The exercise:
Today we shall do continuations, four lines of prose at a time. So just pick things up from where the last person left them and go where you will for the next four sentences.
Max turned 15 months old today. I'm not sure how every single passing month manages to catch me utterly off guard, but they do.
Mine:
The folder, thicker than a hamburger from my old man's grill, appeared on my desk ten minutes before end of shift on a sunny Friday afternoon. I could hear the weekend calling me, its breath already reeking of alcohol, as I stared at the handwritten pages spilling out of it.
I wanted to leave it until Monday, wanted to believe that it could wait.
But some part of me, barely audible above the laughter of leaving coworkers, knew different.
Thursday February 6th, 2014
The exercise:
Today we return to the Random Book prompt. Take the first line from any book, chosen as randomly as you wish, and use it as your opening line before taking things in a direction of your choosing. Credit goes where it is due, as always.
I have yet to read the book I borrowed my line from, but I plan on getting to it soon.
Once again I am caught up on comments. Perhaps one day I will get back to replying to them every day, like I used to do.
You know, back before I became a father.
Mine:
The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman
It was only a duck pond, out at the back of the farm. Not very large, not many ducks, but I loved it all the same. A sense of belonging would come over me every time I sat on its shore, my back resting against the cool bark of the weeping willow.
Time seemed to slow down while I stared into the still water, contemplating whatever happened to be troubling me at the time. And something was always troubling me. Sometimes the answer would come to me while the sun paused in its journey toward the horizon, sometimes it did not.
No matter to me. Just being there was often help enough.
But of course time did not change its pace for little old me. Angry shouts from the kitchen would eventually draw me back to the house for lunch, or dinner, or even bedtime. Mumbled apologies were never acknowledged, though I harbored no resentment over that.
It's not like I meant any of them. They were just part of the routine and I never failed to play my part.
My very last day on the farm was spent by that pond, from sunrise to sunset. I planned ahead, packing enough food to ensure that my family would leave me be. When I'd left the house in the burgeoning light of morning I'd promised to be back before night overtook our land.
And I'd honestly intended to do just that. Truly.
Sometimes, however, life-changing adventures arrive at the most inopportune moments...
Today we return to the Random Book prompt. Take the first line from any book, chosen as randomly as you wish, and use it as your opening line before taking things in a direction of your choosing. Credit goes where it is due, as always.
I have yet to read the book I borrowed my line from, but I plan on getting to it soon.
Once again I am caught up on comments. Perhaps one day I will get back to replying to them every day, like I used to do.
You know, back before I became a father.
Mine:
The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman
It was only a duck pond, out at the back of the farm. Not very large, not many ducks, but I loved it all the same. A sense of belonging would come over me every time I sat on its shore, my back resting against the cool bark of the weeping willow.
Time seemed to slow down while I stared into the still water, contemplating whatever happened to be troubling me at the time. And something was always troubling me. Sometimes the answer would come to me while the sun paused in its journey toward the horizon, sometimes it did not.
No matter to me. Just being there was often help enough.
But of course time did not change its pace for little old me. Angry shouts from the kitchen would eventually draw me back to the house for lunch, or dinner, or even bedtime. Mumbled apologies were never acknowledged, though I harbored no resentment over that.
It's not like I meant any of them. They were just part of the routine and I never failed to play my part.
My very last day on the farm was spent by that pond, from sunrise to sunset. I planned ahead, packing enough food to ensure that my family would leave me be. When I'd left the house in the burgeoning light of morning I'd promised to be back before night overtook our land.
And I'd honestly intended to do just that. Truly.
Sometimes, however, life-changing adventures arrive at the most inopportune moments...
Wednesday February 5th, 2014
The exercise:
Write about: the collapse.
I don't know where everybody came from yesterday, but consider this an unofficial welcome to each of you - I hope you'll stick around and continue to share your writing with us! I'll get to replying to all the new comments as soon as I can - possibly tomorrow morning, if all goes to plan.
Dropped by the local writing group meeting this morning. It was a short visit and no writing actually got done, as I had Max with me. Still nice to see folks again though.
It is getting very, very cold overnight these days. Things get a lot warmer during the day, but it's a lengthy climb up from -16 and it's not long before it starts sinking again. Thankfully the worst should be behind us by the end of the weekend.
Mine:
She moves slowly through the ruins of the building, bloodied and stunned. It had come crashing down so suddenly, with no whisper of warning. One moment: music and laughter and space. The next: falling debris and screams and claustrophobic chaos.
Encountering a collection of broken glass and the stench of spilled alcohol, she pauses. Her head tilts to the right as she tries to remember who had been standing there when the world had collapsed around them. Nothing comes to her. No names, no faces, nothing at all.
She stumbles on.
The dust is long settled now, the wounded taken to hospital rooms, the dead carted off to... much smaller rooms. Police tape hangs limply around the site, a weak attempt to keep people out. She'd barely noticed it when she had returned that evening. No one in their right mind would want to enter that haunted place anyway.
She, clearly, is no longer in her right mind.
A shoe halts her progress once more. A dust coated red, the heel snapped off. Who wore it that night? Not her, surely. Flats were more her style. Weren't they?
Cars pass in both directions on the street, in another world. None stop, but she worries one might. There is so much anger in the community, too many eager fools ready for vengeance. Blame has been thrown around with abandon, at one target above all others.
She can hardly blame them though. She had designed the building after all.
Write about: the collapse.
I don't know where everybody came from yesterday, but consider this an unofficial welcome to each of you - I hope you'll stick around and continue to share your writing with us! I'll get to replying to all the new comments as soon as I can - possibly tomorrow morning, if all goes to plan.
Dropped by the local writing group meeting this morning. It was a short visit and no writing actually got done, as I had Max with me. Still nice to see folks again though.
It is getting very, very cold overnight these days. Things get a lot warmer during the day, but it's a lengthy climb up from -16 and it's not long before it starts sinking again. Thankfully the worst should be behind us by the end of the weekend.
Mine:
She moves slowly through the ruins of the building, bloodied and stunned. It had come crashing down so suddenly, with no whisper of warning. One moment: music and laughter and space. The next: falling debris and screams and claustrophobic chaos.
Encountering a collection of broken glass and the stench of spilled alcohol, she pauses. Her head tilts to the right as she tries to remember who had been standing there when the world had collapsed around them. Nothing comes to her. No names, no faces, nothing at all.
She stumbles on.
The dust is long settled now, the wounded taken to hospital rooms, the dead carted off to... much smaller rooms. Police tape hangs limply around the site, a weak attempt to keep people out. She'd barely noticed it when she had returned that evening. No one in their right mind would want to enter that haunted place anyway.
She, clearly, is no longer in her right mind.
A shoe halts her progress once more. A dust coated red, the heel snapped off. Who wore it that night? Not her, surely. Flats were more her style. Weren't they?
Cars pass in both directions on the street, in another world. None stop, but she worries one might. There is so much anger in the community, too many eager fools ready for vengeance. Blame has been thrown around with abandon, at one target above all others.
She can hardly blame them though. She had designed the building after all.
Tuesday February 4th, 2014
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: skeletons.
It was just me and one other guy at bowling tonight, which was disappointing. Two other people called to let me know they weren't coming due to illness, but other than that it was radio silence.
We'll try again next week and see what happens. I don't know what my minimum number is for other bowlers showing up in order to make it worth continuing, but it is certainly more than one.
Mine:
Regrets and mistakes
are never far away - they
live in my closet.
* * *
While no one watches,
wind sweeps desert sands aside;
dinosaurs emerge.
Write two haiku about: skeletons.
It was just me and one other guy at bowling tonight, which was disappointing. Two other people called to let me know they weren't coming due to illness, but other than that it was radio silence.
We'll try again next week and see what happens. I don't know what my minimum number is for other bowlers showing up in order to make it worth continuing, but it is certainly more than one.
Mine:
Regrets and mistakes
are never far away - they
live in my closet.
* * *
While no one watches,
wind sweeps desert sands aside;
dinosaurs emerge.
Monday February 3rd, 2014
The exercise:
Write about: the attack.
Happy to report that Max is fine, just going through normal teething stuff. Nothing to worry about, no teeth need to be pulled.
Though the dentist did think that with things looking so crowded in there that Max is likely headed for braces later in life.
Hopefully not, but I'll take the good news for now.
Mine:
He never suspected it was coming. Later, once the debris had finally settled, he would wonder why that was. There were signs; of course there were. Hints of the violence that would shatter his life, break his faith, were plentiful.
If he'd been looking for them they would not have been hard to spot. If he'd had any reason to be suspicious. If he had trusted a little less, questioned a little more.
If, if, if...
The lesson has been learned though. His defenses, rebuilt and reinforced, are firmly in place at all times now. Weaknesses have been shored up or eliminated entirely. There will be no further dropping of guards, or slips in attentiveness.
He will never be hurt like that again.
Write about: the attack.
Happy to report that Max is fine, just going through normal teething stuff. Nothing to worry about, no teeth need to be pulled.
Though the dentist did think that with things looking so crowded in there that Max is likely headed for braces later in life.
Hopefully not, but I'll take the good news for now.
Mine:
He never suspected it was coming. Later, once the debris had finally settled, he would wonder why that was. There were signs; of course there were. Hints of the violence that would shatter his life, break his faith, were plentiful.
If he'd been looking for them they would not have been hard to spot. If he'd had any reason to be suspicious. If he had trusted a little less, questioned a little more.
If, if, if...
The lesson has been learned though. His defenses, rebuilt and reinforced, are firmly in place at all times now. Weaknesses have been shored up or eliminated entirely. There will be no further dropping of guards, or slips in attentiveness.
He will never be hurt like that again.
Sunday February 2nd, 2014
The exercise:
It is time for our second monthly installment of Vancouver Irrealis.
I know that it's only the second day of February and I've given no warning that this was coming today. But I haven't had much mental space to come up with a writing prompt today and I've also been wanting to write this since about five seconds after reading Morganna's January entry.
Kat was back assisting the online course today, so Max and I went to our favorite coffee shop this morning. I think he got a little too wound up (hmm, that sounds like he was drinking coffee...) as he didn't go down for his nap until 2 o'clock. Usually it's around noon. So that made for a pretty long stretch.
Tomorrow we head up to Penticton for our visit with the dentist. Wish us luck.
Well, wish Max luck. Although, if you have a bit extra to go around, I wouldn't mind a bit for myself.
Mine:
"He really does look the part, doesn't he?" Tristam's waitress said thoughtfully, taking a half step back to take him in from head to toe. "Not like that guy we had show up last week, hey Yakth? Remember those short, stubby fingers he had?"
"Oh goodness, I just about fainted I was laughing so hard!" While his waitress and her friend carried on, Tristam looked down at his hands again, wiggled his fingers experimentally. "Wait a half-second, Anne-Marie." Tristam looked up again at this. He was certain her name tag had read Maryann when he got there. Which, to be fair, was no longer there. As it were. "Do you think he's one of... those?"
"One of which?" Tristam asked, as much to remind them he was still an active member of the conversation as anything else.
"People from your side have begun showing up on our side looking like one of us," Anne-Marie said, her expression still friendly but now tinged with concern. "Seems harmless to me, really. The Icepol though... it's ridiculous, honestly."
"The Icepol... you mean the police?" Tristam felt like he was starting to get the hang of things, just a little bit. "What do they think?"
"It's an invasion," Yakth said with a shake of her head. "They say folks like yourself are the first wave, spies or some such."
"How do they even know when someone like me shows up?" Tristam looked around the restaurant, suddenly feeling nervous. A few of the other patrons, all of whom seemed vaguely familiar, were speaking into devices that must have been their equivalent of cell phones. One in particular looked away quickly when she saw him looking in her direction. "People report them."
"Those that are caught before returning to the other... your side are arrested, dragged away for questioning." Anne-Marie said in a whisper heavy with promises of secret horrors. Tristam didn't bother asking what sort of methods were employed in the interrogations. "You should probably get out of here."
"I wouldn't know where to go!" Tristam checked the sidewalks and streets but saw no sign of approaching law enforcement. Not that he'd know what uniforms they'd be wearing, if any. He tried to swallow and found that he could not.
"Come on, then," Anne-Marie said after exchanging a long look with her coworker. "Grab your bag and follow me."
Tristam stood and gathered the duffel bag at his feet, the grip of terror forcing questions to become actions. As he followed his waitress's hurried steps through the restaurant he almost forgot that the bag he was clutching to his chest had been a briefcase when he'd first sat down to eat.
It is time for our second monthly installment of Vancouver Irrealis.
I know that it's only the second day of February and I've given no warning that this was coming today. But I haven't had much mental space to come up with a writing prompt today and I've also been wanting to write this since about five seconds after reading Morganna's January entry.
Kat was back assisting the online course today, so Max and I went to our favorite coffee shop this morning. I think he got a little too wound up (hmm, that sounds like he was drinking coffee...) as he didn't go down for his nap until 2 o'clock. Usually it's around noon. So that made for a pretty long stretch.
Tomorrow we head up to Penticton for our visit with the dentist. Wish us luck.
Well, wish Max luck. Although, if you have a bit extra to go around, I wouldn't mind a bit for myself.
Mine:
"He really does look the part, doesn't he?" Tristam's waitress said thoughtfully, taking a half step back to take him in from head to toe. "Not like that guy we had show up last week, hey Yakth? Remember those short, stubby fingers he had?"
"Oh goodness, I just about fainted I was laughing so hard!" While his waitress and her friend carried on, Tristam looked down at his hands again, wiggled his fingers experimentally. "Wait a half-second, Anne-Marie." Tristam looked up again at this. He was certain her name tag had read Maryann when he got there. Which, to be fair, was no longer there. As it were. "Do you think he's one of... those?"
"One of which?" Tristam asked, as much to remind them he was still an active member of the conversation as anything else.
"People from your side have begun showing up on our side looking like one of us," Anne-Marie said, her expression still friendly but now tinged with concern. "Seems harmless to me, really. The Icepol though... it's ridiculous, honestly."
"The Icepol... you mean the police?" Tristam felt like he was starting to get the hang of things, just a little bit. "What do they think?"
"It's an invasion," Yakth said with a shake of her head. "They say folks like yourself are the first wave, spies or some such."
"How do they even know when someone like me shows up?" Tristam looked around the restaurant, suddenly feeling nervous. A few of the other patrons, all of whom seemed vaguely familiar, were speaking into devices that must have been their equivalent of cell phones. One in particular looked away quickly when she saw him looking in her direction. "People report them."
"Those that are caught before returning to the other... your side are arrested, dragged away for questioning." Anne-Marie said in a whisper heavy with promises of secret horrors. Tristam didn't bother asking what sort of methods were employed in the interrogations. "You should probably get out of here."
"I wouldn't know where to go!" Tristam checked the sidewalks and streets but saw no sign of approaching law enforcement. Not that he'd know what uniforms they'd be wearing, if any. He tried to swallow and found that he could not.
"Come on, then," Anne-Marie said after exchanging a long look with her coworker. "Grab your bag and follow me."
Tristam stood and gathered the duffel bag at his feet, the grip of terror forcing questions to become actions. As he followed his waitress's hurried steps through the restaurant he almost forgot that the bag he was clutching to his chest had been a briefcase when he'd first sat down to eat.
Saturday February 1st, 2014
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: multitasking.
I managed to work 4.5 hours of my 8 hour shift today, which is slightly more than I was expecting. Max ended up staying with Kat while I opened up in the morning and that was for the best with all the running up and down the stairs I had to do.
A part of me still thinks it would have been fun though.
I've made a few minor (but badly needed) updates on the blog recently, the main thing being my list of weekly themed prompts and the addition of the yearlong prompts on the lower right, just above my prompt cloud. Which is getting much too large. I might have to change the requirement for inclusion from all prompts that have been used more than once to something a little more... exclusive.
Also: I've added Stephen King's 11/22/63 to my recommending reading page. Because it was fantastic and absorbing and brilliantly written. So, yeah, check it out if it sounds like your sort of thing. I'd say it's not your typical King novel, but it's honestly the first work of fiction by him I've ever read.
So I'll say instead: it doesn't seem like it would be a typical King novel.
Mine:
This is no problem,
I can do it all;
Posters in the crib,
Baby's on the wall.
Write a four line poem about: multitasking.
I managed to work 4.5 hours of my 8 hour shift today, which is slightly more than I was expecting. Max ended up staying with Kat while I opened up in the morning and that was for the best with all the running up and down the stairs I had to do.
A part of me still thinks it would have been fun though.
I've made a few minor (but badly needed) updates on the blog recently, the main thing being my list of weekly themed prompts and the addition of the yearlong prompts on the lower right, just above my prompt cloud. Which is getting much too large. I might have to change the requirement for inclusion from all prompts that have been used more than once to something a little more... exclusive.
Also: I've added Stephen King's 11/22/63 to my recommending reading page. Because it was fantastic and absorbing and brilliantly written. So, yeah, check it out if it sounds like your sort of thing. I'd say it's not your typical King novel, but it's honestly the first work of fiction by him I've ever read.
So I'll say instead: it doesn't seem like it would be a typical King novel.
Mine:
This is no problem,
I can do it all;
Posters in the crib,
Baby's on the wall.
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