The exercise:
Write two haiku about: the epilogue.
They don't have to be related to Secret Agent theme week... but I'd be impressed if you managed to work with this prompt otherwise. Consider that a challenge, if you wish.
That was a fun week for me, and I hope you enjoyed it as well. We return to our usual prompt style tomorrow.
Mine:
An offer is made:
Wealth beyond his wildest dreams.
Offer accepted.
* * *
One mission ends, the
next must now begin; Pine has
become the target.
Showing posts with label Secret Agent Week. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Secret Agent Week. Show all posts
Monday December 8th, 2014
The exercise:
The seventh and (mostly) final day of Secret Agent theme week arrives wanting to know the status of your mission - accomplished or failed?
I say mostly because I'm going to use tomorrow as an epilogue day, for those of us unable to wrap things up in the allotted time. Or to tie up any loose ends, that sort of thing.
Christmas is approaching... rather quickly all of a sudden.
Mine:
Agent Pine has always considered himself to be a good man. Reliable, trustworthy, loyal. Perhaps to a fault on that last one. He has always done what his employer has asked of him, whether he personally agreed with the assignment or not. On many of those missions he had suffered greatly.
Now, as he strolls along the crowded sidewalk, ignoring the screaming police cars that everyone else seems unable to watch while also continuing to walk, he is not so certain. His jacket has been traded for a homeless man's tattered trench coat. He walks barefoot, having left his polished black dress shoes without accepting anything in return (the bum's shoes had been too small). Underneath the coat he holds his slacks up with both hands. The cable in his belt had afforded him a twelve storey head start on the guards but had to be abandoned in his haste.
He had not tried to trade pants with the vagrant. There was little time to spare. Also, Agent Pine had his limits.
Those limits are being tested even as he makes his way in the general direction of the safe house. His mind is not yet made up as to whether or not he will actually return there. Questions await his arrival and he is not ready to greet them with his usual candor.
Was the mission successful? Well, that depends on how you look at that sort of thing...
It would be noticed.
And that could only lead to even more questions.
He needs time to think. To answer questions of his own. About his present and his future. He needs room to breathe without anyone breathing down his neck.
He needs time to consider Rose Desmarais' very, very generous offer.
The seventh and (mostly) final day of Secret Agent theme week arrives wanting to know the status of your mission - accomplished or failed?
I say mostly because I'm going to use tomorrow as an epilogue day, for those of us unable to wrap things up in the allotted time. Or to tie up any loose ends, that sort of thing.
Christmas is approaching... rather quickly all of a sudden.
Mine:
Agent Pine has always considered himself to be a good man. Reliable, trustworthy, loyal. Perhaps to a fault on that last one. He has always done what his employer has asked of him, whether he personally agreed with the assignment or not. On many of those missions he had suffered greatly.
Now, as he strolls along the crowded sidewalk, ignoring the screaming police cars that everyone else seems unable to watch while also continuing to walk, he is not so certain. His jacket has been traded for a homeless man's tattered trench coat. He walks barefoot, having left his polished black dress shoes without accepting anything in return (the bum's shoes had been too small). Underneath the coat he holds his slacks up with both hands. The cable in his belt had afforded him a twelve storey head start on the guards but had to be abandoned in his haste.
He had not tried to trade pants with the vagrant. There was little time to spare. Also, Agent Pine had his limits.
Those limits are being tested even as he makes his way in the general direction of the safe house. His mind is not yet made up as to whether or not he will actually return there. Questions await his arrival and he is not ready to greet them with his usual candor.
Was the mission successful? Well, that depends on how you look at that sort of thing...
It would be noticed.
And that could only lead to even more questions.
He needs time to think. To answer questions of his own. About his present and his future. He needs room to breathe without anyone breathing down his neck.
He needs time to consider Rose Desmarais' very, very generous offer.
Sunday December 7th, 2014
The exercise:
Not sure how we're on day six of Secret Agent theme week already. Regardless, let us write about: the recovery.
Had a fun day with my family here. We made a return visit to the model railroad museum, as they were doing admission by donations to the food bank today. So instead of paying almost $20 to get the three of us in the door, we dropped off some food for a good cause.
While we were there we ran into four or five of Max's friends (with their parents, obviously) which was pretty nice. That included our bakery friends, who invited us over to their place afterward to hang out for a while.
This afternoon I hung out with Max, mostly at Kat's parents house, while Kat had a rest and some time to herself. We played with tools (toy ones and real ones), played the piano, watched TV... all sorts of fun things.
Now I am tired and ready for the bed times.
Mine:
"You've got to be joking," Agent Pine says, leveling an accusing glare at the traitorous pen. Behind him the guards begin hammering on the door. He is certain that his tie will hold. The hinges, on the other hand...
"What have you done to me?" Rose asks, her voice distant. She is standing, slender arms hanging limp at her sides. Her dark hair has fallen over one eye but she can only blink lazily at it.
"To be entirely honest," Pine says as he comes around to her side of the desk, "I'm not sure. This has never happened to me before."
"I bet that's what you tell all the girls."
The joke gives him pause. This is a woman known for moving money for human traffickers, not her sense of humour.
"What have you been working on today?" he asks, shuffling through her papers to buy himself some time to think as much as to find useful evidence.
"Oh, you know, bills, budgets, black market deals," she says slowly, still seemingly unable to move her extremities. Pine wonders how long this will last. "The usual."
"Certainly." He pulls a camera out of the back pocket of his pants and begins snapping shots of anything that looks suspicious. Which happens to be pretty much everything. The door cracks loudly under the force of the guards' fury. "I was sent here to kill you, you know."
"I kind of figured as much," she says, her fingers beginning to twitch. Pine is too preoccupied with the documents to notice. "You're not doing a very good job of it."
"You're welcome," he says with a short laugh. The door begins to splinter, long, sharp talons of wood stretching in their direction. "What would you be willing to do in order to continue putting off seeing the intimate details of hell's hotel?"
After a slight pause, Rose answers. Her words come out a little faster now.
Agent Pine smiles.
The door explodes inward.
Not sure how we're on day six of Secret Agent theme week already. Regardless, let us write about: the recovery.
Had a fun day with my family here. We made a return visit to the model railroad museum, as they were doing admission by donations to the food bank today. So instead of paying almost $20 to get the three of us in the door, we dropped off some food for a good cause.
While we were there we ran into four or five of Max's friends (with their parents, obviously) which was pretty nice. That included our bakery friends, who invited us over to their place afterward to hang out for a while.
This afternoon I hung out with Max, mostly at Kat's parents house, while Kat had a rest and some time to herself. We played with tools (toy ones and real ones), played the piano, watched TV... all sorts of fun things.
Now I am tired and ready for the bed times.
Mine:
"You've got to be joking," Agent Pine says, leveling an accusing glare at the traitorous pen. Behind him the guards begin hammering on the door. He is certain that his tie will hold. The hinges, on the other hand...
"What have you done to me?" Rose asks, her voice distant. She is standing, slender arms hanging limp at her sides. Her dark hair has fallen over one eye but she can only blink lazily at it.
"To be entirely honest," Pine says as he comes around to her side of the desk, "I'm not sure. This has never happened to me before."
"I bet that's what you tell all the girls."
The joke gives him pause. This is a woman known for moving money for human traffickers, not her sense of humour.
"What have you been working on today?" he asks, shuffling through her papers to buy himself some time to think as much as to find useful evidence.
"Oh, you know, bills, budgets, black market deals," she says slowly, still seemingly unable to move her extremities. Pine wonders how long this will last. "The usual."
"Certainly." He pulls a camera out of the back pocket of his pants and begins snapping shots of anything that looks suspicious. Which happens to be pretty much everything. The door cracks loudly under the force of the guards' fury. "I was sent here to kill you, you know."
"I kind of figured as much," she says, her fingers beginning to twitch. Pine is too preoccupied with the documents to notice. "You're not doing a very good job of it."
"You're welcome," he says with a short laugh. The door begins to splinter, long, sharp talons of wood stretching in their direction. "What would you be willing to do in order to continue putting off seeing the intimate details of hell's hotel?"
After a slight pause, Rose answers. Her words come out a little faster now.
Agent Pine smiles.
The door explodes inward.
Saturday December 6th, 2014
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: the complication.
Or, if you're joining us on our Secret Agent theme week journey, write some more. You can include a four line poem if you're able to (I wasn't).
I was rather disappointed with the craft fair today. Better location, more vendors, more foot traffic landed on the plus side of the equation. Freezing rain in the morning, more competition for dollars from better quality vendors, and fewer sales than last week on the minus.
The end result was okay, but I was hoping for better. I did sell another framed print though, so that helped. Not sure what my next steps might be at this point, but I've got time to figure that out.
Mine:
Mrs. Rose Desmarais had spent the entirety of her morning studying financial reports - most of them legitimate, others less so - and now that lunch hour had arrived (twenty minutes ago) she was more than ready for a break.
Needless to say, she is not pleased to find a stranger - no matter the cost of his suit - entering her office.
"What. The. Hell." As mentioned, it had been a very long morning.
"And a fan-damned-tastic day to you too!" Pine calls out, twirling a pen in each hand as he approaches. His tie is no longer around his neck, having been used to secure the door knob to a nearby filing cabinet. His Texan accent is gone as well, with no audience present who he intends to leave alive.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demands as the distance between them shrinks faster than the marketing department's budget.
"I don't think," Pine replies with the barest suggestion of a smile. "I know."
He levels both pens at Rose's face as he leans across her desk. He clicks first the left, then the right to unleash a highly toxic combination. The left pen sprays its payload with a venomous hiss.
The right pen does nothing.
Write a four line poem about: the complication.
Or, if you're joining us on our Secret Agent theme week journey, write some more. You can include a four line poem if you're able to (I wasn't).
I was rather disappointed with the craft fair today. Better location, more vendors, more foot traffic landed on the plus side of the equation. Freezing rain in the morning, more competition for dollars from better quality vendors, and fewer sales than last week on the minus.
The end result was okay, but I was hoping for better. I did sell another framed print though, so that helped. Not sure what my next steps might be at this point, but I've got time to figure that out.
Mine:
Mrs. Rose Desmarais had spent the entirety of her morning studying financial reports - most of them legitimate, others less so - and now that lunch hour had arrived (twenty minutes ago) she was more than ready for a break.
Needless to say, she is not pleased to find a stranger - no matter the cost of his suit - entering her office.
"What. The. Hell." As mentioned, it had been a very long morning.
"And a fan-damned-tastic day to you too!" Pine calls out, twirling a pen in each hand as he approaches. His tie is no longer around his neck, having been used to secure the door knob to a nearby filing cabinet. His Texan accent is gone as well, with no audience present who he intends to leave alive.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demands as the distance between them shrinks faster than the marketing department's budget.
"I don't think," Pine replies with the barest suggestion of a smile. "I know."
He levels both pens at Rose's face as he leans across her desk. He clicks first the left, then the right to unleash a highly toxic combination. The left pen sprays its payload with a venomous hiss.
The right pen does nothing.
Friday December 5th, 2014
The exercise:
Write four (or more) lines of prose about: in deep.
If you're writing a week long story feel free to ignore the four line restriction. I certainly did. Just to show the difference between the two approaches, I tacked on my four line version at the end of mine.
Plus I was curious to see what it would have looked like had I not been feeling like I had too much story left to tell. So, yeah, I likely won't be sticking to a four line poem tomorrow either.
Pretty excited for the craft market tomorrow. It's running from 9am to 3pm so it's going to be a long day. Hopefully enough people come out to help the time pass a little faster.
Mine:
By the time the elevator dinged open on the 36th floor, Agent Pine had employed all of his self-defense training in order to keep the increasingly enamored receptionist's hands off of him. It had been an effort to avoid looking for the surveillance camera that was surely capturing each advance and retreat. He could only hope that security was too busy eating lunch to notice the woman's unusual behavior.
Next time, he thinks as he slips out of the car while the doors are still opening, only two clicks of the pen.
He stops short when he sees the two men watching him from the far end of a narrow hallway. After a moment he realizes the corridor is average sized - it's the two behemoths that are messing with his perspective. They look like they spend most of their waking time in a weight room. Maybe some of their sleeping hours as well.
"Come on, silly," the receptionist chides him, sliding an arm through his and dragging him forward. "They don't bite."
"Hi Lily," the blond says with a shy smile.
"Who is this?" the redhead asks. No smile.
"This, my lovely boys, is an old high school friend of our dear Rosie Dee!" Lily leans into Agent Pine and very nearly giggles.
"Fellas," he offers as a greeting, avoiding eye contact with his escort.
"You don't have an appointment." Red doesn't need to consult a calendar in order to know this.
"Well no sir, I do not," Pine admits. "This is more of a surprise type visit fo-"
"Boring!" Lily announces and pulls him forward. "Let the two lovebirds have their reunion already. Good luck in there, hun!"
A nudge toward the closed door lurking a dozen feet beyond the guards. A loud smack on his rear before she turns away, calling over her shoulder, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
Next time, he silently amends, at least bring an antidote in order to deal with overdoses.
He looks at the blond and gives him an apologetic shrug. The meathead gives him a big smile and a thumbs up in return. But as Agent Pine lets himself through the door the last thing he sees is the redhead pulling a cell phone out of his pocket.
* * *
The Four Line Version
Agent Pine escapes the elevator on the 36th floor, the receptionist hot on his heels. He'd given her one two many clicks of the mist - perhaps two - and considers himself lucky to have not lost any articles of clothing on the way up.
There are two over-sized men guarding the only door in the hallway he finds himself in and Pine offers up a quick prayer that they have more muscles than brains as his escort catches up and slips an arm through his with a suggestive laugh.
He begins to wonder if, between the cables secreted away in his belt and tie, he has enough length to escape the building through a window.
Write four (or more) lines of prose about: in deep.
If you're writing a week long story feel free to ignore the four line restriction. I certainly did. Just to show the difference between the two approaches, I tacked on my four line version at the end of mine.
Plus I was curious to see what it would have looked like had I not been feeling like I had too much story left to tell. So, yeah, I likely won't be sticking to a four line poem tomorrow either.
Pretty excited for the craft market tomorrow. It's running from 9am to 3pm so it's going to be a long day. Hopefully enough people come out to help the time pass a little faster.
Mine:
By the time the elevator dinged open on the 36th floor, Agent Pine had employed all of his self-defense training in order to keep the increasingly enamored receptionist's hands off of him. It had been an effort to avoid looking for the surveillance camera that was surely capturing each advance and retreat. He could only hope that security was too busy eating lunch to notice the woman's unusual behavior.
Next time, he thinks as he slips out of the car while the doors are still opening, only two clicks of the pen.
He stops short when he sees the two men watching him from the far end of a narrow hallway. After a moment he realizes the corridor is average sized - it's the two behemoths that are messing with his perspective. They look like they spend most of their waking time in a weight room. Maybe some of their sleeping hours as well.
"Come on, silly," the receptionist chides him, sliding an arm through his and dragging him forward. "They don't bite."
"Hi Lily," the blond says with a shy smile.
"Who is this?" the redhead asks. No smile.
"This, my lovely boys, is an old high school friend of our dear Rosie Dee!" Lily leans into Agent Pine and very nearly giggles.
"Fellas," he offers as a greeting, avoiding eye contact with his escort.
"You don't have an appointment." Red doesn't need to consult a calendar in order to know this.
"Well no sir, I do not," Pine admits. "This is more of a surprise type visit fo-"
"Boring!" Lily announces and pulls him forward. "Let the two lovebirds have their reunion already. Good luck in there, hun!"
A nudge toward the closed door lurking a dozen feet beyond the guards. A loud smack on his rear before she turns away, calling over her shoulder, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
Next time, he silently amends, at least bring an antidote in order to deal with overdoses.
He looks at the blond and gives him an apologetic shrug. The meathead gives him a big smile and a thumbs up in return. But as Agent Pine lets himself through the door the last thing he sees is the redhead pulling a cell phone out of his pocket.
* * *
The Four Line Version
Agent Pine escapes the elevator on the 36th floor, the receptionist hot on his heels. He'd given her one two many clicks of the mist - perhaps two - and considers himself lucky to have not lost any articles of clothing on the way up.
There are two over-sized men guarding the only door in the hallway he finds himself in and Pine offers up a quick prayer that they have more muscles than brains as his escort catches up and slips an arm through his with a suggestive laugh.
He begins to wonder if, between the cables secreted away in his belt and tie, he has enough length to escape the building through a window.
Thursday December 4th, 2014
The exercise:
Day three of Secret Agent Theme week brings us: the target.
Still don't really know where I'm going with mine. Hoping things start to become more clear after today's entry.
Edit: yup, that helped.
Mine:
Most agents, after receiving their latest assignment, begin their surveillance from afar. Computers for background checks and whatever information that can be found online. Telescopes (and even the odd sniper scope) for long distance, unobtrusive viewing. They circle and circle, slowly drawing the net tight until at last the target is captured. Or eliminated.
Agent Pine, however, did not operate like most agents.
He preferred a more direct approach. When questioned by his supervisors about his methodology (usually after a mission which featured... complications), Agent Pine liked to say that he didn't want to give his mark a chance to see him coming. Element of surprise and all that.
In the case of the mission he referred to as The Paper Assignment, Agent Pine's opening gambit was to walk into the lobby of his target's building wearing an obviously expensive black suit and red silk tie and ask for her by name.
"Mrs. Rose Desmarais?" the receptionist asks, one perfectly plucked eyebrow rising ever so slightly.
"Ah, good, your ears work perfectly." He'd actually asked for Rosie Dee, throwing in a sly wink for good measure.
"Our Chief Financial Officer?"
"That's the one! She's done real well for herself, ain't she?" Agent Pine shakes his head in apparent disbelief.
"And do you have an appointment with Mrs. Desmarais?" The receptionist managed to turn the question into an accusation.
"Of course I do, darling!" Of course he did not.
"And your name would be...?"
"Let's cut the chitchat, shall we?" Agent Pine pulls a chequebook from inside his jacket, bringing a silver and red pen with it. He twirls the instrument idly between his fingers, pausing once, then again, to click out it's retractable tip while making sure it is aimed directly at the receptionist's face each time he does so. "How much do you need to leave your post and take me straight to the little lady?"
"Why you shameless fool! I cannot... possibly... unattended..." The receptionist gives her head a shake, blinks her eyes rapidly. Agent Pine gives her one more click of the invisible mist for good measure. "I... well, since you asked so very nicely... right this way, sir."
Day three of Secret Agent Theme week brings us: the target.
Still don't really know where I'm going with mine. Hoping things start to become more clear after today's entry.
Edit: yup, that helped.
Mine:
Most agents, after receiving their latest assignment, begin their surveillance from afar. Computers for background checks and whatever information that can be found online. Telescopes (and even the odd sniper scope) for long distance, unobtrusive viewing. They circle and circle, slowly drawing the net tight until at last the target is captured. Or eliminated.
Agent Pine, however, did not operate like most agents.
He preferred a more direct approach. When questioned by his supervisors about his methodology (usually after a mission which featured... complications), Agent Pine liked to say that he didn't want to give his mark a chance to see him coming. Element of surprise and all that.
In the case of the mission he referred to as The Paper Assignment, Agent Pine's opening gambit was to walk into the lobby of his target's building wearing an obviously expensive black suit and red silk tie and ask for her by name.
"Mrs. Rose Desmarais?" the receptionist asks, one perfectly plucked eyebrow rising ever so slightly.
"Ah, good, your ears work perfectly." He'd actually asked for Rosie Dee, throwing in a sly wink for good measure.
"Our Chief Financial Officer?"
"That's the one! She's done real well for herself, ain't she?" Agent Pine shakes his head in apparent disbelief.
"And do you have an appointment with Mrs. Desmarais?" The receptionist managed to turn the question into an accusation.
"Of course I do, darling!" Of course he did not.
"And your name would be...?"
"Let's cut the chitchat, shall we?" Agent Pine pulls a chequebook from inside his jacket, bringing a silver and red pen with it. He twirls the instrument idly between his fingers, pausing once, then again, to click out it's retractable tip while making sure it is aimed directly at the receptionist's face each time he does so. "How much do you need to leave your post and take me straight to the little lady?"
"Why you shameless fool! I cannot... possibly... unattended..." The receptionist gives her head a shake, blinks her eyes rapidly. Agent Pine gives her one more click of the invisible mist for good measure. "I... well, since you asked so very nicely... right this way, sir."
Wednesday December 3rd, 2014
The exercise:
Secret Agent Theme Week enters its second day with a request to write about: the mission.
I've got a list of seven prompts I'm planning to use this week, but I'm going to keep an eye on where you guys go with things to make sure they will all still be workable. Hopefully I've created a framework that allows lots of wiggle room though.
I was quite excited to learn this afternoon that I'll be attending another craft fair this weekend in Osoyoos. I had inquired last week about space and was told that I was second on their waiting list, but that they'd also yet to receive final confirmation from two of their intended vendors. Knowing how things can go off at the final minute for vendors, I was considering getting myself ready to be a last second replacement.
I'm glad that, instead, I've got a couple of days to get things sorted out. That includes putting in another rush order for more prints of four of my greeting cards. This is a more established market, in a better location than the one I attended last weekend. So if the weather is more agreeable, I should see quite a few more faces in front of my table.
Here's hoping, anyway.
Mine:
He sits in a crowded coffee shop, sipping from a steaming mug while appearing to peruse the day's local newspaper. The noise level is nearing cacophony, between chatting customers and machines struggling to keep pace with the caffeine demands of the neighbourhood's populace.
The man doesn't seem bothered by the commotion, his attention rarely straying from the front page article before him. A steady finger reaches up to adjust his glasses at regular intervals, pushing them further up his nose or shifting them into more comfortable positions for his ears.
He has been coming to this shop several times a week for the last month, his routine hardly varying at all. Paper under his left arm, order a medium regular coffee with room for cream, add said cream and a squeeze of honey, and find a table by the window. Preferably, it seemed to the two staff who paid enough attention to notice, with a view of Main Street.
Another adjustment to his glasses, a slight frown. If any other patron had the chance to use those lenses they would likely complain of a headache, or at least wonder why only a small percentage of the words on the front page were legible while wearing them. Given enough time, they might have been able to decipher the message being transmitted.
But he, of course, never allowed them to go beyond his reach. They were too important for such carelessness.
Another frown, a deeper one this time. He puts down the paper, takes off the glasses, and places them carefully in an interior pocket of his jacket. He finishes his drink while clearly thinking of something else before vacating his table for an arriving college couple. The girl has more perfume than sense, the boy too busy staring at her legs to care.
He exits the shop, considers his surroundings for a few moments, and then disappears into the crowd.
Secret Agent Theme Week enters its second day with a request to write about: the mission.
I've got a list of seven prompts I'm planning to use this week, but I'm going to keep an eye on where you guys go with things to make sure they will all still be workable. Hopefully I've created a framework that allows lots of wiggle room though.
I was quite excited to learn this afternoon that I'll be attending another craft fair this weekend in Osoyoos. I had inquired last week about space and was told that I was second on their waiting list, but that they'd also yet to receive final confirmation from two of their intended vendors. Knowing how things can go off at the final minute for vendors, I was considering getting myself ready to be a last second replacement.
I'm glad that, instead, I've got a couple of days to get things sorted out. That includes putting in another rush order for more prints of four of my greeting cards. This is a more established market, in a better location than the one I attended last weekend. So if the weather is more agreeable, I should see quite a few more faces in front of my table.
Here's hoping, anyway.
Mine:
He sits in a crowded coffee shop, sipping from a steaming mug while appearing to peruse the day's local newspaper. The noise level is nearing cacophony, between chatting customers and machines struggling to keep pace with the caffeine demands of the neighbourhood's populace.
The man doesn't seem bothered by the commotion, his attention rarely straying from the front page article before him. A steady finger reaches up to adjust his glasses at regular intervals, pushing them further up his nose or shifting them into more comfortable positions for his ears.
He has been coming to this shop several times a week for the last month, his routine hardly varying at all. Paper under his left arm, order a medium regular coffee with room for cream, add said cream and a squeeze of honey, and find a table by the window. Preferably, it seemed to the two staff who paid enough attention to notice, with a view of Main Street.
Another adjustment to his glasses, a slight frown. If any other patron had the chance to use those lenses they would likely complain of a headache, or at least wonder why only a small percentage of the words on the front page were legible while wearing them. Given enough time, they might have been able to decipher the message being transmitted.
But he, of course, never allowed them to go beyond his reach. They were too important for such carelessness.
Another frown, a deeper one this time. He puts down the paper, takes off the glasses, and places them carefully in an interior pocket of his jacket. He finishes his drink while clearly thinking of something else before vacating his table for an arriving college couple. The girl has more perfume than sense, the boy too busy staring at her legs to care.
He exits the shop, considers his surroundings for a few moments, and then disappears into the crowd.
Tuesday December 2nd, 2014
The exercise:
Okay, I promised you guys a theme for the next seven days, so here it is: secret agent week.
This was actually suggested by Greg a long, long time ago and I happened to come across it recently while searching the blog for something else. That comment, for the record, took me a long time to find. Obviously because I was actually looking for it this time.
Anyway, this will work the same way as previous theme weeks - the next seven days will feature connected prompts and you are welcome to join me in writing a story which continues through them. Alternatively, you can just write on each day's prompt individually, as we usually do.
Also? It's Two Haiku Tuesday, but feel free to skip that format this week if you're beginning your story today. I'm sticking with it, mostly because I think I need it to help me figure out where I'll be going with this theme.
Okay? Okay. Let's get to it.
Write two haiku (or however many paragraphs you need) about: the agent.
Mine:
Average height, average
looks; he blends in by seeming
to be one of us
* * *
But with a toolkit
that would make James Bond swoon, he
is anything but
Okay, I promised you guys a theme for the next seven days, so here it is: secret agent week.
This was actually suggested by Greg a long, long time ago and I happened to come across it recently while searching the blog for something else. That comment, for the record, took me a long time to find. Obviously because I was actually looking for it this time.
Anyway, this will work the same way as previous theme weeks - the next seven days will feature connected prompts and you are welcome to join me in writing a story which continues through them. Alternatively, you can just write on each day's prompt individually, as we usually do.
Also? It's Two Haiku Tuesday, but feel free to skip that format this week if you're beginning your story today. I'm sticking with it, mostly because I think I need it to help me figure out where I'll be going with this theme.
Okay? Okay. Let's get to it.
Write two haiku (or however many paragraphs you need) about: the agent.
Mine:
Average height, average
looks; he blends in by seeming
to be one of us
* * *
But with a toolkit
that would make James Bond swoon, he
is anything but
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