Thursday August 29th, 2013

The exercise:

Write about: misdirection.

Started weeding our badly neglected potatoes this morning. How rough is it? Well, I decided to just do the paths between every other row because I just need access to the plants from one side, not both.

And also because it would take until December to do all the rows.

I've been mucking around with my iPhone, trying to figure out how to take decent pictures with it. Here's one I took this morning of freshly picked Gala apples:


I took a great one of Max in the grocery store the other day, but it's really blurry. I shall have to try to capture that one again, as his expression was... well, you'll see. Hopefully.

Mine:

A languid, sultry wave of an arm, the wriggling of glittering fingers, an unexpected laugh. She knows all the tricks and does not hesitate to use them.

She does not need long sleeves to hide her secrets, no wigs or disguises to conceal her identity. Brazen, some might call it. She prefers confident.

It is a dangerous game. The penalties for losing are dire and not for the weak of heart. But she has never suffered from a frail disposition, nor does she concern herself with the possibility of capture. Perhaps that is the key to her success.

One of them, at least.

4 comments:

Greg Bennett said...

I always found with the iPhone that it helped to use both hands to steady it. Because it's really quite small, it's kind of easy with just one hand to blur the photos with almost imperceptible hand tremors. The apples looks great though, the colours are really good!
Good luck with the weeding, as it sounds like you might need it :)
I like your writing today, though it seems a little bit unfocused and I can't decide if it's deliberate, to go with misdirection, or if you're just tired :)

Misdirection

Misdirection of eyes by a wave and a laugh
and a woman goes dancing, undressed for her bath!
So the audience follows, ignores (centre-stage!)
the tall blonde enchanter who's smould'ring with rage.

Their attention is stolen, their money goes next,
when they break from the glamour they'll be sorely vexed:
the enchanter has fled from this crime (and it's foul!)
For now all that remains of the woman's her towel....

[I'm experimenting with anapaest; I think I like it, but it's definitely harder to write than iambs.]

Aholiab said...

Galas are my favorite apple these days. I need to go see if we have any in the refrigerator after seeing your enticing picture!

Misdirection

“Yo, Brutus! Why do you let your human do that to you? You look like a doofus!”

Brutus ran up to his buddy and they sniffed noses. “Hey there, Duke! What’re you talking about?”

“You know. The way he fakes you out with that ball.”

Brutus looked over his shoulder at his owner. “Oh, that. It’s just a game we play. He pretends to throw the ball for me, and I pretend to chase it like crazy. He thinks it’s a pretty cool game and I get my exercise without having to find the thing.”

Duke looked skeptical, but finally agreed, “Well, you put on a pretty convincing show for him.”

“Yeah, well it’s like the other game we play. I pretend to only drink water out of my dog bowl, and he pretends I haven’t been drinking toilet water when I lick his face. We both get a big kick out of it.”

g2 (la pianista irlandesa) said...

So, I've got Mejaran on the brain because I'm starting my radio project in earnest in these next few weeks, and September starts tomorrow.

This is the bit that, initially, I wasn't digging all that much that. I tweaked it recently to more of my liking, and it happened to fit today's prompt enough indirectly that I'm going to post it today (and at the very least clear Mirón of any huge suspicions... I'm a bit biased, but I like him too much to be shouldered with such conspiring).

Sequentially, it immediately follows your most recent bit.
- - - - - - - - -
They came out of the house, but Principal Oleán did not yet start down the street, only crossing to stand right in front of Liefert and Yarel's hiding place. "I do not understand," he sighed.

"Consider it, Principal," said Azmar as he came to Oleán's shoulder. "The first outsider in years and he runs away with your daughter. It's not too far a leap to think that the next set of outsiders to disturb the village would be of---his sort." He whispered these last two words, and put a hand on the Principal's shoulder to try and steer him back to the street.

But Mirón brushed away the hand and still shook his head. "But when you consider Shotek, such unpleasant and unprovoked violence still stands unexplained." He sighed again and rested his head in his hands. "I can only recall one other bout of such madness, and that ended in the death of a man I believed innocent."

Yarel flinched at the comment, then against the wave of pain that introduced. Liefert hissed in his ear.

Principal Oleán chuckled sadly to himself as he straightened. "I rejoice for Divana, but this madness may be the end of me."

"Pardon my asking, good Principal, but would it be far-fetched to suggest that this 'madness' is your own?" He tried to sound hurried in continuing, but the pause was leadenly deliberate. "You are an upright man, a model leader for this town foolishly divided. But then comes this gypsy boy, and you let your daughter go off with him, despite the agreement between you and Principal Ikava? It is difficult to explain sound reasoning, from any direction. And then so soon after, all this tension over the bridges, can it really be said to be an accident?"

"Damn the agreement!" Mirón cried, startling all who listened. "I didn't know of her running off until too late---"

"But you told Lady Helen that you permitted it. She was not pleased."

"I do permit it, because she will be happy! I could not, and would not, bear the thought of her miserable with that hotheaded fool Ikava calls a son! Her unhappiness, and for what? Appeasing people who seem to forbid agreement about anything!"
He took a deep breath, shaking slightly. Yarel couldn't see if he was in fact weeping a little. "And no," he continued, much smaller and feebler, "I do not think the bridge incident was an accident. Provocation by whose hand, I cannot say, but it was not Shotek's people, and I firmly believe someone is intent on turning this village upside down."

Azmar tsked. "You look unwell, Principal," he cooed, and took him by the elbow. "Let me take you home."

Marc said...

Greg - yeah, I've never had a particularly steady hand with cameras. Oh well, practice makes something or the other...

And I'll go with tired, but appreciate the compliment anyway :P

I'd say the result of your experimentation is a definite success. That's a great little poem :)

Aholiab - haha, fantastic. Love the reasoning behind pretending to chase after the ball - makes total sense :D

g2 - ah, I probably should have read this before writing today's piece of the puzzle. Fortunately it seems I got away with it though.

Really like the way you portrayed Azmar here, by the way. Makes my skin crawl a little.