Wednesday September 20th, 2017

The exercise:

Write about: the misnomer.

Beautiful, sunny yet cool morning. Really pleasant walking around collecting not a lot of litter.

This afternoon dark clouds came blowing in and things were not quite so nice out there.

I guess it's that time of year.

Happy to have reached my third to last weekend with this job.

Mine:

"Sir? Can you please sit down? The folks behind you can't see."

"Lucky them."

"Sir. I don't appreciate that. At all. I've worked very hard on this presentation."

"Doesn't show though, does it? I mean, come on guys, I can't be alone on this one."

"I believe that you are. And I invite you to leave so that everyone else may enjoy this information session without interruption."

"Enjoy, Mr. Aldim? I see you're aiming high. I suppose there's something to be admired about that."

"Please leave, sir. I beg of you."

"No need to beg, Mr. Aldim - I was just going anyway. Forgot my cigarettes in my room. Penthouse suite, by the way. In case any of the ladies in attendance were wondering."

"This is highly ina-"

"I mean, other than you two. You ladies were very definitely wondering."

"Monsieur Henri, get -"

"Oh, please don't call me that. You sound like you've got a mouthful of worms when you sat it like that."

"Out! Get Out!"

"I just said I was leaving! Weren't you listening, Mr. Aldim?"

"And that is not my name!"

"It's not?"

"It's Mr. Albright and you know it!"

"Yes, well, from what I've seen and heard tonight, that is very definitely a misnomer..."

Sunday November 27th, 2016

The exercise:

Write something that takes place at: the nightclub.

Did not have the greatest day. Miles is still having a horrible time with teething (despite his first tooth finally breaking through his gum line... maybe ten more are on their way?) and Max did not have a good night's sleep last night, so he was generally cranky for the majority of it.

But now the boys are sleeping and the house is quiet, so Kat and I shall take the chance to recharge and refresh and get ready for another day full of who knows what tomorrow.

Mine:

"This place is appalling."

"Sir?"

"You heard me, Owen," Henri told his newest assistant Wendel. "Look around for yourself, why don't you? That bartender could be your mother, th-"

"I'm pretty sure that's a man."

"The waitresses must have put their makeup - and clothes, for that matter - on in the dark."

"I think you look lovely, ma'am," Wendel told the waitress who was delivering their drinks. She merely sneered at the both of them before whirling away.

"These drinks are... good God! Do they even know what a martini is?" Henri looked like he was going to toss his drink on the floor, then slid it across to his assistant instead. "Here, you can have mine as well Owen. I can't stand alcohol abuse."

"Abuse? Oh, you mean spilling it?" Wendel's face screwed up in confusion. "Was that a joke, sir?"

"And I'm afraid to even ask who they'll be dragging onto the stage for this evening's entertainment." Henri lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Appalling might be too kind a word, now that I've given it some thought."

"So, um... why did you choose to meet with your potential business partners here, sir?"

"I wanted to ensure that they thought as little of this place as I do. One word of praise for this hole in a landfill and the deal is history. Now drink up and look like you're enjoying yourself - they just walked in the door."

"But I already told you I'm allergic to gin!"

"Was that you? I thought that was Wendel. Anyway, drink up - I doubt there's any gin in that monstrous concoction anyway."

Wednesday January 27th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: neighbours.

I nailed the back of my left arm, just above the elbow, on the sharp corner of the new fridge's door handle this afternoon. I'm hoping I'll still be able to fully extend my arm when I wake up tomorrow morning.

Especially with having to work at Town Hall, covering for the receptionist, from 8:30 to 1:30.

I still have no idea why I'm suddenly getting all these calls after seven months of nothing. Tis the season to be sick, maybe?

Mine:

Nicholas was sitting in his favorite chair, a plush recliner with enough beer stains to leave its original colour in some doubt, when the doorbell first rang. He hadn't had a chance to move before it rang four more times.

"Hold on! Hold on!" he shouted, fumbling for the lever that would allow his feet to touch the carpeted floor. "I'm coming!"

Despite his pleas - or, perhaps, because of them - the bell rang nearly a dozen more times before he reached the front door. By that point Nicholas was about ready to knock somebody's block off. Preferably whoever it was that was standing on his porch.

"What the... oh." Nicholas cleared his throat, forcing his voice back down to a more conversational level. "Hello, Henry."

"That's Henri, Nickyboy." A cloud of cigarette smoke obscured the neighbours from each other's view before Nicholas waved it furiously away. "You know that. I've told you at least twenty times now. Don't make me tell you again."

"Or what?" Nicholas regretted the challenge the moment after it had escaped his lips.

"Or I'll have your dog shaved bald and my name tattooed on its sides," Henri said, tilting his head to the side and allowing a bored expression to settle on his face.

"That... that won't be necessary..."

"And if that doesn't work," Henri continued after exhaling another cloud of smoke in his neighbour's face, "I'll have your son's name legally changed to mine."

"You can't do that!" Nicholas shouted, his returning anger pushing caution aside. "I'll call the police!"

"Nickyboy," Henri said with a smile that would frighten the Grinch, "you do not want to test me on this."

The two men stared at each other for a long time then. Nicholas was red in the face and breathing hard. Henri was the picture of calm and patience - a terrifying omen to anyone that knew him in the slightest.

"Whatever, Henri," Nicholas said at last. "What did you come over for anyway?"

"Oh, right," Henri said, perking up noticeably. "I was wondering if I could bother you for some sugar?"

Wednesday February 18th, 2015

The exercise:

Write about: balance.

This morning I took Max to the play cafe once again. This time we were both fully healthy, so there were no concerns about appearing sick. Just lots of climbing and painting and sliding and playing in the mini-kitchen.

A good chunk of the afternoon was spent in the backyard again, which was a little less pleasant than last time - thanks entirely to a surprisingly (to me at least) chilly wind. Max, of course, didn't seem to notice the cold until he was ready to come back inside.

Mine:

"We here at Henri's Investment Distribution Networks are big believers in work/life balance," the nameless man behind the desk told me. Well, he wasn't technically without a name, I suppose - he just hadn't told me what it was.

"That's a relief," I replied, looking up at him from my wobbly stool. "I'd recently heard a lot of stories to the contrary."

"Ah yes, those." His eyes narrowed and his lip curled. "Simply a matter of fired employees who are lashing out after finding out they just didn't cut it here. A bunch of simple-minded, socially inept, worthless sacks of sh-"

"Surely you must be aware," I dared to cut in, "that many of those tales come from former employees who quit of their own accord?"

"Quitters never win. And winners never quit." He placed his forearms on the desk and leaned forward to glare down at me. "That, I hope, is something we can agree on?"

"Certainly." He'd really left no room for argument.

"Good." There was a long, uncomfortable silence before he spoke again. "I see that this is your first time applying for this position, despite it having been posted multiple times in the past six months."

"Yes, about that -"

"Poor hiring choices by my predecessor. Mistakes that I do not intend to repeat." His nose wrinkled as though he detected something foul in the air.

"I can't say that I agree with that," I said, sitting up a little straighter. "I happen to be very good friends with one of those 'poor hiring choices' and I know for a fact that he is a very hard worker with skills and knowledge well beyond this position. When Roberto wa-"

"Oh! You're a friend of Roberto?" I nodded mutely and a viper's smile appeared on his face. "That changes everything. I have someone you simply must meet."

"That's not necessary," I said as he reached for the intercom. "I'm quite certain I'm no longer int-"

"Hush, now," he said before pressing the button that connected him to his secretary. "Grace, be a dear, won't you, and get Henri over here as soon as possible."

Friday January 2nd, 2015

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the aviary.

I've noticed a wide variety of birds around our borrowed home, but today in particular was pretty amazing. There were the usual assortment of magpies in their black and white formal wear, a couple of Steller's jays hanging out in the backyard in their casual blue and black, and even an unidentified hawk perched out front for a short while.

My photo trigger finger is getting twitchy. I shall have to go on a little expedition once the temperatures warm up a little bit. Or at least when the wind settles down.

Mine:

"Magnificent, aren't they my friend?"

"Mmm."

"You seem nervous... is something amiss?"

"Well, I know for a fact that they haven't been fed in over a week... and you've never called me a friend before, Henri."

Thursday September 4th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about: the bill.

Kat had a pretty bad allergic reaction while she was harvesting cherry tomatoes on Tuesday and we were fairly certain it was due to one of the weeds that has taken up residence in that area of the garden. So I spent some time with those weeds this morning and after dinner. Had a nice long chat. Discussed career possibilities.

But mostly? I yanked them out of the ground.

Hoping that did the trick, as there are more cherry tomatoes ready to be picked tomorrow for the market. Aiming to bring some berries, corn, garlic, apples, peaches, and plums along with them. They're calling for a beautiful couple of days, weather-wise, so here's hoping the forecasters know what they're talking about this time.

Mine:

"What the hell is this?"

"It's the bill? You know, traditionally delivered at the conclusion of a restaurant meal?"

"Ah yes, I've heard of that. Never actually seen one before."

"I'm not sure how that could be possible."

"And this here, up at the top?"

"That's a smiley face. A little personal touch from our waiter, I suppose."

"Well. At least my suspicions that we were being served by a child have been confirmed. Likely means the food was actually sourced from the local pound as well."

"I... I don't think that would be..."

"Anyway, thank you for showing me it. Pay up and we'll be on our way - I've got more meetings this afternoon than I care to think about. Good thing I don't have to, huh? That's your job!"

"But you don't pay me enough to be able to afford this, Henri..."

Sunday March 23rd, 2014

The exercise:

Write about: the barter system.

Good lord, the internet connection here is slow. I know it's never good, but it's been downright painful tonight. I just spent almost an hour (on and off) trying to get this far in the process (as in loading up my post template).

I'm just going to write mine and get started on trying to post this.

Mine:

"That will be two dollars and fifty cents, sir."

"... excuse me?" Henri gave the man the evil eye but did not receive the expected response. By the time he remembered that he was wearing his sunglasses, the driver was speaking again.

"That's how much it costs to ride the bus, sir."

"I don't carry change," Henri replied, puffing cigarette smoke out the left side of his mouth. "Too noisy."

"Too...? Listen, sir, I cannot allow you to board this vehicle without payment."

"Fine. Whatever." Henri stuffed his hand into his breast pocket and pulled out a pack of smokes that contained, at a generous estimate, a quarter of its original contents. "Here you go."

"What... sir, you cannot pay your fare with cigarettes. Ignoring the fact that I do not smoke, it is entirely inappropriate. What do you think this is, prison?"

"No, of course not my simple fellow." Henri smiled sweetly, gave the man a firm pat on the cheek. "If this were prison, you'd be the one offering me cigarettes. Now get to driving - I have an important client waiting for me across town."

Wednesday September 11th, 2013

The exercise:

Write about something: rotten.

I was scrounging through our tomatoes this morning in order to fill our latest restaurant order. At this time of year there tends to be a lot of split, overripe, and rotting tomatoes and this season is no different.

At least I was able to find the twenty pounds of heirlooms and ten pounds of beefsteak that had been requested.

Mine:

Henri stepped into his apartment and froze, his keys dangling from his fingers mere inches away from their waiting hook. He sniffed the air gingerly, once again catching the scent of something distinctly unpleasant.

"What idiot left food out?" he asked himself. Or rather, he asked the bust of himself that decorated his entryway. The (overpaid) artist had captured him in fine form, a lit cigarette between his lips and a menacing gleam in his eyes. The statue was easily the most pleasant company he kept.

Moving reluctantly toward his kitchen, Henri studied his surroundings and was not pleased by what he saw. The cleaners had been scheduled to come three times during his two week absence but from the looks of things they'd only been twice.

"People are about to lose their jobs," he muttered, his cell phone already in hand.

But, as it turned out, there would be no need for him to make that call.

For when he arrived in his kitchen he found waiting for him on the floor, spelled out in large letters with rotting vegetables, the words We Quit.

Friday June 21st, 2013

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the secretary.

It sounds like the cherries are going to be okay, which means we should have them again at next weekend's market. This is great news, as we were considering skipping that market if we didn't have them, as we don't really have enough of anything else to make the drive worth it otherwise.

Of course, it would have been nice to have some extra weeding time in the garden...

Mine:

"Your 10:30 is here to see you sir," the smoke-stained words came floating into Henri's office, rousing him from a rather detailed daydream.

"And who, exactly, am I meant to see at 10:30 this morning?" Henri shouted back, loud enough for both his secretary and his waiting appointment to hear where they were stationed in the reception area down the hall.

"Why it's Monsieur Stewart, obviously... oh... oh, darn it, I did it again."

Henri retrieved a full pack of cigarettes from his top drawer, fully aware that he'd need every last cancer stick if he was going to survive yet another meeting that had not been marked on his calendar.

Thursday May 31st, 2012

The exercise:

All right, after reading Greg's comment on yesterday's post I couldn't resist. The challenge today is: the crossover.

Take two (or more, I suppose) characters from different stories (yours or someone else's) and bring them into a scene together. Per Greg's inspiration, I bring you Josie (from yesterday) and Henri (click on the label if this is your first encounter with this fine gentleman).

The day off was glorious, by the way. Should take one more often.

Mine:

Standing outside the smudged glass doors of the lonely motel, Henri breathed cigarette smoke out of his nostrils and considered his options. They were, in short, not very good.

He either had to get a room here or sleep in his rental car. Seeing as he was stuck with the convertible his secretary had booked for him and the local weather idiot was calling for a torrential downpour overnight, he stepped inside the lobby with a muttered oath.

"What exorbitant amount must I pay for the privilege of a room in this ghastly dump?" he asked the bored woman behind the counter, his words clear despite the smouldering cigarette between his lips.

"You're going to have to check that attitude at the door if you want an answer before the sun comes up," she replied without looking away from the TV set up on the counter to her left. From what Henri could tell it was tuned into a sports match of some sort.

"Judging by the number of keys on your board back there... Josie," Henri said as he squinted at the name tag attached to her shirt by some unseen and weakening force, "you're not in any position to turn away a paying customer. So I'd suggest playing a little more nicely."

"I bet you'd like me to play nicely with your miniature package," Josie said, eyeing him up and down with naked distaste. "But this ain't that sort of establishment and you do not want to see what happens if you insist on pressing the matter."

Henri regarded her in silence, blinking away the fumes from his cigarette while he tried to decide what to make of this woman. The only thing he was certain of was that he'd never, in his extensive and miserable travels, met a motelier anything like her before.

"How much for the night?" he asked at length.

"Fifty for a single, seventy-five for a double. Though you should know that all of my rooms are non-smoking."

"And you should know," Henri said as he slapped a fifty dollar bill on the counter between them, "that all my rooms are very, very pro-smoking."

Friday January 27th, 2012

The exercise:

Four lines of prose about: the grey area.

Hey, look at that. We're almost free of January!

Mine:

The security guard came rushing over as soon as he saw the first flick of the lighter; well, it was really more of a purposeful walk, but his thick legs did their very best.

"Excuse me sir, there's no smoking allowed inside the building." Receiving only a face full of smoke in response, he pointed at the sign on the wall and added, "It says so right there, in black and white!"

"Well then I would suggest," Henri replied as he used his briefcase to smash open the nearest window, "that this here is a bit of a grey area."

*For those of you not familiar with Henri, feel free to click his label below to see other occasions he's visited the blog*

Friday October 7th, 2011

The exercise:

Four lines of prose about: an uncle.

Kat's brother and sister-in-law arrived yesterday afternoon, along with their three and a half week old daughter. My niece. I'm her uncle.

That's... going to take some getting used to.

They're in town for Thanksgiving weekend and were joined today by Kat's aunt and uncle from Calgary. Tomorrow one of Kat's cousins will arrive, and my sister Sue and her husband Jake will get here and stay in our guest room (everybody else is sleeping in Kat's parents house).

Should be a weekend filled with good company and good food.

Mine:

"When is Uncle Horny going to be here?" the little boy asked, his nose pressed against the living room window.

"Uncle Henri, dear," the boy's mother said for the third time that afternoon. "And I'm sure he'll be arriving any minute now, so you just keep looking for him."

She returned to the romance novel she was writing on her laptop, not feeling any guilt whatsoever for using her brother's non-existent arrival as a distraction for her hyperactive son.

Saturday June 18th, 2011

The exercise:

A four line poem about: the vendor.

We had a bit of a quiet time for most of the market this morning, but thankfully it picked up for long enough to make the trip worth it.

Hurray for a day off tomorrow!

Mine:

He's smoking a cigarette

And not interested in selling;

There's a reason for this,

But Henri isn't telling.

Friday May 27th, 2011

The exercise:

Four lines of prose about: the rental.

Boston vs Vancouver in the finals. Can't wait for Wednesday night.

The forecast for tomorrow morning is wet and cold, so we're skipping the market this week. People just don't come out in that kind of weather, and we don't have anything to sell that won't keep for next weekend. Hopefully the sun comes out for that one.

Mine:

The man behind the car rental desk swallowed noisily as he held out the keys to the obviously unimpressed customer. His fingers trembled slightly, causing the keys to jingle unpleasantly in the otherwise silent room.

"A Pinto?" Henri said, his cell phone already in hand. "I'll have your head on a platter before the sun goes down."

Sunday April 3rd, 2011

The exercise:

Let us write something which takes place in: the classroom.

After doing some work in the yard this morning, Kat and I taught our second art, music, and yoga class this afternoon. We'd tried to start up a weekly series earlier in the year but there wasn't enough interest, so we're trying a monthly class. We had five students today and I think it went very well.

And I actually got paid to teach. So. Strange.

Mine:

"All right, who would like to go next?" Mrs. Brown asked as she surveyed her classroom from behind her desk. She took a long sip of 'coffee' to eradicate the memory of the last presentation - Michael's dad had droned on about accounting for what felt like five days - and waited for a volunteer. She was in no rush to continue.

"My dad will!" Simon called from the back of the room. "Won't you, dad?"

"If I must," Henri replied, heaving himself to his feet and lighting a cigarette.

"I'll have to ask you not to -" Mrs. Brown began as he made his way to the front but he didn't let her finish.

"While my job is far more interesting than that last windbag's," he said, blowing smoke out his nostrils, "I promise not to go over time." A slight pause, then a cheeky wink. "I'd hate to make us late for our date."

"Mister -"

"Please, call me Henri. Although by my watch," he actually glanced at his wrist for full effect, "you'll be calling me Big Daddy in less than two hours."

"I have never been so -"

"Of course you haven't. But try to keep your skirt on just a little longer - there are children present." Another wink, then he turned to face his son's classmates and their parents. He pulled out his cell phone and held it up for all to see. "So. Who wants to watch me fire my secretary?"

Wednesday March 9th, 2011

The exercise:

Let us write about: static.

Definitely feeling better again today. Still not fully clear of the cold, but I'm damned close.

As far as my take goes, if you're not familiar with Henri feel free to click on the label at the bottom of this post to see more of his story. He's one of only a handful of recurring characters for me on the blog, but I've grown very fond of him.

Mine:

Julie's phone rang five times before she answered it, just before the answering machine would have picked it up. She held it a safe distance from her ear and grabbed a couple of pieces of notepaper with her free hand.

"Good afternoon," she began, knowing full well that her official greeting would be cut off. She was not disappointed.

"Julie, what were you bloody thinking?"

"Henri! So good to hear from you." It was difficult to keep the smile from her lips, but she managed. She knew he'd be able to detect it in her voice. "Could you speak up? It sounds like you're standing in the middle of a monsoon."

"That's because I am!" Henri yelled. "Because you booked an outdoor meeting in the middle of nowhere during monsoon season!"

"Did I? I'm so sorry," Julie said as she began to crinkle the paper. "You should probably take your taxi back to the hotel then."

"The driver already took off and I don't have his phone number - you never gave it to me."

"Oh dear! That is... unfortunate... he... back... right?" Julie said, leaving out more and more words as she brought the crinkled paper closer to the receiver.

"What? What's that noise?"

"... sorry... breaking up... call back... later..."

"Julie, don't you dare hang up that phone!"

"... connection... static..."

Julie returned the phone to its cradle, finally allowing the smile to arrive in full force. She knew there would be hell to pay, but he really had it coming after the map incident.

Friday February 18th, 2011

The exercise:

Four lines of prose about: wrong turns.

Continuing the Jamaica story, we hopped in our rental car and left Negril behind. We were heading for Treasure Beach on the south coast and after several wrong turns and too many potholes, we stopped for a short rest at this pretty little spot:

After a few more wrong turns and a hell of a lot more potholes, we arrived at our guesthouse and wandered out back to find this:

Looking the other way:

It was a long, tiring drive, but the destination made it totally worth it. Speaking of the drive, here's the rental car, parked out front beneath bougainvilleas:

I think tomorrow I'll share some pictures from the boat trip we took along the coast and up Black River to see the crocodiles.

Oh, I've finally caught up with all the comments that were left while I was gone. So now I can get back to my usual routine of posting the day's prompt and then replying to the previous day's comments. Hurray!

Mine:

Henri stared at the brick wall standing in his way and sighed, the cigarette between his lips hanging on for dear life. The wall was not meant to be there, not according to the map his assistant had provided him with that morning before he left the office. As he pulled the cellphone from his breast pocket and flipped it open he didn't even entertain the possibility that he had made a wrong turn on his own. 

This was obviously his assistant's fault, and she was about to suffer the consequences.

Friday January 28th, 2011

The exercise:

Four lines of prose about: it's time to go.

We're out of here bright and early tomorrow morning, due back on Monday, February 14th. I will be doing my best to avoid computers while I'm away, so you likely won't be hearing anything from me besides the posts I've scheduled to go up in my absence.

A couple of blog notes: 

- The 'days in a row' counter is going to be stuck on 964 until I get back (since I update it manually) - if you see it change, it means I caved and logged in. So feel free to yell at me if that happens.

- All of the scheduled posts will be going up at noon Pacific (go here to figure out what that means for you). I figured the least I could do while I was gone was to give you a consistent posting time, and that seemed as good a time as any.

- I will be responding to all of your comments when I return. But I'm going to be nice to myself and give it a week or so to get through them all. Well, assuming that there are a lot to get through. Don't make me beg.

Alright, I think that's everything. I hope all of you keep yourselves safe and well for the next sixteen days and I'll see you when I get back.

Mine:

Pierre looked at the name on the call display on his ringing phone and gulped, drops of sweat appearing immediately on his forehead. He knew this would not be good news.

"Ah... hello, Henri... how are you d-?"

"Meet me downstairs by the front door in forty-five seconds or you're fired."

Monday January 10th, 2011

The exercise:

Today let us write about: the hotel.

Kat and I went snowshoeing yesterday morning and had a great time. We paused on the way up so that I could take this picture looking down on snowy Osoyoos:

And here's one of the pictures I took on the trail:

Today I chopped and hauled wood down to the cabin. I am very tired, so I shall get on with my writing now.

Mine:

Henri studied the room he was meant to sleep in, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. The window, despite being five floors above street level, had been barred. The bedside table was no table at all - it was merely an overturned cardboard box. Tilting his head to the left to read the words on its side, he saw that it had housed a coffee maker in a previous life.

A glance to his right rewarded him with a view of the bathroom. He looked away again before he could decide if there was more drywall or mould to be seen within.

The bed was the kicker though. It sat on the floor, too proud for a frame, with at least six springs poking through the diaphanous sheet. As if it wasn't enough on its own to dissuade him from making use of it, a family of rats had made the pillow their home.

And they were looking at him as though they were prepared to defend it.

Someone, he thought to himself as he pulled his cellphone out of his breast pocket, is getting fired over this.