Daily writing prompts from June 9th, 2008 to December 31st, 2022
Thursday January 9th, 2020
The exercise: Write about a: bossypants. I've been listening to Tina Fey's audio book on my commute this week (other than Tuesday, when I listened to a podcast). It's been making the twenty minute drive each way pass by pretty quickly.
Tina Fey is fantastic and very funny, so maybe I should investigate this book a little. I do have a 25-minute walk to the gym every morning, so it's certainly possible.... I hope Adams comes across in this as a little bit of a bossy-pants, as I didn't want to use the actual phrase this time :)
Bossy-pants Towerhome Cemetery was in the middle of a residential area on the imaginatively-named Cemetery Road. Semi-detached houses lined the road as it swept a shallow curve down to a turning circle where the cemetery ground spread out around the lower half. The gates were simple steel poles, though six metres high, held in place by three steel bands at the top, bottom and middle. They were supported by tall brick columns, that in turn adjoined the walls that surrounded the cemetery. The walls were solid, but the brickwork design allowed curious passers-by to peer through gaps and see the tranquil lawns beyond. A large noticeboard was set on the left-hand wall announcing the opening times and the established service times; a footnote at the bottom observed that other services would be provided on an as-needed basis. Someone had painted over the contact telephone numbers with yellow paint, and Adams snorted when she saw it. “Glow-in-the-dark,” she said. “Probably did it when the Radiance was at its peak and there was no-one to answer the phones anyway, let alone explain what was going on.” The gates were locked, but the Inspectral produced a set of ghostly keys from a pocket and carefully inserted one into the lock, checking that the key wasn’t overlapping anything solid. Then he turned it slowly, and the lock popped back. “Shut your mouth, you look like a goldfish,” said Adams. “How does that work?” Collins realised he’d left his mouth open again and closed it up. His mind was still boggling. “It’s the ghost of the original key,” said the Inspectral. “Don’t bother asking how you get ghosts of the never-living, no-one’s got an answer for that.” “Yet,” said Adams. “If you can manipulate the key then you can use it like the real key,” said the Inspectral as though she’d not interrupted. “It works very nicely for me, but you and Adams would have to find some ghost-gloves to make it work.” “Not cheap,” said Adams, shaking her head. “And there are a lot of scammers out there.” She pushed the gate open, and they looked at the long, flat driveway inside the cemetery. It went from the gates to the central chapel, a small blocky building with a single tall tower just behind it, and from where Towerhome got its name. Either side of the driveway were neat, trimmed lawns, and at intervals on each side there were side-tracks, all intended for feet rather than wheels. About fifteen metres on either side of the lawns trees and bushes sprang up, concealing the grave plots. “Just walk around and look for disturbances?” Adams was already through the gate and walking determinedly towards the nearest side-path. The Inspectral shrugged, though she didn’t see it. “You start walking,” he said. “The PFE said nothing about age so I’d go left if I were you; that’s where the last burials took place. I’ll take Collins up to the Tower and see if we can see what we’re looking for from the top.” “Usual frequency?” Adams checked her radio. “I bet I find them before you do.” She quickened her pace. “Come on,” said the Inspectral to Collins. “It would probably be quicker to do this at ground level, but I doubt you’ve seen the Tower before?” Collins shook his head. “It’s where the Radiance actually started.”
The pants were a deal at the thrift store. All the other pants were priced from 50 cents to a dollar or two. These pants cost only 10 cents -- what a steal! I loved them on sight -- tight jeggings in a dark red with a faint floral pattern. But the first time I put them on, I found myself driving to the trendy coffee shop at the other end of town that I never went to. Soon, I was shopping at new stores, going out to new bars at night, and generally living a life I didn't recognize. When I found myself standing in front of my boss's desk, about to resign from a job I loved, I realized something had to give. I burned the pants last evening in a bonfire in my backyard. What's that rustling at the door?
“A little to the left,” Mandy said. She hadn’t moved from her post at the kitchen table, her arms moving from crossed across her chest to gripping her hips. I struggled with the heavy frame and tried to adjust it just so. “Now?” Her face twisted a bit. “Too far. More to the right.” I no more twitched a muscle then moved it before she said, “Perfect!” I let go of the frame and wiped some of the sweat away from my forehead. I walked past her to the sink to get a cool glass of water. What on earth inspired her to move all the freaking paintings around the house late on a Sunday? I was missing the game.
5 comments:
Tina Fey is fantastic and very funny, so maybe I should investigate this book a little. I do have a 25-minute walk to the gym every morning, so it's certainly possible....
I hope Adams comes across in this as a little bit of a bossy-pants, as I didn't want to use the actual phrase this time :)
Bossy-pants
Towerhome Cemetery was in the middle of a residential area on the imaginatively-named Cemetery Road. Semi-detached houses lined the road as it swept a shallow curve down to a turning circle where the cemetery ground spread out around the lower half. The gates were simple steel poles, though six metres high, held in place by three steel bands at the top, bottom and middle. They were supported by tall brick columns, that in turn adjoined the walls that surrounded the cemetery. The walls were solid, but the brickwork design allowed curious passers-by to peer through gaps and see the tranquil lawns beyond. A large noticeboard was set on the left-hand wall announcing the opening times and the established service times; a footnote at the bottom observed that other services would be provided on an as-needed basis. Someone had painted over the contact telephone numbers with yellow paint, and Adams snorted when she saw it.
“Glow-in-the-dark,” she said. “Probably did it when the Radiance was at its peak and there was no-one to answer the phones anyway, let alone explain what was going on.”
The gates were locked, but the Inspectral produced a set of ghostly keys from a pocket and carefully inserted one into the lock, checking that the key wasn’t overlapping anything solid. Then he turned it slowly, and the lock popped back.
“Shut your mouth, you look like a goldfish,” said Adams.
“How does that work?” Collins realised he’d left his mouth open again and closed it up. His mind was still boggling.
“It’s the ghost of the original key,” said the Inspectral. “Don’t bother asking how you get ghosts of the never-living, no-one’s got an answer for that.”
“Yet,” said Adams.
“If you can manipulate the key then you can use it like the real key,” said the Inspectral as though she’d not interrupted. “It works very nicely for me, but you and Adams would have to find some ghost-gloves to make it work.”
“Not cheap,” said Adams, shaking her head. “And there are a lot of scammers out there.” She pushed the gate open, and they looked at the long, flat driveway inside the cemetery. It went from the gates to the central chapel, a small blocky building with a single tall tower just behind it, and from where Towerhome got its name. Either side of the driveway were neat, trimmed lawns, and at intervals on each side there were side-tracks, all intended for feet rather than wheels. About fifteen metres on either side of the lawns trees and bushes sprang up, concealing the grave plots.
“Just walk around and look for disturbances?” Adams was already through the gate and walking determinedly towards the nearest side-path. The Inspectral shrugged, though she didn’t see it. “You start walking,” he said. “The PFE said nothing about age so I’d go left if I were you; that’s where the last burials took place. I’ll take Collins up to the Tower and see if we can see what we’re looking for from the top.”
“Usual frequency?” Adams checked her radio. “I bet I find them before you do.” She quickened her pace.
“Come on,” said the Inspectral to Collins. “It would probably be quicker to do this at ground level, but I doubt you’ve seen the Tower before?” Collins shook his head. “It’s where the Radiance actually started.”
The pants were a deal at the thrift store. All the other pants were priced from 50 cents to a dollar or two. These pants cost only 10 cents -- what a steal! I loved them on sight -- tight jeggings in a dark red with a faint floral pattern. But the first time I put them on, I found myself driving to the trendy coffee shop at the other end of town that I never went to. Soon, I was shopping at new stores, going out to new bars at night, and generally living a life I didn't recognize. When I found myself standing in front of my boss's desk, about to resign from a job I loved, I realized something had to give. I burned the pants last evening in a bonfire in my backyard. What's that rustling at the door?
Greg - I'm going to suggest that you will enjoy the book. I have so far, at any rate.
Yeah, I think that works for the prompt. And I can appreciate why the use of the actual word would have been out of place here :)
Still enjoying. Still glad you decided to run with this before I got around to catching up on comments and suggesting you do so :P
Morganna - hah, this is a fun one. Haunted pants. That rustling at the door is a tad worrying though...
“A little to the left,” Mandy said. She hadn’t moved from her post at the kitchen table, her arms moving from crossed across her chest to gripping her hips.
I struggled with the heavy frame and tried to adjust it just so. “Now?”
Her face twisted a bit. “Too far. More to the right.”
I no more twitched a muscle then moved it before she said, “Perfect!”
I let go of the frame and wiped some of the sweat away from my forehead. I walked past her to the sink to get a cool glass of water. What on earth inspired her to move all the freaking paintings around the house late on a Sunday? I was missing the game.
Ivy - why do I suspect that your narrator missing the game is precisely why Mandy chose that time to move paintings?
Post a Comment