Friday March 25th, 2016

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose that involve: Thomas the Tank Engine.

Max is currently obsessed with a Thomas book he got from the library with Kat a couple weeks ago. It's a set of five stories and it's the only thing he wants me to read to him when it's my turn to put him to bed.

I told him the other night that if he cooperated at bedtime I'd read three of the stories. And if he continued to do that the next time (tonight) I'd read four, and then all five the following time.

All I'm going to say is that I read him three again tonight.

And that I don't ever expect we'll get to all five in one night.

Baby watch update: I noticed today that any sense of urgency I'd carried with me the last few days was pretty much gone. Baby's probably lulling me into a false sense of security.


These days the steel of the railroad tracks is rusted and weak, without even enough strength to fight back the encroaching wilderness. It won't be long before they disappear completely, their existence only living on in stories told by wizened old-timers in broken-down bars. The towns and villages once connected by those lines will slowly fade away, dotting the countryside with ghost towns that no-

"Oh, shut up already Thomas!"


Greg said...

You can get Thomas on DVD as well if you like ;-) Bribing Max to be better behaved at bedtime is not only alliterative (is it too late to call him Barry instead?) but it sounds like it's having the desired effect. And I'm pretty certain that there's plenty of Thomas stories out there for you to use when the current five get boring. There's probably even Thomas fanfic online... maybe you shouldn't... maybe we shouldn't go looking for it though.
Hah, I agree with the last line! Though I don't think Max would like that Thomas story so much!

Thomas the Tank Engine
"When did Thomas last have his brakes checked?" asked the Fat Controller. He was leaning against the polished, gleaming paintwork of Virgil the Virgin Trains Intercity Express, one hand discretely monitoring his heartbeat.
"Four and a half-years ago," said Mike the Mechanic as a rain of minced beef splattered across Virgil, Mike, and most of the platform.
"So I can describe that herd of cows as an accident then," mused the Fat Controller, while everyone pretended not to hear Thomas's frantic, fading cries for help.

Marc said...

Greg - yeah, it worked for a little bit. Not so much when he continues to be completely uncooperative and I insist on reading him fewer (or no) stories. Oh well.

That is... quite the evocative scene. And now I shall try to get some sleep, while doing my best to forget ever having read it :P