Friday August 31st, 2012

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the enhancement.

Last day of August already, huh? Ain't that something.

To the market tomorrow with: peaches, nectarines, corn, berries (black and rasp), tomatoes, zucchini, green beans, onions, garlic, cucumbers, pears, plums, and (deep breath) our first selection of Gala apples.

Toss in some sunshine and the fact that it's the last long weekend of the summer and it should make for a good one.


The house had been sealed shut for over a week, with Mr. Prince locked inside while he made various enhancements to his family's living space. When his wife and daughter were finally allowed inside to view the results there were many gasps of surprise and admiration.

His daughter was especially fond of the pony that had been trained to carry her up the stairs each night to bed.

She was less thrilled, however, when she discovered her closet had been turned into a stable - one she was expected to muck out.

Thursday August 30th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: identity.

The latest brigade of helpers/visitors have arrived. Should I feel bad that I listed helpers ahead of visitors?



"Sorry about all this," the police officer said with a slight shrug. "We're a busy station and every now and again a wire gets crossed here and there."

"Don't worry about it," I replied. "I'm just glad things got sorted out."

"Sure, us too. Just have a seat and we'll get your belongings out of evidence. Shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes."

I nodded my thanks but didn't sit beat. After a prolonged stay in an interview room with two cranky detectives, I just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

Besides, if they figured out who I really was my stay would become unpleasantly permanent.

Wednesday August 29th, 2012

The exercise:

Write a little about: intentions.

Yesterday I mailed off my first 8x10 photograph prints. One set was headed to my sister in Calgary, another to Vancouver, and the last is on its way across the pond to London.

Here's hoping they all manage to arrive undamaged.


"Oh my goodness, Daniels threw that punch with bad intentions!"

"It kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does! Can you imagine if he'd landed that shot? Wilkins very likely would have had his head knocked clean off his shoulders!"

"That's not quite what I meant."

"Oh, of course. Right, you obviously were thinking about the terrifying prospect of having to climb into that ring and face Daniels yourself! That is indeed worthy of a pants change my friend!"

"No, you're still not getting it."

"All right, I give. What were you talking about?"

"Well, I was just wondering whether or not, in the long, storied history of professional boxing, a man has ever thrown a punch with good intentions."

Tuesday August 28th, 2012

The exercise:

Write two haiku about: the last night on Earth.

Don't bother asking, as I have no idea where that came from.

Kat and I took today completely off, which was very badly needed by both of us. I can't actually remember the last time a day passed that I didn't do any farm work at all.

Tonight we went through the massive pile of baby stuff Kat brought back from Vancouver. A friend with a son, who is now almost four years old, donated and sold at a deep discount a whole load of clothing, blankets, and things whose purposes are currently unknown to us.

Also: a couple of carriers and a stroller. Kind of fun to push that around, even without a baby in it.

Soon, though. Soon.


So much unfinished,
much more not started; no thoughts
to accomplishments

*     *     *

Farewell to you all,
I hope to see you again.
Outer space awaits.

Monday August 27th, 2012

The exercise:

Let's get the week started with: the replacement.

It's been a very long day and I am quite ready for bed.

So that's where I'm headed.


Kelly's right hand was halfway to the phone on his desk when the girl from the temp agency finally showed up in his doorway. He adjusted its course so that it instead arrived on a report he had been ignoring for the last week, which he then shifted to the opposite side of his desk.

"You're late." A quick look at the time would have informed him that leaving late unmodified was a generous decision. Appropriate choices included: very, extremely, and monstrously.

"Sorry sir, the first three buses were completely full so I had to wait at the stop for -"

"And now, instead of getting right to work, you're choosing to waste even more time by offering up an utterly worthless tale." Kelly removed his glasses and inspected them for a moment, looking for smudges. "How about we don't bother with that, hmm?"

"Yes, of course. Sorry sir."

"That's twice now you've called me sir. The woman you're replacing for the rest of the day would rather eat a large box of staples than call me that." Kelly returned his glasses to their perch upon his Roman nose and offered a thin smile. "There might be some hope for you after all."

Sunday August 26th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about something that is: locked.

Our latest house guests headed out this morning, leaving Kat and I on our own for five whole days before the next set arrive.

Hard to believe we're nearly into September already, isn't it?


I'd only been in the hotel room for about five minutes before my curiosity had kicked into overdrive. It was not a large space, really just big enough for the single bed at its center, the TV with its wobbly stand against the wall, and the cramped bathroom stuffed into a corner.

But it was large enough to have two extra doors within its confines.

Neither of which could be unlocked with the key the nicotine infused desk clerk had handed over after I had paid for my night's stay. No, that was strictly for the door that stood between me and the dark, stuffy hallway outside.

The doors did not connect to other suites; the architecture was all wrong for that. Nor did they lead to a fire escape or anything that could be seen from the exterior of the building.

I had checked that very thoroughly already. I was somewhat surprised that nobody had called the cops on me, actually.

Asking the clerk was an option, but not a very good one in my mind. If there was something secretive or sinister about either extra door he certainly wasn't about to let me in on it. No, I was going to have to figure it out for myself.

Thankfully, the timing was going to work out perfectly. Checkout wasn't until 10 am the next morning, which was conveniently one hour after the hardware store across the street would be open for business.

And their flyer for that week was proudly announcing a very good sale on crowbars.

Saturday August 25th, 2012

The exercise:

Write a four line poem about: completion.

My friends Alex and Megan are visiting for a few days, this being their last stop on their drive from Toronto before arriving in Vancouver. I went to high school with Alex and we stayed with them overnight on our way to and from Jamaica last year.

They're moving to Vancouver after Alex spent the last five years or so in Toronto, dragging the Ontario girl out west with him. Sounds like they've had quite the journey so far, but it's almost complete.

That's not what inspired the prompt today though.

No, that was all about the return of Kat this afternoon, and the feeling of my family being complete once more.


We have come so far,
We're very nearly there;
Just a few more miles,
And... oh crap, a bear!

Friday August 24th, 2012

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the movers.

I am both tired and sleepy. Also, I need to get up early tomorrow.

So, good night.


The moving truck appeared in our cul-de-sac one morning, with no warning that any of us could remember. No For Sale sign, no open houses, no real estate agents or appraisers.

The two movers worked tirelessly all day, lugging the innards of the house across the lawn before depositing them in the back of the truck.

My wife and I were quite impressed with their work ethic... right up until the police arrived to arrest them for breaking and entering and robbery.

Thursday August 23rd, 2012

The exercise:

Write what you will about: the shelter.

Had some much appreciated help with the weeding in the garden this morning. Always amazes me how much more work gets done with an extra set of hands out there.

This evening had my best man and his girlfriend over for a BBQ on the deck. Many laughs and general good times were had.


Against these walls,
The wind will blow.
Will they prevail?
We do not know.
But there's nowhere
Else for us, so
Here we shelter,
And here...

Wednesday August 22nd, 2012

The exercise:

Your theme for today's writing: breathless.

Can't even explain how much fun it is to hang out with the guy I chose as my best man for my wedding day. Honestly couldn't breathe at several points this evening, I was laughing so hard.

I don't know if anything will actually come of it, but we appear to be in the planning stages of writing a children's story together. Possibly the most bizarre children's story ever.

And also, in my humble and unbiased opinion, the most hilarious.

I'll let you know if we get our act together and actually make a serious (so not the right word) go of it.


Air slips free but does not return. All is calm initially, there is no reason to worry. Just a temporary inconvenience that will be over soon.

Seconds pass and still there is no new air. Concern blossoms in dark, secret rooms within. A slight tightening of the chest, a darting about of the eyes. Knowledge that something is amiss.

Panic awakens and speeds through veins, forcing limbs to flail and grasp. What was light is now dragged toward the dark. Thoughts grow sporadic, confused.

Still there is an emptiness where the breath of life should be. Fighting, refusing to give up. A losing battle.

And then... all is black.

Tuesday August 21st, 2012

The exercise:

Write two haiku about: connections.

Friends coming tomorrow. More friends coming Friday. Kat returning Saturday.

Good days ahead.


He's trying so hard
to learn, but there's no ink left
to connect the dots

*     *     *

It's been much too long
since I've had company; can't
wait to reconnect

Monday August 20th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: the angel.

Happy to report that everyone (eventually) showed up to pick up their produce this afternoon. Not only that, but I also managed to get an order out of the restaurant!

Now I just have to deal with harvesting it.

Anyway, it is getting late and I have already gotten tired, so let's get on with the show, shall we?


His halo is a little crooked, and more than a little dusty, but it's there all the same. Floating above his head... well, lurking is more like it. A constant reminder that he ought to be doing better than he usually is.

I've seen him use it to open beer bottles, to hold his iPod when he goes jogging, and once I even watched as he used it as an impromptu laundry line.

Not quite what it was intended for, I imagine.

I'm not sure what I've done to deserve a guardian angel like this one, but I can promise you that he's wonderful motivation to make whatever changes are required to ensure that he considers his work done so that he can move on to his next rescue project.

I'd feel sorry for whichever sucker is his next assignment, but I'm sure I'll be too busy being happy that I'm finally rid of him.

Sunday August 19th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: something (or someone, I suppose) borrowed.

Took it easy for most of the day before getting things organized for tomorrow's local orders. For a change it wasn't a struggle to find a recipe for our box customers - first time they get corn? Okay, corn recipe it is.

This one seemed quick, easy, and tasty. Hopefully they agree.

Had some help with tonight's harvest of potatoes, blackberries, cherry tomatoes, and beans. The nectarines leftover from the market just had to be sorted into two pound portions and it was only a matter of picking out which garlic would get included this week.

Fairly certain I've set myself up for a pretty relaxed morning to finish off the more perishable items in the harvest. Fingers crossed I've not forgotten something important.


The man enters the building, walking as though he should be using a cane. The look on his face suggests that only a very foolish person would point this out, so the woman behind the desk remains silent.

She is not one who suffers it in others and is not about to allow it to slip between her own lips.

After making the passage from door to desk, he leans heavily on the latter while regarding the former with obvious disgust. It is clear that he feels the inconsiderate, wet-behind-the-ears lout who designed the place put the two an unnecessary distance apart.

"Good afternoon," the woman says with a fair attempt at enthusiasm.

"Hardly," he replies with not even a glance in enthusiasm's direction.

"Can I help you?" she asks. "Out of here as quickly as possible?" she finishes silently.

"I want to borrow a book about birds. A good one, preferably."

"That's lovely," she says without bothering to hide her relief, "but the library is across the street. This is the Lakeshore Hotel."

Saturday August 18th, 2012

The exercise:

Write a four line poem about: the crossing

Brought approximately 320 pounds of nectarines to Penticton this morning, sold about 260 of them. Brought all these cherry tomatoes and berries:

Sold all of them except one pint of tomatoes. Brought my cards, as always (well, this year anyway). Sold out of my first card (the Goldfinch one) - I'll be getting a reprint of that one, as well as adding at least one new picture (the hummingbird picture I worked so hard for).

It was a good market.

The drives there and back were... less good.


Little man on your motorcycle,
What the hell were you thinking?
Pull out in front of me like that again,
I'll run you down without blinking.

Friday August 17th, 2012

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the procedure.

Heading to the market tomorrow morning with another big load of nectarines (haven't counted the crates yet, don't really want to), a good selection of cherry tomatoes and berries, and quite possibly the most green beans we've ever brought to a farmers market.

It'll be interesting to see how much of them I'll actually be able to sell.

Thankfully I won't be totally on my own, as a friend of Kat's has agreed to come help me out for a while. If nothing else, it'll let me get some shopping done and maybe even sit down for a few minutes.

I'll let you know how it goes.


They promised him that it would be a simple procedure, one they had performed countless times before without any complications. Recovery would be a matter of days, if not hours. They swore that just one operation would result in complete correction of the issue.

And he, fool that he was, believed them.

Thursday August 16th, 2012

The exercise:

Write something with an element (or two or three...) of suspense.

With Kat away, I'm taking the chance to watch things on Netflix that she wouldn't be interested in. Things that tend to be either on the action side, the dark side, or both. Things like Dexter.

So, in short, I blame Dexter for this prompt. And the odd dream I had last night. And what follows.


I'm imagining it. Of course I am. It's been a long day and my tired brain is playing tricks on me again. I should be used to this by now.

And yet...

As I move through the orchard, on my way back home shortly after the sun ducked behind the mountains across the lake, I see it again. Something moving amongst the apricot trees to my left. The legs of some monstrous wild animal. Hunting me? No, I'm being silly. I'm alone, nothing and no one else around.

No one to hear my screams for help...

There's nothing over there, I know that. My movement is causing the trunks to seem like moving legs as they appear between the gaps in their fellow trees. I am the Earth to their Sun. Once I stop moving, all movement stops.


All is still. All is silent. Everything else was in my head. I need to -

What was that?

Wednesday August 15th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about something or someone that is: stranded.

Went for a wander around the orchard this evening with my camera, hoping to come across the deer that have been hanging about lately. No such luck, but I did find this guy (or girl. I have no idea, really):

Spoke with Kat tonight, which was nice. Strange being apart from her, though I'm sure the time will do us both some good.


He came to in a fire-lit night, disoriented and aching. With great effort he raised himself off the forest floor and attempted to determine his location, how he got there, and what, exactly, he was meant to do next.

The burning wreckage of the plane fifty feet to his right triggered a few memories. The mission, the flight, but not the crash. He limped closer, on what felt like a pair of badly sprained ankles, searching for other survivors.

Once he had completed the grim business of confirming the rest of his companions were dead, he sought out the communications equipment. He was not surprised to find it damaged beyond the point of utility, but it would have been the absolute peak of foolishness to leave his suspicions unconfirmed.

On second thought, perhaps enlisting took the seat of honor on Foolish Mountain.

From what he could remember, they had definitely crossed over enemy lines at some point. Possibly at dusk, but that was a foggy memory. Had they been shot down? Had a mechanical failure dragged them out of the sky? It was impossible for him to say with any certainty.

What he did know was the following: he was alone, a long way from home, with no hope of rescue. Oh, and he was pretty sure his name was Kelly.

He gathered what supplies he could comfortably carry, which was not much. After a moment's thought, he chose a direction that seemed as good as any and set out. Armed with a grenade belt, three sidearms, a Thompson submachine gun, and a vague remembrance of his German lessons during basic training, his life expectancy was not looking particularly good.

The American uniform he was wearing certainly wasn't going to help.

Tuesday August 14th, 2012

The exercise:

Write two haiku about: the comeback.

Not a particularly eventful or productive day. Did manage to harvest for a late local order though, as our most loyal customers came back this afternoon after being out of town all weekend.

Just found out the box customers who didn't pick up yesterday are also out of town and won't be able to collect their produce this week. More than a little annoyed about that right now.


He returns, against
all odds; retired living
was much too quiet.

*     *     *

School lesson: you've won
the argument when they can
only say Shut up!

Monday August 13th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: mischief.

Just finished watching Thor on Netflix, which featured the Norse god of mischief, Loki. It was entertaining, with a few laugh out loud moments.

Mondays are long days. But everything got harvested and almost everything went off to good homes to fill up appreciative bellies.

Hopefully tomorrow the last box will join the rest. As long as I can get a hold of the people who were supposed to pick it up, I'm sure it will.


"He's up to no good, it's plain to see."

The man opposite me says nothing, his expression as unchanging as the pot of coffee behind the counter. Though if the traffic streaming up and down the street outside this cafe would fall silent for a moment I suspect that I might hear the sound of his teeth grinding together.

"You do not agree with me," I point out, "but you do not deny it either."

Was that two coffee cups clinking together or a tooth cracking? Perhaps I should let this slide for the time being.

"If you are not interested in the truth," I begin, but he does not allow me to finish.

"Enough." He looks away. The lights in here make the lines on his face seem deeper, more severe. After a lifelong chase, old age has caught him at last. "I will hear no more of this gossip."

"It is not gossip! How much more proof do you need?"

"It is gossip. It has always been gossip. And it shall remain so." He returns his gaze to me and the hairs on the back of my neck attempt to flee. "You will stop spreading these lies about my son, immediately."

Sunday August 12th, 2012

The exercise:

Let us write about: separation.

This morning I saw Kat and baby off, as they'll be in Vancouver for the next two weeks while Kat assists at a workshop as part of the counseling training she's been doing online. Going to miss them a lot.

Had some help with this evening's harvest for our local orders, which I'm very grateful for. Also looking forward to the arrival of a couple close friends next week, who will be staying for a few days to help out.

Still, I'll be counting down the days until my family returns.


I can hear your voice on the line
And that may be fine
For others.
Maybe for sisters,
Maybe for brothers,
But not us,
Not us.

I have never asked for very much:
A kiss, a smile, a touch,
That's all.
But this must do,
This distant call,
Just for now,
For now.

Saturday August 11th, 2012

The exercise:

Write a four line poem about: star gazing.

Kat and I sat out on the deck this evening and watched some of the Perseid meteor shower. Pretty spectacular stuff.

So we actually ended up bringing about 360 pounds of nectarines to the market this morning. When Kat's dad brought up two more crates to the truck this morning I almost told him we didn't need them.

And we didn't... but only just. Because we only brought back three crates (about sixty pounds) worth of nectarines. So yeah, it was a pretty good market.


Slicing through a star-dotted sky,
He visits us but once a year.
Our time together is fleeting;
I wish that he would linger here.

Friday August 10th, 2012

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose inspired by:

I'd been hearing odd noises in one of our walnut trees for the past week or so, but couldn't figure out what was making them. Finally spotted this guy this afternoon, after which I had the below conversation with Kat.

All set for the market tomorrow, with a big load of nectarines (~320 pounds worth), and a pretty decent selection of veggies too. Will try to get a picture of our stall before the crowds descend.


"At this rate we're not going to have any walnuts left," I lamented after showing Kat the above picture.

"I'm pretty sure we'll be fine - there's a huge crop out there."

"Or we'll have the biggest squirrel in the history of the world. Made entirely of walnuts."

Thursday August 9th, 2012

The exercise:

Write something that takes place at: the rodeo.

We're now three months away from baby's expected due date. I suspect that time is about to magically accelerate once again.

My arms and legs are very itchy right now. I hate mosquitoes so much.


The battle between bulls and rodeo clowns escalated so dramatically and so quickly that it is difficult to determine who struck first. Did the bulls start the troubles by sharpening their horns to razor sharp points? Or was it the clowns, when they began carrying syringes filled with poison?

There are reports that matters reached the point of no return when the clowns brought spears and swords into the arena. But the language and obvious bias found therein have led many historians to believe that these were merely propaganda bulletins produced by those bucking broncos.

On the other hand, one can hardly be expected to believe the photographs of bulls bearing rocket launchers on their flanks as they emerge from their bucking chutes. You can almost smell the trademark stench of the rodeo clowns on those images.

Regardless of who did what first, the end result remains indisputable: rodeo pay-per-view revenues have never been higher.

Wednesday August 8th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: the best.

The best what? I don't know, you tell me.

We harvested for both the restaurant and the bakery today, getting most everything that was requested of us. Took a long time to dig through the blackberries to find a reasonable amount, but I'm hoping by Friday they'll be a bit easier to find.

Also: more abundant, please.


He's at the top of his class, he seemingly can't be beat. On his arm the finest lass, practically radiating heat. Every time we pass, I can't help but think he cheats.

How else the perfect scores, the right answer endlessly at hand? Above us he soars, his feet never touching land. I could say much more, but his very being I can't stand.

I keep waiting for his fall, a scandal to bring him low. A tape recorded call, some long forgotten beau. But still he stands tall... say it isn't so.

Tuesday August 7th, 2012

The exercise:

Write two haiku about: the Olympics.

Pretty mellow day (as Tuesdays tend to be now that our Mondays are so busy). Finally got around to seeding our second planting of buckwheat, which we're using as a summer cover crop for a field and a half that we're not using this season. The plan is to build up the soil so that the crops we plant there next year are extra healthy.

And now for a moment of honesty: I'm really only mentioning this because I neglected to mention when I seeded the first planting and then when we were trying to figure out when I did that we weren't able to, since we didn't write it down anywhere else.


Train for a lifetime,
ten seconds in the spotlight;
ends in seventh place.

*     *     *

Gold, silver, or bronze,
any old medal will do...
Well, preferably gold.

Monday August 6th, 2012

The exercise:

Today we write about: the questionnaire.

Very successful harvest for locals this week, with enough cherry tomatoes and blackberries for everybody, not to mention the first peppers and cucumber of the season. It's like things are finally ripening out there.

Still having trouble with getting orders from the restaurant though. Hoping to sort that out tomorrow.


Joanna studied the questionnaire in her hands, her forehead crumpling under the weight of her confusion. She really didn't know where to begin.

"When I said take your time, dear," Mrs. Lopez (which was how she insisted she must be addressed) said with a venomous smile, "I didn't expect you to take all week."

"Oh, I'm sorry! It's just that... well, is all of this absolutely necessary?"

"Of course it is! Why else would I have required you to fill it out?"

"I appreciate that, I do. But... List all previous sexual partners and provide contact information for each one... seems rather invasive and ki-"

"Dear." Mrs. Lopez held up a hand to block further complaints, her thick red nail polish gleaming darkly. "Thomas is my only son. If you truly wish to go to prom with him, you must answer every... single... last... question."

Sunday August 5th, 2012

The exercise:

Write something which takes place in: the tree house.

We spent a relaxing morning hanging out on the deck with my sister and brother-in-law, reading the newspaper, that Jake picked up in town, and enjoying the shade. This afternoon we brought lunch to the beach and again enjoyed the shade, though Kat and I did venture out into the sun to dunk ourselves in the lake.

I may or may not have fallen asleep on my beach towel while the others went to get gelato. This report remains unconfirmed.

After dinner with Kat's parents (roasted chicken, potato salad (made by Kat), buttered broccoli, coleslaw, and rice pudding for desert), we took advantage of our guests presence to harvest potatoes, cabbages, green beans, cherry tomatoes, and blackberries for our local customers. We'll get the rest (greens, carrots, beets, etc) tomorrow morning, but sadly Sue and Jake are heading back to Calgary bright and early so they won't be around to help out.

We will, of course, make sure they take home as much produce as their car can hold.


During the daylight hours we would watch the ground beasts from the safety of our home amongst the trees. Hardly daring to breathe, we waited for each new arrival to pass on, praying none would find cause to look up.

When night descended we would follow suit, our feet rejoicing in the feel of Mother Earth beneath them once more. Supplies were gathered in a frenetic rush, the return of dawn thundering toward us at varying and unknowable speeds.

There was only one unbreakable rule: Don't let sunrise catch you beyond the walls of the tree house.

Some days that meant going hungry, others were spent with cracked lips and sandpaper mouths. It was, we all understood, better to be safe than sorry.

Because the ground beasts could make a man very, very sorry indeed.

Saturday August 4th, 2012

The exercise:

Write a four line poem about: logic.

Now there's a dangerous prompt for a tired Saturday night. This could be interesting.

Pretty good market today, selling out of most everything. Just wish we could have had more stuff to sell, particularly berries and tomatoes. But we had to go with what we had, and next weekend should be more abundant.

Really enjoying having my sister and brother-in-law here. Looks like we'll be heading to the beach tomorrow for a picnic lunch.


It all makes perfect sense,
It's as clear as bloody day!
If you can't understand,
Just look at things my way.

Friday August 3rd, 2012

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the hero.

Pretty relaxed harvest this morning, as we're just on the cusp of our late summer crops being ready. Managed to get a few pints of cherry tomatoes, blackberries, and raspberries, along with some fingerling potatoes and green beans. Can't forget the usual assortment of cabbages as well.

We'll also be bringing our first taste of peaches and nectarines, but the main selection of those won't be until next weekend.

My sister and her husband decided to save themselves a couple hours of driving by staying in Kelowna tonight. They'll meet us at the market tomorrow morning and then follow us back here afterward. Can't wait!


He looked at me over top of his glasses and whispered, "Every man is the hero of his own story."

I offered no reply, choosing instead to dip my quill in the inkwell resting between us. He watched closely before offering a slight smile and doing the same.

No further words were spoken for the rest of the evening, as we were far too busy transforming our mundane existences into something worthy of being adorned with majestic, mystical capes.

Thursday August 2nd, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: the historian.

We got some good weeding work done in the garden this morning. Amazing the difference an extra set of hands can make out there.

Our current guest is heading back to Vancouver tomorrow morning, but she will be replaced before nightfall by my sister Sue and her husband Jake. Really looking forward to having them here for the long weekend.


He writes down what is said and what is done with no commentary, no opinions, no decorations. Just the facts, which he allows to speak for themselves, in their own voices.

It can be a bit chaotic when they all try to speak at once, though. Often they contradict each other, but that is not his concern. He is certain that eventually, whether it be tomorrow or five hundred years from today, the truth will rise to the top and drown out the rest.

Well, at least from the perspective of whoever happens to be reading it.

There are lessons to be learned in all he commits to record, but he has no interest in spelling them out. He does not care for hand-holding and has no time or patience for those who need it. Let them figure it out for themselves or suffer the consequences.

And oh, how common it is, that suffering.

One day he will pass from this mortal plane and another will take hold of his pen and carry the burden of history for a while. He does not waste time or energy thinking about this.

He simply continues to write all that he hears and all that he sees.

Wednesday August 1st, 2012

The exercise:

Welcome to August (already?)! Let us get the month started with a little randomness. The Random Book prompt, to be exact.

Find a book or short story, preferably one you haven't read yet, and use its first line as your own. Credit goes where it's due, as always.

I pulled mine by going through Edgar Allan Poe's Complete Tales & Poems. In related news, Poe has a whole lot of opening lines that are completely unusable for this prompt.


The Facts In The Case Of M. Vandemar - Edgar Allan Poe

Of course I shall not pretend to consider it any matter for wonder, that the extraordinary case of M. Vandemar has excited discussion. Indeed, I would wager that there does not exist a man, woman, or child in this town who is not intimately familiar with the precise details of the whole sordid affair.

Although, most assuredly, it is not a tale any child should carry the terrible burden of knowing. Had I any say, all children not yet in their teenage years would have been sent away for the duration of the... unpleasantness.

But, of course, I did not. My time of power and influence is still, sadly, yet to come.

Come it shall, however. And when that propitious day dawns these gossip mongers, loquacious layabouts, and back-fence newsmen shall pay a price most dear for what they have done to my innocent brother's reputation.