Daily writing prompts from June 9th, 2008 to December 31st, 2022
Sunday January 21st, 2018
The exercise: Write about something that has been: frittered away. In related news, it's that time of year again... and yes, I did get an apple fritter this time.
Happy Diabetes Diagnosis Day! And I'm pleased that you got your apple fritter this year, though thinking about it you should really have tried to get the diagnosis three months earlier so that you were in apple-season :) I confess to being a little disappointed that there was no savage behaviour at the dog park for you to tell us about, but with today's prompt it would be quite curious to have it lead to something being frittered away :) Today I'm returning to the only one of my characters who probably needs no introduction (and is frequently invited to unintroduce themselves and leave without making a scene).
Frittered away The fog that had settled the night before was clearing up by turning into snow; the grey haze turned white and drifted to the ground as the temperature dropped. It had been snowing on and off for days now and the city was managing to mostly look attractive as the fresh whiteness covered up the pollution and mud that had already invaded the old snow like athlete's foot in a gym's changing room. The roads were clear; the snowploughs were out in force, and if anyone wondered that the Mayor appeared to have twenty times the necessary number no-one was brave enough to say anything. The sidewalks were icy but mostly safe, and the snow was mounded on verges, gardens, and formed huge bergs where it dumped in the central park. "Snowmen" -- Mad Frankie was settling scores by planting enemies out for the snow to cover them up -- were dotted here and there and would only be cleared up when it thawed and they started to smell. Abilene sat on a snow-drift, sinking slowly into it so that it surrounded her like an icy throne. She was wearing a mini-skirt, a halter-top, and (in her only concession to the weather) leg-warmers. Her high-heels were set neatly side-by-side on the pavement in front of her, and a bottle of whiskey was just visible in the snow-drift, chilling down past the correct, drinkable temperature. "Spare a penny?" she said, her mouth and throat moving automatically as a shadow fell across her. Then her eyes, wide with dilated pupils, focused fractionally and she recognised the man stood in front of her. "Actually, don't." Her words slurred, and she belched hugely, gassing out a cloud of volatilised alcohol. "You're bad luck." MacArthur shrugged, an oddly lopsided motion as one shoulder was currently two inches lower than the other. "Your mother named you after a window-cleaner," he said. "We've all got our crosses to bear." His voice was low and grating, like the slow collision of a tanker with an iceberg. "You were a trophy wife five days ago, Abi. What happened?" "Frittered away," she said, and spat in the snow. It froze near-instantly, looking like misplaced fulgurite. "Jack spent it all?" MacArthur frowned and either snow or dandruff fell from his eyebrows. "No." She spat again. "Frittered Away, the movie. The follow up to Spirited Away. Humans get turned into doughnuts and sold in a celestial Tim Horton's to angels and demons. Jack's obsessed with it and has put everything into it." "Jack is Mad Frankie's accountant," said MacArthur. Even without his sepulchral tones the words would have sounded like the falling of a tombstone. "Getting out of town right now," said Abilene, scrambling to her feet and suddenly sober.
I think I figured out who you were writing about halfway through your opening line :)
The follow up to Spirited Away? That's a fantastic connection to the prompt, sir. Well done.
Morganna - ah, another top notch acrostic. I always enjoy it when the acrostic itself is being written about in an indirect way like this. Nicely done :)
Get wheels spinning long enough, hard enough, the friction of work makes for heat. Heat builds up without a vent, though it's gradual enough that, on the whole, the machine doesn't really notice, not at first.
But eventually heat and continuous work starts to warp the parts---small parts, at first, just enough to skip a beat here and there. Then it's bigger skips, more distortion, bigger parts misfiring, until entire sections of mechanism rattle themselves apart.
The machine still runs, but in inefficient disrepair. A once-reliable machine's malfunction is maddening; it's terrifying even, especially when it isn't clear that it's happening. Even when it is clear, it's still unsettling. These sections worked before, these parts were fine, the whole thing worked before---so well, in fact, it should be able to fix itself, by itself. Never mind its disarray spelled out with paper-thin belts and gears in the heart of this machine, never mind the dwindling supplies for repair, it should be able to fix itself, by itself. ========== It's not a perfect metaphor for burnout, but I'll take it in this economy.
Time. It’s too easy to waste it, doing unimportant things. Enjoy the good times, forget the bad. Distance. If you don’t need to go that far, don’t. Save the fuel. Save time. Words. Idle gossip is the worst waster of words. Better with one word of wisdom than a bunch of them that harm. Health. If you don’t look after yourself, health can leave. It’s gradual, but it happens. Age. So, we’re back to Time again. Age creeps up all too quickly. What have you done in your life? Did you do a job you liked? Did you make a home and family? Did you enjoy vacations? Did you learn a thing or two about yourself, others or the world? One day it’ll be all gone, but the question is: was it time well spent or was it frittered away?
g2 - I really like this. There are some lovely word choices in there (I particularly like the pairing of 'maddening' and 'happening') and I think the metaphor works quite nicely. So thank you for sharing this :)
Dragonfly - found myself nodding along as I read this. There's an awareness and frankness here that is slightly uncomfortable, yet so very much required. Nice work :)
6 comments:
Happy Diabetes Diagnosis Day! And I'm pleased that you got your apple fritter this year, though thinking about it you should really have tried to get the diagnosis three months earlier so that you were in apple-season :)
I confess to being a little disappointed that there was no savage behaviour at the dog park for you to tell us about, but with today's prompt it would be quite curious to have it lead to something being frittered away :)
Today I'm returning to the only one of my characters who probably needs no introduction (and is frequently invited to unintroduce themselves and leave without making a scene).
Frittered away
The fog that had settled the night before was clearing up by turning into snow; the grey haze turned white and drifted to the ground as the temperature dropped. It had been snowing on and off for days now and the city was managing to mostly look attractive as the fresh whiteness covered up the pollution and mud that had already invaded the old snow like athlete's foot in a gym's changing room. The roads were clear; the snowploughs were out in force, and if anyone wondered that the Mayor appeared to have twenty times the necessary number no-one was brave enough to say anything. The sidewalks were icy but mostly safe, and the snow was mounded on verges, gardens, and formed huge bergs where it dumped in the central park. "Snowmen" -- Mad Frankie was settling scores by planting enemies out for the snow to cover them up -- were dotted here and there and would only be cleared up when it thawed and they started to smell.
Abilene sat on a snow-drift, sinking slowly into it so that it surrounded her like an icy throne. She was wearing a mini-skirt, a halter-top, and (in her only concession to the weather) leg-warmers. Her high-heels were set neatly side-by-side on the pavement in front of her, and a bottle of whiskey was just visible in the snow-drift, chilling down past the correct, drinkable temperature.
"Spare a penny?" she said, her mouth and throat moving automatically as a shadow fell across her. Then her eyes, wide with dilated pupils, focused fractionally and she recognised the man stood in front of her. "Actually, don't." Her words slurred, and she belched hugely, gassing out a cloud of volatilised alcohol. "You're bad luck."
MacArthur shrugged, an oddly lopsided motion as one shoulder was currently two inches lower than the other.
"Your mother named you after a window-cleaner," he said. "We've all got our crosses to bear." His voice was low and grating, like the slow collision of a tanker with an iceberg. "You were a trophy wife five days ago, Abi. What happened?"
"Frittered away," she said, and spat in the snow. It froze near-instantly, looking like misplaced fulgurite.
"Jack spent it all?" MacArthur frowned and either snow or dandruff fell from his eyebrows.
"No." She spat again. "Frittered Away, the movie. The follow up to Spirited Away. Humans get turned into doughnuts and sold in a celestial Tim Horton's to angels and demons. Jack's obsessed with it and has put everything into it."
"Jack is Mad Frankie's accountant," said MacArthur. Even without his sepulchral tones the words would have sounded like the falling of a tombstone.
"Getting out of town right now," said Abilene, scrambling to her feet and suddenly sober.
Too soon gone
It won't come back
Mark my words, you will
Ever regret wasting it.
Greg - yes, well, next time :P
I think I figured out who you were writing about halfway through your opening line :)
The follow up to Spirited Away? That's a fantastic connection to the prompt, sir. Well done.
Morganna - ah, another top notch acrostic. I always enjoy it when the acrostic itself is being written about in an indirect way like this. Nicely done :)
Get wheels spinning long enough, hard enough, the friction of work makes for heat. Heat builds up without a vent, though it's gradual enough that, on the whole, the machine doesn't really notice, not at first.
But eventually heat and continuous work starts to warp the parts---small parts, at first, just enough to skip a beat here and there. Then it's bigger skips, more distortion, bigger parts misfiring, until entire sections of mechanism rattle themselves apart.
The machine still runs, but in inefficient disrepair. A once-reliable machine's malfunction is maddening; it's terrifying even, especially when it isn't clear that it's happening. Even when it is clear, it's still unsettling. These sections worked before, these parts were fine, the whole thing worked before---so well, in fact, it should be able to fix itself, by itself. Never mind its disarray spelled out with paper-thin belts and gears in the heart of this machine, never mind the dwindling supplies for repair, it should be able to fix itself, by itself.
==========
It's not a perfect metaphor for burnout, but I'll take it in this economy.
Frittered Away
Time.
It’s too easy to waste it, doing unimportant things. Enjoy the good times, forget the bad.
Distance.
If you don’t need to go that far, don’t. Save the fuel. Save time.
Words.
Idle gossip is the worst waster of words. Better with one word of wisdom than a bunch of them that harm.
Health.
If you don’t look after yourself, health can leave. It’s gradual, but it happens.
Age.
So, we’re back to Time again. Age creeps up all too quickly. What have you done in your life? Did you do a job you liked? Did you make a home and family? Did you enjoy vacations? Did you learn a thing or two about yourself, others or the world?
One day it’ll be all gone, but the question is: was it time well spent or was it frittered away?
g2 - I really like this. There are some lovely word choices in there (I particularly like the pairing of 'maddening' and 'happening') and I think the metaphor works quite nicely. So thank you for sharing this :)
Dragonfly - found myself nodding along as I read this. There's an awareness and frankness here that is slightly uncomfortable, yet so very much required. Nice work :)
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