Saturday January 7th, 2012

The exercise:

A four line poem about: tech support.

Having some laptop issues around here this evening. At first I thought the battery was dying, then I suspected the adapter of flaking out. Turns out the adapter cord is getting wonky. Hopefully I'll be able to get it replaced soon, as holding it in place so that it actually charges the battery is a pain.

Mine:

Please help, I don't know what to do!

My laptop is screaming at me!

Jeff sighed and told his coworker

To gently tap his Caps Lock key.

Friday January 6th, 2012

The exercise:

Four lines of prose that have something to do with: water.

Judging by the increase in comments here lately, I do believe we have some New Year writing resolutions going on. So I just wanted to say best of luck sticking with it, and please do let me know if I can be of any help.

Mine:

The glass sat empty on his desk, exactly where he'd left it the evening before. Not even a hint of water remained, as though he'd tipped it upside down and waited for all of it to drip into his mouth. Every last drop.

Poison and all.

Thursday January 5th, 2012

The exercise:

Inspired by Greg's comment at the start of this year, your prompt today is: the revolution.

Fair warning: I've got another theme week in the works. Not sure when I'll actually do it, but I'm already looking forward to it. Should be fun.

Today I worked on a couple pieces of writing that I hadn't looked at in a very long time. One held up quite well, the other... ah, needs a bit of work. I'm up to the challenge though!

Mine: 

Professor Webster stepped out of his office, locking the door behind him. As usual, the hours he'd made himself available to his students had passed without any interruptions to his research. Publicly he told any colleague that would listen that he was deeply concerned by this apparent lack of interest in learning the finer points of European history.

Privately he was just glad not to have to waste even more of his precious time on those brainless freshmen.

The hallways of the university were quiet that night; the big football or baseball or whatever game had obviously drawn the majority of the student population. Professor Webster's opinion on sports was not significantly different than his thoughts on his listless pupils.

Stepping out into the night's chilly embrace, he could hear the ghostly remains of cheers coming from the distant stadium. With a shake of his head he turned in the opposite direction, already reaching for his car keys. He'd parked his car - a sensible, prudent, fuel efficient model - in his reserved space in the second row. He'd already placed his briefcase in the passenger seat when he noticed the note tucked under a windshield wiper.

Glancing around, he took the piece of paper and slipped into his car, locking all the doors with the press of a button. As the overhead light began to fade, he read the handwritten words one more time:

The revolution begins tonight. Be ready.

Wednesday January 4th, 2012

The exercise:

It's been a long time - let's make some more unfavorable comparisons.

Not inspired by anything other than me simply remembering we hadn't done that one in a while.

Starting to feel dangerously close to healthy again. Combine that with a rather pleasant 10 degree day and some good progress on writing projects and that was a pretty decent Wednesday.

Mine:

Heads turned as the car slowly pulled into the garage. It was like watching a terminally ill smoker shuffle into his doctor's office for the first time in twenty years, expecting to be healed the day before they were set to pull the plug.

*     *     *

Mitchell swung a golf club as though it was a poisonous snake. That had been coated with skunk spray. And had just been informed that it was Mitchell's doing.

*     *     *

His cough sounds like the mating call of a deranged dingo.

*     *     *

She always dances as though an angry hive of bees have just been released under her dress.

Tuesday January 3rd, 2012

The exercise:

Two haiku about: hell.

Will next week's Two Haiku Tuesday ask for heavenly haiku? It's quite possible.

It's also entirely possible that I'll forget by then.

Mine:

A dust covered room

with no possible escape -

my allergic hell

*     *     *

Please scream louder, my

demon begs. I'm this close to

my next promotion.

Monday January 2nd, 2012

The exercise:

Write something that takes place in: the elevator.

I forgot to mention it, but yesterday Kat and I celebrated our one year anniversary of moving into this place. And today, since I obviously missed renovating so much, I helped Kat's dad patch up a hole above the door in the basement. It's really needed doing since the start, but because it's mostly out of sight we managed to ignore it until now.

Hopefully that will cut down on the number of spiders down there, at least a little.

Mine:

Surely, the elevator must be over its legal capacity by now. I was certain we couldn't cram more people in here two floors ago but people kept forcing their way in, unwilling to wait for the next escape shuttle to deliver them to their weekend.

Normally I just avoid this nonsense by taking the stairs down but I'd promised Olivia a ride and there's no way she was going to make it more than three flights before keeling over. Her bulk is taking up more than its fair share of this inadequate box, but at least she's got cushioning. The same can't be said for Mr. Bony Elbows in front of me.

All eyes are on the digital display over the door. No one speaks - it would just distract us from praying to reach the lobby without another -

Ding!

Never mind. Maybe the folks on the fifth floor will have enough patience to... nope. Is that Todd in accounting making that groaning sound, or the overtaxed cables as they struggle to not drop us to our doom?

Note to self: never skip the stairs again. No matter what.

Assuming I survive this time.

Sunday January 1st, 2012

The exercise:

Welcome to 2012! Let us begin the new year by writing about: a fresh start.

It would seem that I am sick again. Though I'm not sure 'again' is appropriate, seeing as I don't think I ever fully recovered from the last one.

Mine:

Sally sat in the living room of her new apartment and stared at the envelope the young man had dropped on her coffee table on his way out the door. That had been nearly an hour ago and she hadn't moved an inch, aside from a slight jump when the phone had rung in the suite below hers.

He'd called it a chance for a fresh start, as though someone her age got such things. The place was nice though, she had to admit that. Well beyond what her old salary at the newspaper would have allowed. She wasn't crazy about the bathroom, how claustrophobic it made her feel, but maybe she'd get used to it.

Bending forward while whistling a breath out her nostrils, Sally finally picked the unmarked envelope up. It had more weight than she was expecting, but that could have been her imagination placing too much importance on its contents. Holding it in her lap, she noticed that the bruises on both wrists were completely healed. Repressing a shudder, she tore the envelope open and dumped it out beside her on the couch.

The driver's license was the first item she grasped, a small frown appearing momentarily on her face. The picture was terrible, as always, but despite the new hairstyle and color she could still recognize herself. The birth date had been moved forward by a couple years, which she appreciated, but it was the name across the top that she struggled with.

No matter what the witness protection officer had told her, she just couldn't picture herself as a Megan.