The exercise:
Write four lines of prose about: the newscaster.
My goodness did we ever have one heck of a storm overnight. Woke Kat and myself at three in the morning, but somehow Max managed to sleep right through it.
I was quite grateful that it had eased off by the time I had to start harvesting, and only made brief reappearances throughout the day.
I was less grateful to discover, just before dinner, that our basement was home to quite a bit of rainwater. Managed to get four pails worth out of there before I had to return to market preparation.
Fingers crossed for drier weather tomorrow.
Mine:
With a smile as fake as his hair he presents the evening news. Words spew forth in orderly fashion, each following the one that came before in no apparent hurry. The story being reported makes no difference, each one is brought into living rooms around the country in exactly the same way.
That will change one day soon though, for his dealer has just been arrested.
3 comments:
The basement mini-flood doesn't sound good :( Was is due to open windows, or will you have to seal the walls? I can imagine you'd really like the weather to stay dry until the harvest is over now!
Heh, I definitely wasn't expecting your punchline today! It made me smile quite broadly :)
The newscaster
When the camera cut back to the studio, Genevieve the newcaster had Annabelle the weather-girl in a headlock and was attempting to ram her, head-first, into the newsdesk. The audience leaned forward collectively in their armchairs and deckchairs and from the couches, jaws dropping and eyes widening.
The first phone calls started thirty seconds later.
"Mostly, 'pull her hair!' and 'Are you running a book on this?'" reported Jim, from the phone-desk.
I think a few days ago I mentioned this podcast called Welcome to Night Vale, and my bit is pretty much straight out of that odd desert community.
The only parts of the show "necessary" to know are Cecil's voice, and the way that every episode ends.
Also the weather. The weather segments are cool.
Also the whole podcast. It's pretty rad as well.
- - - - - - - - - - -
It is strange: it is only a Voice, a beautiful, sonorous tide washing over you as you move through your day. And yet, much like the ocean you've never seen and are not entirely sure exists, and the Void overhead that most certainly exists, you know something strange lurks in the darkest corners of that Voice.
Strange things happen in this town, and you hear about them on the radio, The Voice reports it; and yet on the days you don't hear that Voice, your day usually goes along fairly normally: no helicopters, no ravenous librarians, none of the fare so regularly reported.
But those days you do not hear The Voice lead to the nights you cannot sleep, because you have not heard the voice allow such a thing, you did not let The Voice bid you goodnight.
Greg - nah, the door doesn't really shut perfectly and the wind carried the rain right into it with enough force that water came through. Pain in the butt, really.
Hahaha, I quite like your viewing audience's response!
g2 - well, I shall have to give it a listen at some point, now that you've rec'd it twice!
Ravenous librarians? Okay, now I really need to listen to it.
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