude, had a three stage afterburner (A/B) that needed a wide exhaust opening, but when not in in A/B nozzles would close to reduce the opening so it could still fly. When the nozzles failed in open position, the aircraft could only fly in full A/B, which would used up its fuel in less then 15 minutes and had to fly above the speed of sound thus making kind of hard to land. Two Canadian pilots were close enough to the runway, timed it just right to cut the throttle and landed at a low enough speed to be safe. Otherwise the pilot had to bail out/eject.
Everyone's writing is very good and imaginative, I really enjoy reading it.
Greg - it's funny, isn't it, the difference between writing every day and writing a *lot* every day?
The deputy is a fun addition to that world you've created :)
Gada - I'm glad you think so, and thanks for dropping by to share some writing with us!
Great bit of atmospheric writing today - I look forward to reading more from you.
Watermark - such a poignant final line, nicely done.
Zhongming - that's a very sweet scene :)
Summerfield - I'm thrilled you're enjoying it so much :)
Fantastic descriptions and I love how you worked the prompt in there.
Allycat - thank you, and thanks for stopping by :)
Morganna - 'beware the backswing' is the perfect final line for that :)
And thank you, I'm so glad!
Heather - I'm deeply happy to be living in this country, even with out current idiot of a Prime Minister. I just try not to watch the news much :P
And I'm glad I managed to sneak one by you! I've been struggling a bit with how to deal with some things, so it's nice to see it's working okay so far.
And I shall be over on your blog (very likely to gush myself) momentarily!
Pop - ah, you posted that while I was busy replying to everyone else!
That's fascinating - and more than a little terrifying. Thanks for sharing it :)
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