Tuesday January 31st, 2012

The exercise:

The last day of January brings with it a request for two haiku about: fashion.

Feeling sleepy, so that's all you're getting out of me right now.

Mine:

All the latest trends

are not meant for this old soul -

give me tried and true.

*     *     *

What are you wearing?

To be completely honest,

I'm not really sure.

Monday January 30th, 2012

The exercise:

Your writing challenge for the day: questions and answers.

Mine is based on a dream I had Sunday morning, just before I woke up. There was actually a lot more to it, so I might pull the 'full' version together and post it as an opening chapter on Protag for others to play with.

Mine:

We walk out the front gates of the prison, the warden giving me the evil eye. The bastard hadn't even said goodbye, just See ya later.

Quentin points me toward a black sedan - must be new, I don't recognize the model - and we walk toward it in silence. I look around, uncomfortable with such distant horizons, but rejoicing in it at the same time.

"So what's the good word, Questions?" I ask once we're protected by his ride's leather interior. I hate that I'm more relaxed in here.

"They don't call me that no more," Quentin says, starting up the engine. I raise an eyebrow and wait as we pull out of the parking lot. "I'm The Solution now."

"Sounds like you've done well for yourself these last twelve years." I didn't mean for that to sound bitter. But I don't care enough to clarify.

"Yeah, thanks to you," he says, keeping us under the speed limit. "Mostly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Those names you been feedin' me have all been solid - except one."

"Who?" I ask, but I'm pretty sure I already know.

"Duncan Matthews."

"I told you I wasn't sure about him!" Yelling is probably not a good idea, but it feels good. "I told you to make sure!"

"Relax, Jailbird. It was one little mistake, it ain't nothin' to worry about."

"Mistake? An innocent man is dead!"

"Ain't nobody innocent in this big bad world of ours. Besides," Quentin leans over and pops open the glove box to reveal two handguns, "Mister Hunter has given us the opportunity to set things right."

"Us?" My voice is weak and thick with fear.

"Welcome back to the real world, Jailbird."

Sunday January 29th, 2012

The exercise:

Your theme for today: rooftops.

Kat and I went snowshoeing at Mount Baldy this morning and accidentally discovered a new trail. I was convinced that we had started at the same point as usual and just veered off it without noticing (I was in the lead, just following cross-country ski tracks and obviously not paying much attention).

But when we re-emerged from the trees we saw that our trail actually started several feet down the hill from where we were. Ah well, it was still good fun, even though I found it a little disorienting.

Oh, we also stopped at the lookout over Osoyoos on the way there and I took the following:

Mine:

Travis took the stairs up to the roof two a time, his telescope clutched in his sweaty right hand. His boss had forced him to work late in order to finish the Benson presentation ahead of schedule - which just meant more time for important revisions - so he was bumping up against his personal deadline.

He emerged onto the rooftop, twenty-two storeys above street level, just as the sun dipped below the concrete horizon. After taking a few moments to catch his breath, Travis moved to the southern edge of his apartment building and set up his telescope.

As night swept over the city his precious stars began to appear, in ones and twos. He trained his magnified gaze on each one, but always returned to his absolute favorite.

There was just something especially captivating about Mrs. Jackson.

Saturday January 28th, 2012

The exercise:

Write a four line poem about: the way you write.

Kat and I went (five pin) bowling tonight for the first time in a very long time. I bowled regularly growing up but recently I've only gone once or twice a year at most.

Anyway, I did much better than I was expecting. It was the sort of night that could tempt me to get back into it.

Not sure that's a good thing.

Mine:

Bang head against wall,

Confront blank pages with fear;

Just keep repeating

Until inspiration appears.

Friday January 27th, 2012

The exercise:

Four lines of prose about: the grey area.

Hey, look at that. We're almost free of January!

Mine:

The security guard came rushing over as soon as he saw the first flick of the lighter; well, it was really more of a purposeful walk, but his thick legs did their very best.

"Excuse me sir, there's no smoking allowed inside the building." Receiving only a face full of smoke in response, he pointed at the sign on the wall and added, "It says so right there, in black and white!"

"Well then I would suggest," Henri replied as he used his briefcase to smash open the nearest window, "that this here is a bit of a grey area."

*For those of you not familiar with Henri, feel free to click his label below to see other occasions he's visited the blog*

Thursday January 26th, 2012

The exercise:

With items provided by many of you, we're going back to the list prompt. I'm actually splitting this into two separate prompts because I got so many responses - thank you! So pick any two of the following and include them in your writing today:

- a fishing rod

- a basket filled with balls of multicolored yarn

- paint

- a red Chevy pickup truck, covered in fresh snow

Fun fact: just before posting this I checked to see when I'd last used a list for a prompt: September of 2010.

Fun fact number two: I'll be making up for that this year, as I'm planning on using the rest of the objects you guys sent my way next Thursday.

Mine:

Judith mixed the oil paints on her wooden palette as she studied her fidgeting subject. She was having trouble matching the green of his vest, which was unusual for her. Normally she could do this sort of thing in her sleep.

"Douglas, hold still," she told her nephew. Maybe a touch more white? No, still not quite there. "I'll have your portrait finished much sooner if you stop fussing."

"If you want my picture why don't you just use a camera like everybody else?" Douglas turned to look longingly at the sun-dappled back yard. "It's like, way faster."

"Honey, anybody and their dog can take your picture," she replied, adding a dab of black. Nope. "A painting, on the other hand, is something extra special that only a handful of people can do well. It takes more time and care, and you'll remember these moments for the rest of your life."

"Only because this is gonna take the rest of my life," he muttered darkly.

"Watch your tongue, young man." Why in the world was the color not turning out the way she wanted it to? "Where did you get that vest, anyway?"

"Daddy bought it for me on the way here," Douglas replied in a bored tone. "He said something about it allowing him some extra quality time with his fishing rod this weekend."

"Is that right?" Judith put down her palette and stood up, beckoning the boy over. Douglas rushed to her, seeing her smile but completely missing the anger flashing in his aunt's eyes. "Well then, I think it's time we took my boat out to visit your father on the lake so that I can have a word with him."

Wednesday January 25th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: crows.

Thank you to those who replied to my call for assistance yesterday, twas much appreciated. I'm planning on revealing my nefarious pl... er, innocent fun tomorrow. So there's still time to send something my way if you haven't had the chance to yet.

Mine:

He sits on a fence post,

Not far from the front gate;

Keeping watch on the house,

Just waiting for his date.

On his back a ghost sits,

Whispering instructions;

She has waited so long

For this introduction.

In the house mourning dawns

And a soul is set free;

Out the window it slips -

The crow is first to see.

With a cry he takes flight,

Brings old ghost to meet new;

Husband and wife made one,

After too long as two.