Thursday November 17th, 2011

The exercise:

Let's go with: preserved.

I made an apple delivery to the restaurant this morning, as they finally have some time to do some preservation work. Before I left the chef said he had a gift for me and disappeared around the corner. He came back with a quince and lavender marmalade that he'd recently made (hadn't even put a label on it yet).

Very unexpected, very appreciated, and, as I discovered shortly after I got home, very tasty.

Plus he mentioned that next time I come by he'll have something for me that he made from our apples as well. Sweet deal!

Mine:

The cupboards are filled

With bottles of red and green,

Summer's sweet harvest

Saved to brighten Winter's scenes

And enliven tongues

When fresh produce becomes lean.

Their numbers will shrink

As the days slowly crawl by;

We know there's enough,

And if we don't we just lie.

Until at long last

With a smug smile, Spring arrives.

Wednesday November 16th, 2011

The exercise:

Write something that takes place in: Paris.

We went up to Oliver this evening for the second movie in the film club series and thankfully it was light years better than the first one. Midnight in Paris was a whole lot of fun; if you haven't seen it, consider it recommended.

Mine:

He finds a table at the sidewalk cafe in a prime location. From there he's able to people watch in three directions - up and down the street the cafe is situated on, as well as up the avenue that crosses directly beside it. His view down the avenue is blocked by a delivery truck, but he assumes it will be moving on sooner than later.

The cafe is not busy, and he has not been in Paris long enough to understand this means the fare is subpar and the coffee much worse. His waitress knows both of these things but can't be bothered to inform him. She simply takes his order while grimacing as he butchers the native tongue before returning to the dark interior of the business her father runs.

Puddles from the previous night's rain reflect the morning sunshine with blinding enthusiasm while he waits for his breakfast. A pair of pigeons alight on the table next to his and eye him expectantly, as though they know he'll be unable to finish his meal without their help.

Thinking them cute, he takes their picture before returning his gaze to the steady stream of humanity flowing past him. He doesn't think to wonder why none of them stop at the cafe he's chosen.

When his cell phone rings he listens to the voice at the other end of the line without speaking, then hangs up and tosses it in the trash. The waitress sees this as she is bringing the man's breakfast to him but thinks nothing of it.

Not until he stands and points a gun at her face.

Tuesday November 15th, 2011

The exercise:

Two haiku about: revenge.

Reading one of my favorite author's latest novels and felt inspired. The Whisperers by John Connolly, in case you were wondering.

Spent a portion of the clear, cool morning chopping firewood. Now I'm sitting in front of our fireplace while some of that wood burns. Mmm, full circle.

Mine:

A dish best served cold?

Sounds like a game best saved for

a more patient man.

*     *     *

Anger blurs reason.

A direction is chosen

before vision clears.

Monday November 14th, 2011

The exercise:

Write about: the blanket.

We had a storm pass through this morning that left behind a blanket of snow. Once the snow stopped falling and the wind died down, I went and took a picture:

Most of what fell around us has melted already, but the hills are still covered.

Mine:

"Your grandfather's blanket has to be around here somewhere!" He'd never seen his mother in such a frantic state before. She was tossing aside cardboard boxes without a care as to where they might land, and she'd already dropped a tattered dictionary on her foot.

"Maybe it grew legs and walked off?" He was hoping to lighten her mood but it did no good. In fact, it made things even worse.

"If you're just going to stand in the way and make stupid jokes you can go hang out with your friends and get drunk and smoke cigarettes!" Her voice was so shrill it felt like she'd driven nails into both his ears.

"It's just a stupid blanket!" He yelled as he made for the door. "I don't know why you're wasting your time looking for it!"

He slammed the door and stomped down the front stairs. He knew he shouldn't have said those things, but it was far easier than telling her that he'd thrown the blanket away the previous summer.

Sunday November 13th, 2011

The exercise:

Write a little something to do with: the agent.

Winter cover crops have been seeded, most of the leaves in the yard have been raked, and there's even a reasonable amount of firewood in our backyard box. It's been a good day.

Mine:

The text had arrived on my phone while I was still cooking breakfast, just a few minutes before noon. I'd tried sleeping through my hangover but that hadn't worked out particularly well, so I was preparing to kill it with greasy goodness. The message had eliminated that option with impressive efficiency.

Audition booked @ Timmon's Theater 1pm

I was out the door so fast I spent the majority of the fifty minute trip to the theater wondering if I'd remembered to turn off the stove. The rest of the time I speculated about the role, the movie, the leading lady who would be working opposite me.

My big break. This had to be it. I had done the training, the legwork, sucked up to the right people, shook the right hands. Hollywood was a game and I was playing by the rules. Success had to follow, that was all there was to it.

So when I stepped out of the taxi and saw the schmucks huddled outside the theater I only grew more confident. This was my competition? Please. I could sleepwalk through this audition and still blow them all out of the water.

I strode inside, not bothering to hide my smile.

Which just meant it died a very obvious death when I realized that the auditions were for the newest commercial commissioned by ex-lax.

I called my agent and fired him on the spot.

Saturday November 12th, 2011

The exercise:

A four line poem about: the champion.

Kat and I finally got started with the cover crop seeds this morning. We got most of it done by the time our bellies began demanding lunch, and then the rain came around for a visit. Well, it rained here. Not so far up on the mountains it was snow.

It's only a matter of time now...

Mine:

Battered, broken, bloodied, and bruised,

He emerges victorious;

He'll carry those scars to his grave,

Isn't it all so glorious?

Friday November 11th, 2011

The exercise:

What with today being 11/11/11, I figured we'd go with four lines of prose about: one by one.

Today I spread wood shavings, rototilled, and raked up the walnut tree leaves in our front yard.

Tonight is my first Friday night at home without a market to go to in the morning since May 27th.

Tomorrow morning I sleep.

Mine:

It was simple, really. He just had to go through the list, one by one. Take care of the first, then the second, and so on until his work was finished.

Then, once he'd reached the final name and all those men were dead, he could rest at last.