The exercise:
It's been long enough since last time, I think, so let us revisit the Random CD Prompt. Go find a song as randomly as you like and then borrow its first line. Use it as your opening and then take things from there.
Managed to get caught up to 2016 on the comments this morning. Being only a week behind feels, sadly enough, like an accomplishment at this point.
Mine:
High Hopes by Kodaline
Broken bottles in the hotel lobby should have been enough of a warning for me to turn right back around as soon as I walked through the entrance. Sent me running back to my car, really. Hit the gas and don't let up until the next town came into view.
But I didn't have a car. There wasn't even a bag over my shoulder. So I stepped, barefoot, around the shards of glass and approached the unmanned front desk. My hand was halfway to the counter before I realized there wasn't a bell waiting for me there.
"Hello?" I called out, my voice hoarse from the recent onset of dehydration.
"You need a room?" The speaker was hidden in an office to my left. Other than her voice the only indication of her presence was the soft glow of a computer monitor in an otherwise darkened room.
"Uh... yeah?"
"Here you go." I saw a pale hand appear for less than a heartbeat before I needed to focus on the key flying in my direction. I caught it by its red plastic tag. I don't know how, but I did. "Second floor, almost all the way to the end of the hall. Take the stairs - the elevator stopped working two weeks ago."
"Thanks," I said, feeling a little stunned. "Uh, don't I need to sign in or something?"
"Why?" She stuck her head around the corner to look me up and down. I placed her in her early twenties, but I'm terrible with that sort of thing. Curly black hair framed a pale face with an expression that combined boredom with irritation. "You a crook or something?"
"No, nothing like that," I assured her. "I just... I dunno. Isn't that fairly standard?"
"We don't worry about that sort of thing here," she said, returning to her computer. "Just pay when you're ready to leave. Trust me, you don't want to pull a runner."
"No, I wouldn't... why?" Something about the way she'd offered that warning concerned me.
"Anybody who tries that? We sick the dogs on 'em."
"The what now?"
"And those mean little bastards always find their man." She leaned just enough to the side for me to see one cold, blue eye. "You sleep tight now, all right?"
Wednesday January 6th, 2016
The exercise:
Write about: the craft project.
The snow has begun to melt, which is nice in the sense that mobility will soon be much easier. Less nice in the sense that the roads will be slushy messes until all of it is gone.
I'd honestly much rather drive on ice than slush. But hopefully it will soon be gone. Not to be replaced by new snow.
Oh, heads up: yearlong prompt begins this Sunday.
Mine:
I place my overflowing shopping basket on the checkout counter of my local dollar store and begin unloading its contents for the cashier to scan. The lighter stuff is on top - feathers in all the colours of the rainbow, packages of stickers and googly eyes - and I know that if I don't work fast they'll end up in the bottom of the bag, crushed by the heavier items.
"Got a bit of a craft project going on then?" the cashier asks, not unkindly. I figure she's in her early fifties, could stand to eat less and exercise more, and is clearly too fond of her makeup collection. But she's setting my items aside, rather than immediately stuffing them into a bag, waiting to see what else I've got, so I like her immediately.
"You could say that," I say as I start extracting the tape and glue and scissors.
"Looks like it'll keep you busy for a while," she says as she continues to ring up my items. "Find everything you were looking for?"
"No, actually, I didn't." I'm doubtful she'll be able to help - I did check every aisle in the store very closely - but I'm pleased she asked. I pull the list out of my back pocket and examine my handwriting. "Let's see... right. Do you carry any live animals?"
"Uh, no," she says, her hands beginning to move more slowly.
"What about bits of formerly living animals?" I ask. "You know, frog legs and toad eyes and that sort of thing?"
"No, ma'am, I'm quite certain we do not." She's stopped now and I begin to worry I've said something wrong. "Which kind of craft did you say you were making again?"
"Yes, exactly," I say with a smile, relieved to discover she's not only not upset but also understanding. "It is a witch kind of craft!"
Write about: the craft project.
The snow has begun to melt, which is nice in the sense that mobility will soon be much easier. Less nice in the sense that the roads will be slushy messes until all of it is gone.
I'd honestly much rather drive on ice than slush. But hopefully it will soon be gone. Not to be replaced by new snow.
Oh, heads up: yearlong prompt begins this Sunday.
Mine:
I place my overflowing shopping basket on the checkout counter of my local dollar store and begin unloading its contents for the cashier to scan. The lighter stuff is on top - feathers in all the colours of the rainbow, packages of stickers and googly eyes - and I know that if I don't work fast they'll end up in the bottom of the bag, crushed by the heavier items.
"Got a bit of a craft project going on then?" the cashier asks, not unkindly. I figure she's in her early fifties, could stand to eat less and exercise more, and is clearly too fond of her makeup collection. But she's setting my items aside, rather than immediately stuffing them into a bag, waiting to see what else I've got, so I like her immediately.
"You could say that," I say as I start extracting the tape and glue and scissors.
"Looks like it'll keep you busy for a while," she says as she continues to ring up my items. "Find everything you were looking for?"
"No, actually, I didn't." I'm doubtful she'll be able to help - I did check every aisle in the store very closely - but I'm pleased she asked. I pull the list out of my back pocket and examine my handwriting. "Let's see... right. Do you carry any live animals?"
"Uh, no," she says, her hands beginning to move more slowly.
"What about bits of formerly living animals?" I ask. "You know, frog legs and toad eyes and that sort of thing?"
"No, ma'am, I'm quite certain we do not." She's stopped now and I begin to worry I've said something wrong. "Which kind of craft did you say you were making again?"
"Yes, exactly," I say with a smile, relieved to discover she's not only not upset but also understanding. "It is a witch kind of craft!"
Tuesday January 5th, 2016
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: snow angels.
Because Max and Natalie were making them the other day. And, now that I've got snow pants, I'll likely be making some with them soon.
Max returned to daycare today for the first time in... two and a half weeks, I believe. He was pretty reluctant when we told him that was where he was going, but he eventually warmed up to the idea. Well, enough for me to get him there.
I had to stick around for a while before he'd let me leave. But he did, eventually.
And then when his Aunt Becky dropped him off at home this afternoon he was excited to report that he'd had a good day and there were lots of new toys to play with and that they're learning about penguins this week.
So, you know, typical Max behaviour.
Mine:
Snowflakes fluttering
down, like an army of snow
angels attacking
* * *
The soft swishing of
snowsuits against powdery
snow, drowned by laughter
Write two haiku about: snow angels.
Because Max and Natalie were making them the other day. And, now that I've got snow pants, I'll likely be making some with them soon.
Max returned to daycare today for the first time in... two and a half weeks, I believe. He was pretty reluctant when we told him that was where he was going, but he eventually warmed up to the idea. Well, enough for me to get him there.
I had to stick around for a while before he'd let me leave. But he did, eventually.
And then when his Aunt Becky dropped him off at home this afternoon he was excited to report that he'd had a good day and there were lots of new toys to play with and that they're learning about penguins this week.
So, you know, typical Max behaviour.
Mine:
Snowflakes fluttering
down, like an army of snow
angels attacking
* * *
The soft swishing of
snowsuits against powdery
snow, drowned by laughter
Monday January 4th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the reversal.
Snow, snow, so much snow...
This was taken a few days ago, but you get the idea:
Just, you know, add the five inches or so of snow that fell today and then you're all set.
P.S. If anyone wants to deliver firewood to my door... I won't say no.
Mine:
"Twenty-one red!"
The dealer sweeps my chips off the table, all of them having kept a safe distance from the winning number. Again. I shake my head and place more chips, spreading them around the middle third of the table this time.
"Place your bets please!" The dealer calls in a loud, clear voice. I'm the only player at the table but he has been doing this before every spin. Gotta admire his commitment. "No more bets, please!"
Come on, you stupid little ball. Land right for me, just once. I need this. You know I need this. Come on... come on... yes... yes...
"Two black!"
Why does he have to yell the winning number with so much enthusiasm? Especially when it's not my winning number?
"Place your bets please!"
I look down at the chips remaining in my stack. Singular. Where did the rest go? Only enough for one more play. On a hunch I go all in on thirty-six red. I've got a good feeling about this. I'm due. I can't miss.
"No more bets please!"
It's time for a reversal of my non-existent fortunes.
Write about: the reversal.
Snow, snow, so much snow...
This was taken a few days ago, but you get the idea:
Just, you know, add the five inches or so of snow that fell today and then you're all set.
P.S. If anyone wants to deliver firewood to my door... I won't say no.
Mine:
"Twenty-one red!"
The dealer sweeps my chips off the table, all of them having kept a safe distance from the winning number. Again. I shake my head and place more chips, spreading them around the middle third of the table this time.
"Place your bets please!" The dealer calls in a loud, clear voice. I'm the only player at the table but he has been doing this before every spin. Gotta admire his commitment. "No more bets, please!"
Come on, you stupid little ball. Land right for me, just once. I need this. You know I need this. Come on... come on... yes... yes...
"Two black!"
Why does he have to yell the winning number with so much enthusiasm? Especially when it's not my winning number?
"Place your bets please!"
I look down at the chips remaining in my stack. Singular. Where did the rest go? Only enough for one more play. On a hunch I go all in on thirty-six red. I've got a good feeling about this. I'm due. I can't miss.
"No more bets please!"
It's time for a reversal of my non-existent fortunes.
Sunday January 3rd, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the breakdown.
We left Max with Kat's parents this morning while we drove up to Penticton to do some shopping. Happy to report I found some snow pants in a secondhand shop. Oh, and we also got a bunch of groceries and I finally replaced my broken phone case.
No success on the wall map front, but I think I've found one online that will do the job. I'd like it even more if it was slightly bigger, so I'll take a little more time to poke around the internet to see if I can find something closer to my ideal before placing the order.
Terribly behind on the blog, as usual, but I'm trying to get 2016's yearlong prompt sorted out. Expect something middle of the month if I can get my act together.
Mine:
This old body is falling apart on me. There are aches where there should be no aches. Pains in places I've never felt anything before. Shaking has replaced steady, weakness has overpowered strength.
It is... infuriating.
I want to scream until I lose my voice. But my throat is so tender that I wouldn't even get to full volume before a coughing fit would knock me to the floor.
I want to throw something, anything through the nearest window. But I can't find anything I could lift, much less heave far enough to break glass.
When did this happen? It seems like only yesterday that... never mind. I hate that phrase. I hear it too often as it is around here; there's no need for me to start in on it as well.
There's got to be a way to get this body back in working order. Tip-top shape and all that. Some medication, maybe. The more cutting edge the better.
Do you know I almost cut myself in the kitchen this morning? I just wanted a slice of toast with the right amount of peanut butter on it. The damned nurse had barely put a smudge on there! So I grabbed a knife - who knew it was a steak knife? - and had a go. Almost cut my danged finger off!
Ain't right, that. A man should be able to do that sort of thing for himself. Makes me feel like a child.
Anyway. What was I talking about again? Oh, right. Right.
So, like I was saying, my mattress needs replacing. The springs are so busted up on that thing... a man could lose an eye just rolling over in his sleep! I remember when I was a child myself, way back in...
Write about: the breakdown.
We left Max with Kat's parents this morning while we drove up to Penticton to do some shopping. Happy to report I found some snow pants in a secondhand shop. Oh, and we also got a bunch of groceries and I finally replaced my broken phone case.
No success on the wall map front, but I think I've found one online that will do the job. I'd like it even more if it was slightly bigger, so I'll take a little more time to poke around the internet to see if I can find something closer to my ideal before placing the order.
Terribly behind on the blog, as usual, but I'm trying to get 2016's yearlong prompt sorted out. Expect something middle of the month if I can get my act together.
Mine:
This old body is falling apart on me. There are aches where there should be no aches. Pains in places I've never felt anything before. Shaking has replaced steady, weakness has overpowered strength.
It is... infuriating.
I want to scream until I lose my voice. But my throat is so tender that I wouldn't even get to full volume before a coughing fit would knock me to the floor.
I want to throw something, anything through the nearest window. But I can't find anything I could lift, much less heave far enough to break glass.
When did this happen? It seems like only yesterday that... never mind. I hate that phrase. I hear it too often as it is around here; there's no need for me to start in on it as well.
There's got to be a way to get this body back in working order. Tip-top shape and all that. Some medication, maybe. The more cutting edge the better.
Do you know I almost cut myself in the kitchen this morning? I just wanted a slice of toast with the right amount of peanut butter on it. The damned nurse had barely put a smudge on there! So I grabbed a knife - who knew it was a steak knife? - and had a go. Almost cut my danged finger off!
Ain't right, that. A man should be able to do that sort of thing for himself. Makes me feel like a child.
Anyway. What was I talking about again? Oh, right. Right.
So, like I was saying, my mattress needs replacing. The springs are so busted up on that thing... a man could lose an eye just rolling over in his sleep! I remember when I was a child myself, way back in...
Saturday January 2nd, 2016
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: boots.
This morning I went to Oliver to spend one of the gift cards I received for Christmas, this one for Mark's Work Warehouse. Going in I wanted a pair of snow pants (for outdoor time with Max) and new winter boots (to keep my toes warm during outdoor time with Max... and also getting firewood). I was disappointed that they were sold out of snow pants in my size, but it is getting toward the end of their Boxing Week Sale.
I did, however, pick up a pair of these. I would never have bought these at full price, and I still had to think about it with the gift card and them being half price, because I just don't spend that much money on... well, myself in general. But footwear in particular.
Anyway. After only a half day of use I am liking this decision. They've kept my toes warm (which is a remarkably difficult task in winter) and they're super comfortable. They're obviously high quality, so they should last me a long time as well.
So, uh, yeah. That's where the prompt came from today.
Mine:
We put the boots to 'em,
Drunk, they'd often laugh and say.
And I'd smile to myself,
Thinking: You'll have yours one day.
Write a four line poem about: boots.
This morning I went to Oliver to spend one of the gift cards I received for Christmas, this one for Mark's Work Warehouse. Going in I wanted a pair of snow pants (for outdoor time with Max) and new winter boots (to keep my toes warm during outdoor time with Max... and also getting firewood). I was disappointed that they were sold out of snow pants in my size, but it is getting toward the end of their Boxing Week Sale.
I did, however, pick up a pair of these. I would never have bought these at full price, and I still had to think about it with the gift card and them being half price, because I just don't spend that much money on... well, myself in general. But footwear in particular.
Anyway. After only a half day of use I am liking this decision. They've kept my toes warm (which is a remarkably difficult task in winter) and they're super comfortable. They're obviously high quality, so they should last me a long time as well.
So, uh, yeah. That's where the prompt came from today.
Mine:
We put the boots to 'em,
Drunk, they'd often laugh and say.
And I'd smile to myself,
Thinking: You'll have yours one day.
Friday January 1st, 2016
The exercise:
Write four lines of prose about: a new beginning.
Welcome to 2016! I hope the year ahead is a very good one for all of you.
Went up to Kat's parents house this evening for a New Year's Day dinner. Kids were going nuts pretty much the whole time, but we adults managed to squeeze in some conversation here and there.
Quite enjoyed it, actually.
Now, however, I am so tired that I've just been staring at my laptop for like forty minutes without really doing much. So, perhaps, I should just get on with the writing portion of the show.
Mine:
The calendar, heavy with history and the ink of long forgotten appointments, falls to the floor. The sound is magnified in the silence and darkness of the midnight hour, echoing throughout the apartment. He doesn't flinch, though... doesn't even seem to notice the folded up heap resting against his slippered feet.
He is too focused on - too eager for - a new beginning.
Write four lines of prose about: a new beginning.
Welcome to 2016! I hope the year ahead is a very good one for all of you.
Went up to Kat's parents house this evening for a New Year's Day dinner. Kids were going nuts pretty much the whole time, but we adults managed to squeeze in some conversation here and there.
Quite enjoyed it, actually.
Now, however, I am so tired that I've just been staring at my laptop for like forty minutes without really doing much. So, perhaps, I should just get on with the writing portion of the show.
Mine:
The calendar, heavy with history and the ink of long forgotten appointments, falls to the floor. The sound is magnified in the silence and darkness of the midnight hour, echoing throughout the apartment. He doesn't flinch, though... doesn't even seem to notice the folded up heap resting against his slippered feet.
He is too focused on - too eager for - a new beginning.
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