The exercise:
Write something about: what's his (or her) name?
You'll see where the inspiration came from in a minute. Let me just say that I texted Kat an abbreviated version of the tale this afternoon and was left feeling like it needed to be told in all its glory.
Quiet day off around these parts. Much needed. Back at it tomorrow.
Mine:
Max and I were hanging out at our favorite coffee shop this afternoon. He was having a snack, I was having an iced coffee (because it was too hot for the normal kind - go ahead and laugh at me, mom). There was a big family at the table next to us and as they were leaving the father gave us a smile and a wave.
This got Max's attention.
"What's that?" he asked as he watched them walk down the sidewalk.
"What's what?" I countered, though I was pretty sure I knew what he meant.
"That man."
"That man?" I'll admit: I was buying myself some time. "He's a man." Obviously I needed more time.
"He has a name?"
"I'm sure he does."
"What's his name?"
"I don't know, sweetie." I was about to say something about him being a stranger, or me not knowing who he was because I had never seen him before in my entire life, but Max cut me off.
"His name is..."
"You're giving him a name?" I was very much caught off guard by this.
"Uh huh."
"Okay. What's his name?"
"His name is... his name is... his name is... Suss!"
"Suss?"
"Sussssssss. Sussssss. Sussssssss. He's Sussman!"
Do not ask. I have no idea.
Saturday May 30th, 2015
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: supply and demand.
45 minutes after opening. That's all it took to sell all 51 of our pints of strawberries this morning. The raspberries were sold before the market opened (we're allowed to sell to other vendors before 8:30).
After that? We sold far more tomato and pepper plants than we were expecting to sell. A few people bought my cards. And then a woman bought a print of my hummingbird picture.
It was a very good market.
Next week we're expecting our strawberries to peak. The week after that we'll have cherries for the first time (and we'll still have a good number of strawberries).
This is a good time of year around these parts.
In other positive news, Max appears to be totally fine. Quite the impressive bruise on his forehead, but we have to brush his hair aside to even see it and it doesn't seem to bother him. So good news all around.
Mine:
There is a demand
That we supply;
They say they want truth,
But eat up the lie...
Write a four line poem about: supply and demand.
45 minutes after opening. That's all it took to sell all 51 of our pints of strawberries this morning. The raspberries were sold before the market opened (we're allowed to sell to other vendors before 8:30).
After that? We sold far more tomato and pepper plants than we were expecting to sell. A few people bought my cards. And then a woman bought a print of my hummingbird picture.
It was a very good market.
Next week we're expecting our strawberries to peak. The week after that we'll have cherries for the first time (and we'll still have a good number of strawberries).
This is a good time of year around these parts.
In other positive news, Max appears to be totally fine. Quite the impressive bruise on his forehead, but we have to brush his hair aside to even see it and it doesn't seem to bother him. So good news all around.
Mine:
There is a demand
That we supply;
They say they want truth,
But eat up the lie...
Friday May 29th, 2015
The exercise:
Yeah, I'm not even bothering to tag this one as Four Line Prose day. Mine was not going to be contained within that limit. If yours does, go for it! Good for you! Not happening for me.
Spent most of today picking strawberries. Had a break after lunch while a thunderstorm passed through, which I spent with Max. Otherwise? Picking berries.
Grand total was 51 pints of strawberries (I did 37, Kat's dad helped me finish them off after dinner with an additional 14) and 1 pint of raspberries. Also collected a little bit of rhubarb, to go along with the tomato plants we'll be bringing to market tomorrow morning.
Shortly after I went back out this evening I got a call from Kat. I always worry that something has happened with Max every time she calls... and this time I was right. Hurray?
I guess he tripped and fell while he was out on our deck, giving his head a good knock. A rather large goose egg (I am unable to describe it even remotely accurately without going into hyperbole because he is my 2.5 year old son, so I'm leaving it at as 'rather large', okay?) showed up on his forehead, above his left eye. Going the better safe than sorry route, Kat and her mom took him up to the emergency room in Oliver to get him checked out.
The doctor saw nothing to worry about, said it was unlikely to be a concussion, and back home they came. We'll keep a close(r) eye on him for the next half a day or so, but the swelling has gone down a lot already and he seems to be doing fine.
Bullet dodged. Time for bed.
But first: The Crossing, Part Three.
Mine:
The four horsemen saw the thick, black smoke rising above the ruins of Kingstown long before they passed through what remained of its main gate. Nothing had been said, for they were not surprised. They had seen far too much to be surprised.
"It would appear that those who sought to delay us succeeded in their goal," Famine observed as they entered the rubble-strewn town square.
"We cannot return to Master without first settling this matter." Death looked at each of his compatriots in turn, not looking away until he received a nod of agreement. "Good. We shall bring Him their heads."
"Let us have another look at the letter," War said with an eagerness he had no interest in hiding. The bloodlust was upon him already.
Pestilence reached into his cloak and extracted their sole piece of evidence. It was still clutched in the ferryman's withered hand - the fool had attempted to drop the bag of gold coins that accompanied it into the river without any of the riders noticing.
Pestilence had put an arrow through the man's hand - plague, he thought - and, after they had extracted all the information the man had to give them, Death had severed it just below the wrist, before the infection could spread to the rest of his body. They had left him that way, a plain warning to others who might think to stand in their way.
"The letter is unsigned," Pestilence said, "but that matters little. It is handwritten."
"And the paper itself can be traced," War said happily. "By me, at least."
"You and your stupid bloodhound nose," Famine hissed.
"What was that, Fame?"
"I said let loose your hounds of war, mongrel." Famine paused, the spectre of a smile appearing on his face. "Yes, Mongrel. Let loose your hounds and let us find these men."
"Women, actually." War said, some of his previous enthusiasm draining from his voice as he contemplated his new nickname - as well as the possibility of having to hear it for the rest of eternity. Famine's smile grew all the wider, revealing yellowed and broken teeth. That was the first time in ages his compatriot had spoken to him without use of his hated moniker.
"It matters not," Death declared. "Point us in the direction we got next and let us be gone from this place."
"Fine, Dee." War turned his red horse in a slow circle as the others watched without comment. Then he did a second full circle, which caused the others to exchange puzzled glances. When he began a third rotation Pestilence opened his mouth to speak but War cut him off. "This way."
"You're certain?" Pestilence asked.
"Doubt me now if you wish, Pest," War said, some of his earlier good humour returning. "You will not in two days' time."
With that he urged his mount in the direction he had indicated. And, after a brief (but not unnoticed) pause, the others followed.
Yeah, I'm not even bothering to tag this one as Four Line Prose day. Mine was not going to be contained within that limit. If yours does, go for it! Good for you! Not happening for me.
Spent most of today picking strawberries. Had a break after lunch while a thunderstorm passed through, which I spent with Max. Otherwise? Picking berries.
Grand total was 51 pints of strawberries (I did 37, Kat's dad helped me finish them off after dinner with an additional 14) and 1 pint of raspberries. Also collected a little bit of rhubarb, to go along with the tomato plants we'll be bringing to market tomorrow morning.
Shortly after I went back out this evening I got a call from Kat. I always worry that something has happened with Max every time she calls... and this time I was right. Hurray?
I guess he tripped and fell while he was out on our deck, giving his head a good knock. A rather large goose egg (I am unable to describe it even remotely accurately without going into hyperbole because he is my 2.5 year old son, so I'm leaving it at as 'rather large', okay?) showed up on his forehead, above his left eye. Going the better safe than sorry route, Kat and her mom took him up to the emergency room in Oliver to get him checked out.
The doctor saw nothing to worry about, said it was unlikely to be a concussion, and back home they came. We'll keep a close(r) eye on him for the next half a day or so, but the swelling has gone down a lot already and he seems to be doing fine.
Bullet dodged. Time for bed.
But first: The Crossing, Part Three.
Mine:
The four horsemen saw the thick, black smoke rising above the ruins of Kingstown long before they passed through what remained of its main gate. Nothing had been said, for they were not surprised. They had seen far too much to be surprised.
"It would appear that those who sought to delay us succeeded in their goal," Famine observed as they entered the rubble-strewn town square.
"We cannot return to Master without first settling this matter." Death looked at each of his compatriots in turn, not looking away until he received a nod of agreement. "Good. We shall bring Him their heads."
"Let us have another look at the letter," War said with an eagerness he had no interest in hiding. The bloodlust was upon him already.
Pestilence reached into his cloak and extracted their sole piece of evidence. It was still clutched in the ferryman's withered hand - the fool had attempted to drop the bag of gold coins that accompanied it into the river without any of the riders noticing.
Pestilence had put an arrow through the man's hand - plague, he thought - and, after they had extracted all the information the man had to give them, Death had severed it just below the wrist, before the infection could spread to the rest of his body. They had left him that way, a plain warning to others who might think to stand in their way.
"The letter is unsigned," Pestilence said, "but that matters little. It is handwritten."
"And the paper itself can be traced," War said happily. "By me, at least."
"You and your stupid bloodhound nose," Famine hissed.
"What was that, Fame?"
"I said let loose your hounds of war, mongrel." Famine paused, the spectre of a smile appearing on his face. "Yes, Mongrel. Let loose your hounds and let us find these men."
"Women, actually." War said, some of his previous enthusiasm draining from his voice as he contemplated his new nickname - as well as the possibility of having to hear it for the rest of eternity. Famine's smile grew all the wider, revealing yellowed and broken teeth. That was the first time in ages his compatriot had spoken to him without use of his hated moniker.
"It matters not," Death declared. "Point us in the direction we got next and let us be gone from this place."
"Fine, Dee." War turned his red horse in a slow circle as the others watched without comment. Then he did a second full circle, which caused the others to exchange puzzled glances. When he began a third rotation Pestilence opened his mouth to speak but War cut him off. "This way."
"You're certain?" Pestilence asked.
"Doubt me now if you wish, Pest," War said, some of his earlier good humour returning. "You will not in two days' time."
With that he urged his mount in the direction he had indicated. And, after a brief (but not unnoticed) pause, the others followed.
Thursday May 28th, 2015
The exercise:
I had my orientation/training day today at Town Hall and the Community Centre. My head is stuffed to nearly bursting with information right now. Otherwise, it went pretty well - everyone was really nice and welcoming.
After dinner I needed some peace and quiet so I went out and weeded the last of our onions and leeks (Kat had already done the rest), as well as most of our broccoli plants. That was much needed - both for the garden and myself.
Anyway, let's keep this experiment going with: The Crossing, Part Two.
Mine:
“You did keep us waiting for an awful long time,” War added, then laughed. It was a sharp, short thing that held no joy. “Even by our standards!"
“I told you,” the man said as he brought the pole forward once again. “I was delayed.”
“Yes, you
did tell us that,” Death said. He was standing in the middle of the ferry,
holding on to his scythe with his left hand. Had he have been another
passenger, the boatman might have suggested this one was afraid of the water
surrounding them. But he was who he was, so the boatman wisely kept that thought to
himself. “But you did not apologize.”
“Wasn’t my
fault,” the man muttered. “Ain’t my fault, ain’t my apology you need.”
“Then who,
dear mortal, should we be… requesting… our apology from?” Famine tilted his
head to the side as he stepped closer. “Is that, perhaps, something you can
provide us with?”
“It would
be the fair thing to do,” War added. “After all, you did keep us waiting for so
long. If morning had arrived before you did…”
“But it
didn’t, did it?” The man countered with more righteousness than he had any
right to feel. “My agreement was to get you across the river before morning,
and that’s what I’m doing. So as far as I can see I did nothing wrong, even if
I wasn’t there at the exact second you showed up on the bank. I can’t imagine
you’ll get to Kingstown much later than you would have if I hadn’t been
otherwise preoccupied.”
“Kingstown?”
Death asked, the name of the four horsemen’s destination hanging from his lips
like an icicle.
“Or, you
know, wherever it is that you’re going.” The boatman shifted his attention back
to his work as sweat appeared on his brow. “How should I know, right?”
In the
silence that followed glances were exchanged, even among the horses. Within
seconds a decision was reached, without so much as a nod or a hand signal. Even
the boatman felt it.
“What?” he
asked, his voice suddenly lacking the bravado it had displayed moments earlier.
“You will
tell us why you were delayed,” Pestilence said, stepping back and notching one of his putrid
arrows in his black bow. “And, much more importantly, you will tell us who it was that delayed you.”
Wednesday May 27th, 2015
The exercise:
As hinted at in yesterday's post, I'm trying something different today. Well, starting today - and continuing into tomorrow and Friday.
Welcome to the first edition of A Tale In Three Parts.
Basic idea: everybody who wants to join in gets to tell a story, starting from the same prompt, over the course of three days. The hope is that it will allow each of us to put together something a little longer, a little more involved, a little more intricate, that what we cram into a single day's prompt response. Plus it allows for some time between entries to mull things over and for new ideas to emerge that may have remained hidden had the entire tale been written in one sitting.
And because I don't actually have three days in a row that don't run into either 4 line poem, haiku, or 4 line prose days, I figured Wednesday to Friday was our best bet for this. You're welcome to limit yourself to four lines on Friday (I'm pretty sure I won't) but feel free to ignore the limit in favor of bringing your tale to a proper conclusion.
If this works and you guys are in favor of doing it again, I'm thinking I'll bring it back every couple of months or so, with a new prompt each time. I'll be asking for your feedback on Friday or Saturday to see what you think.
Anyway. Without further ado, let's get this started with: The Crossing, Part One.
Mine:
A thick fog clung to the river in the dark, dead of night. On the eastern bank four cloaked figures stood next to their horses in a silence that seemed to have existed since the dawn of time. They did not shift from side to side, nor fidget with their equipment. Not even their breathing changed. But still their impatience could be felt in the air.
As hinted at in yesterday's post, I'm trying something different today. Well, starting today - and continuing into tomorrow and Friday.
Welcome to the first edition of A Tale In Three Parts.
Basic idea: everybody who wants to join in gets to tell a story, starting from the same prompt, over the course of three days. The hope is that it will allow each of us to put together something a little longer, a little more involved, a little more intricate, that what we cram into a single day's prompt response. Plus it allows for some time between entries to mull things over and for new ideas to emerge that may have remained hidden had the entire tale been written in one sitting.
And because I don't actually have three days in a row that don't run into either 4 line poem, haiku, or 4 line prose days, I figured Wednesday to Friday was our best bet for this. You're welcome to limit yourself to four lines on Friday (I'm pretty sure I won't) but feel free to ignore the limit in favor of bringing your tale to a proper conclusion.
If this works and you guys are in favor of doing it again, I'm thinking I'll bring it back every couple of months or so, with a new prompt each time. I'll be asking for your feedback on Friday or Saturday to see what you think.
Anyway. Without further ado, let's get this started with: The Crossing, Part One.
Mine:
A thick fog clung to the river in the dark, dead of night. On the eastern bank four cloaked figures stood next to their horses in a silence that seemed to have existed since the dawn of time. They did not shift from side to side, nor fidget with their equipment. Not even their breathing changed. But still their impatience could be felt in the air.
For the
ferryman was late.
“Charon
would not keep us waiting like this,” the figure standing next to the white
horse said at last.
“This is
not the Styx, Pest.” The reply came from within the hood of the figure waiting
next to the ashen horse.
“Not yet,
Dee,” Pestilence replied with a laugh that rattled like dry bones in a dice bag.
The other figures turned their gazes toward him but said nothing. Even after
centuries of travelling together they still had not grown used to his sense of
humour.
“The boatman
will come,” Death announced some time later. “He dare not leave us stranded
here.”
“No, the
matter was arranged by Master,” the figure next to the black horse whispered.
“The boatman knows the cost of failing to live up to his end of the agreement.”
“Indeed,
Fame,” the final figure said, ignoring Famine’s glare. Innumerable threats had
not yet vanquished the hated nickname, so he had recently given up on that
tactic. He had yet to decide on an alternative method. “Eventually, our
ferryman will arrive.”
“And then,
War?” Famine asked through gritted teeth. It was all the worse that the rider
of the red horse was the only member of the group without a nickname.
“He will
explain himself, Fame.” War gripped the hilt of the great sword at his hip with
a gloved hand and shrugged slightly. “One way or another, he will explain
himself.”
“Look.”
Death extended a long, emaciated arm toward the river, a lone, pale finger
extending from the sleeve of his cloak. The others did as instructed and a
sound that may have been a contented sigh in another setting, from another
group of travellers, arose as they saw the outline of the ferry emerging from
the fog. “He comes at last.”
Tuesday May 26th, 2015
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: Harry Potter.
No reason that I can remember. I think I was mulling over something to do with magic or magicians (already used most things associated with that) when it occurred to me that I had never used dear Harry as a prompt.
So here we are.
This morning Kat and I did our first full, proper strawberry pick of the season. The end result was just over 8.5 pounds, which Max and I delivered to the bakery after lunch. The harvest will be larger for the next three or four picks, hold steady for a pick or two, then gradually decline. I'm looking forward to seeing what we're able to bring to the market this Saturday.
We did some planting (potatoes) and weeding in the garden afterward, and this evening I finally got around to weeding the rhubarb and one part of our raspberry patch. It was so, so nice to do something unrelated to the strawberries.
Oh, heads up: something a little different is coming tomorrow. If all goes well I'd like to make it a reoccurring thing. We shall see.
Mine:
Wand at the ready,
he stands before the Dark Lord.
"Uh... where's Hermione?"
* * *
His tell-tale scar makes
it nearly impossible
to cheat on Ginny
Write two haiku about: Harry Potter.
No reason that I can remember. I think I was mulling over something to do with magic or magicians (already used most things associated with that) when it occurred to me that I had never used dear Harry as a prompt.
So here we are.
This morning Kat and I did our first full, proper strawberry pick of the season. The end result was just over 8.5 pounds, which Max and I delivered to the bakery after lunch. The harvest will be larger for the next three or four picks, hold steady for a pick or two, then gradually decline. I'm looking forward to seeing what we're able to bring to the market this Saturday.
We did some planting (potatoes) and weeding in the garden afterward, and this evening I finally got around to weeding the rhubarb and one part of our raspberry patch. It was so, so nice to do something unrelated to the strawberries.
Oh, heads up: something a little different is coming tomorrow. If all goes well I'd like to make it a reoccurring thing. We shall see.
Mine:
Wand at the ready,
he stands before the Dark Lord.
"Uh... where's Hermione?"
* * *
His tell-tale scar makes
it nearly impossible
to cheat on Ginny
Monday May 25th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: a fine line.
Spent the morning with Max while Kat got some work done in the garden. Was feeling a little better after a decent night's sleep but most of that had faded away by mid-afternoon. So that ended up being nap time for me.
After dinner I went out and finished mulching the fifth row of the strawberries. There are eight rows in total but the final two rows have never produced much in the way of berries, for whatever reason. I'm ignoring those and I'm mostly okay with that.
Row number six? It's more patchy. I'm tempted to weed/mulch portions of it but if I'm being honest with myself I've run out of time. I need to shift my focus to harvesting the strawberries and getting other stuff done around the farm.
Which means, for better or for worse, the mulching of strawberries is done for this year.
Mine:
"What do you think?"
"Of what?"
"What do you mean, Of what? This! Right here!"
"That? It's just a line on an otherwise blank piece of paper."
"Yes, but what do you think of the line?"
"... I have no idea how to answer that question."
"Is it a good line? Is it a poor line? Is it... is it a fine line?"
"... Remind me to never cut you off chocolate again."
Write about: a fine line.
Spent the morning with Max while Kat got some work done in the garden. Was feeling a little better after a decent night's sleep but most of that had faded away by mid-afternoon. So that ended up being nap time for me.
After dinner I went out and finished mulching the fifth row of the strawberries. There are eight rows in total but the final two rows have never produced much in the way of berries, for whatever reason. I'm ignoring those and I'm mostly okay with that.
Row number six? It's more patchy. I'm tempted to weed/mulch portions of it but if I'm being honest with myself I've run out of time. I need to shift my focus to harvesting the strawberries and getting other stuff done around the farm.
Which means, for better or for worse, the mulching of strawberries is done for this year.
Mine:
"What do you think?"
"Of what?"
"What do you mean, Of what? This! Right here!"
"That? It's just a line on an otherwise blank piece of paper."
"Yes, but what do you think of the line?"
"... I have no idea how to answer that question."
"Is it a good line? Is it a poor line? Is it... is it a fine line?"
"... Remind me to never cut you off chocolate again."
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