The exercise:
Write about: the ribbon.
I'm thinking either Thursday or Sunday for our final visit to The Colony. We'll see if I have some time and inspiration tomorrow, but I suspect the weekend is more likely at this point.
Looked for work in the morning, ran some errands in and around town in the afternoon. Not a super exciting day. At least it was slightly warmer out there.
Mine:
"You have a very impressive trophy case."
"Thank you."
"And did you win all of these yourself?"
"How else do you suppose I would get them?"
"Well, there are a lot of statuettes and plaques for school accomplishments..."
"Yes, I was quite the athlete in high school."
"... from a lot of different schools..."
"My family... moved around a lot."
"... over the course of about twelve... no, fourteen years."
"You have a keen eye for detail, don't you?"
"I've been told that on an occasion or two, yes."
"Then I'm sure you'll have noticed that there no ribbons for academic success anywhere in my collection."
Tuesday December 1st, 2015
The exercise:
Write two haiku about something(s): mythical.
Max went to bed late last night (almost literally kicking and screaming) and then woke up early this morning. I think he might be almost as sleep deprived as I am. At least he seems to have gotten over his most recent cold in record time.
In other news: warmer weather, I'm ready for you to arrive. Like, now. Please.
Right. Now.
Mine:
Legends of his life
grow with each passing year for
he was the victor
* * *
What the hell is that?
Well, one day a unicorn
met a suave dragon...
Write two haiku about something(s): mythical.
Max went to bed late last night (almost literally kicking and screaming) and then woke up early this morning. I think he might be almost as sleep deprived as I am. At least he seems to have gotten over his most recent cold in record time.
In other news: warmer weather, I'm ready for you to arrive. Like, now. Please.
Right. Now.
Mine:
Legends of his life
grow with each passing year for
he was the victor
* * *
What the hell is that?
Well, one day a unicorn
met a suave dragon...
Monday November 30th, 2015
The exercise:
Write something that has to do with: under the table.
We've gone sailing past his third birthday and one of Max's favorite places remains under the table - whether we're at home or at our coffee shop. Only difference now is that he tends to hit his head more often.
Got some more wood to the house this morning as it was another frigid day. Things are expected to warm up to more reasonable temperatures by Wednesday or Thursday. Which I'm very much looking forward to.
Tonight's overnight low of -10? Less so.
Mine:
The pub wasn't as busy as I'd hoped it would be, but I still figured it was noisy and crowded enough to serve my purpose. I found an empty booth along the wall opposite the entrance and slid onto my seat. A waitress materialized faster than I expected and I ordered a pitcher of their cheapest beer and two empty glasses to keep it company.
I took off my jacket, placed it on the bench beside me, and picked up a greasy menu to give my hands something to do while I waited. A quick glance at its contents confirmed that my decision to eat before arriving was a good one.
The beer and my guest arrived at the same time, which I'm certain was no coincidence. He gave her a big smile and an overly enthusiastic thank you (especially considering that he hadn't ordered, nor would he be paying for it) and she brushed him off with practiced ease.
"Evening Charlie," he said as he poured himself (and not me) a glass. "What do you want?"
"Hi Skip," I said, dropping my hands to my lap (let him have the swill). "The usual."
"You got the money?" he asked before taking a rather large sip. He made a pained face (that I found satisfying to an embarrassing degree) but said nothing about the beer. Instead: "Make it quick. I got places I need to be."
"Sure." I pulled a thick envelope from my jacket pocket then froze. I didn't make the rookie mistake of looking around to see if anyone was watching, but it was terribly tempting. "You came by yourself, right?"
"Don't be stupid," he said with a genuine look of disgust. "You know I don't have anybody to bring with me."
"Right," I said with an uneasy smile and stuffed the envelope back into the depths of my jacket. "My bad, my bad."
"What's the hold up, man?" I could practically feel his fingers grasping at the air under our table. "Hand it over so I can get out of here."
"Sorry, Skip." I scanned the room then, slowly (because screw him or her or whoever - they weren't getting anything from me that night). "Change of plans."
Write something that has to do with: under the table.
We've gone sailing past his third birthday and one of Max's favorite places remains under the table - whether we're at home or at our coffee shop. Only difference now is that he tends to hit his head more often.
Got some more wood to the house this morning as it was another frigid day. Things are expected to warm up to more reasonable temperatures by Wednesday or Thursday. Which I'm very much looking forward to.
Tonight's overnight low of -10? Less so.
Mine:
The pub wasn't as busy as I'd hoped it would be, but I still figured it was noisy and crowded enough to serve my purpose. I found an empty booth along the wall opposite the entrance and slid onto my seat. A waitress materialized faster than I expected and I ordered a pitcher of their cheapest beer and two empty glasses to keep it company.
I took off my jacket, placed it on the bench beside me, and picked up a greasy menu to give my hands something to do while I waited. A quick glance at its contents confirmed that my decision to eat before arriving was a good one.
The beer and my guest arrived at the same time, which I'm certain was no coincidence. He gave her a big smile and an overly enthusiastic thank you (especially considering that he hadn't ordered, nor would he be paying for it) and she brushed him off with practiced ease.
"Evening Charlie," he said as he poured himself (and not me) a glass. "What do you want?"
"Hi Skip," I said, dropping my hands to my lap (let him have the swill). "The usual."
"You got the money?" he asked before taking a rather large sip. He made a pained face (that I found satisfying to an embarrassing degree) but said nothing about the beer. Instead: "Make it quick. I got places I need to be."
"Sure." I pulled a thick envelope from my jacket pocket then froze. I didn't make the rookie mistake of looking around to see if anyone was watching, but it was terribly tempting. "You came by yourself, right?"
"Don't be stupid," he said with a genuine look of disgust. "You know I don't have anybody to bring with me."
"Right," I said with an uneasy smile and stuffed the envelope back into the depths of my jacket. "My bad, my bad."
"What's the hold up, man?" I could practically feel his fingers grasping at the air under our table. "Hand it over so I can get out of here."
"Sorry, Skip." I scanned the room then, slowly (because screw him or her or whoever - they weren't getting anything from me that night). "Change of plans."
Sunday November 29th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the wizard and his robot.
The inspiration for this one is long and not particularly interesting, so I'll save you the details. So I shall say instead: I'm glad this prompt came to me and I think it should be a lot of fun to work with.
We had some friends and their three year old daughter (the one born four days after Max) over for dinner this evening. Lots of chaotic fun. And now I am tired. So...
Mine:
"Master."
The wizard, sat behind an oak desk nearly as wide as the cluttered room he called his library, looked up from the open tome he had been studying. His expression remained neutral as he watched his robotic servant wheel into the room with soft beeps, trailing clouds of steam behind it.
"Yes?"
"You forgot two of the ingredients you need for the spell you are working on." The robot placed two foul-smelling bundles side by side on the only part of the desk not already covered by something else. "Two pounds of fish intestines and half a pound of pickled unicorn horn."
"Ah, yes, of course," the wizard said with a shake of his head. "I have been so absent-minded of late, haven't I? So silly of me. I can hardly believe all the things I've misplaced and mislabeled in the last week alone! And now... this!"
"Have no fears, Master. I won't let you forget anything important. That is, after all, why you created me."
"Indeed, indeed. Thank you very much for fetching and delivering these for me." The wizard eyed the new arrivals on his desk with an unreadable expression (even for robots) on his face. "I know better, I think, than to ask where you got the horns from."
"Also why you have me, Master. I will be down the hall if you need anything else."
"Excellent."
The wizard watched the robot exit the room and then roll out of sight to the right. He scratched his tangled white beard, then arranged the sparse hairs attempting to cover his scalp. He almost returned to his book before remembering the ingredients that had just been delivered.
He took a bundle in each hand, making sure the two packages did not touch each other, then placed the fish intestines in a black sack before placing the unicorn horns on a shelf high enough that he had to stand on a small stack of books to reach it.
Satisfied that the two items, which emitted a toxic gas when they came in contact with each other, were a safe distance apart, he returned to the open tome on his desk. He forced himself not to hurry, but the desire to find a way to destroy the robot he had created had intensified tenfold after their most recent encounter.
Write about: the wizard and his robot.
The inspiration for this one is long and not particularly interesting, so I'll save you the details. So I shall say instead: I'm glad this prompt came to me and I think it should be a lot of fun to work with.
We had some friends and their three year old daughter (the one born four days after Max) over for dinner this evening. Lots of chaotic fun. And now I am tired. So...
Mine:
"Master."
The wizard, sat behind an oak desk nearly as wide as the cluttered room he called his library, looked up from the open tome he had been studying. His expression remained neutral as he watched his robotic servant wheel into the room with soft beeps, trailing clouds of steam behind it.
"Yes?"
"You forgot two of the ingredients you need for the spell you are working on." The robot placed two foul-smelling bundles side by side on the only part of the desk not already covered by something else. "Two pounds of fish intestines and half a pound of pickled unicorn horn."
"Ah, yes, of course," the wizard said with a shake of his head. "I have been so absent-minded of late, haven't I? So silly of me. I can hardly believe all the things I've misplaced and mislabeled in the last week alone! And now... this!"
"Have no fears, Master. I won't let you forget anything important. That is, after all, why you created me."
"Indeed, indeed. Thank you very much for fetching and delivering these for me." The wizard eyed the new arrivals on his desk with an unreadable expression (even for robots) on his face. "I know better, I think, than to ask where you got the horns from."
"Also why you have me, Master. I will be down the hall if you need anything else."
"Excellent."
The wizard watched the robot exit the room and then roll out of sight to the right. He scratched his tangled white beard, then arranged the sparse hairs attempting to cover his scalp. He almost returned to his book before remembering the ingredients that had just been delivered.
He took a bundle in each hand, making sure the two packages did not touch each other, then placed the fish intestines in a black sack before placing the unicorn horns on a shelf high enough that he had to stand on a small stack of books to reach it.
Satisfied that the two items, which emitted a toxic gas when they came in contact with each other, were a safe distance apart, he returned to the open tome on his desk. He forced himself not to hurry, but the desire to find a way to destroy the robot he had created had intensified tenfold after their most recent encounter.
Saturday November 28th, 2015
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: coughing.
Had a bit of a festive day around here. Visited a Christmas craft fair in town this morning, put up some lights and decorations around the house after lunch, and then checked out a nearby winery's festival of trees event just before dinner.
Little earlier than usual, but it seemed like the things to do with a Saturday that had nothing on the calendar. Max appreciated it, at any rate. Even while putting up with his newest cold.
And Kat enjoyed it as well, despite her lingering cold.
If anyone needs me, I'll just be over in this corner pretending that I'm not about to get sick again.
Mine:
It starts with a tickle,
Of the worst possible kind.
It feathers my throat and...
Find something to hide behind!
Write a four line poem about: coughing.
Had a bit of a festive day around here. Visited a Christmas craft fair in town this morning, put up some lights and decorations around the house after lunch, and then checked out a nearby winery's festival of trees event just before dinner.
Little earlier than usual, but it seemed like the things to do with a Saturday that had nothing on the calendar. Max appreciated it, at any rate. Even while putting up with his newest cold.
And Kat enjoyed it as well, despite her lingering cold.
If anyone needs me, I'll just be over in this corner pretending that I'm not about to get sick again.
Mine:
It starts with a tickle,
Of the worst possible kind.
It feathers my throat and...
Find something to hide behind!
Friday November 27th, 2015
The exercise:
Write four lines of prose about: the long haul trucker.
It is frickin' cold out there. Thankfully I've had the fireplace going strong all day so I don't feel it right now. Of course, I'm going to need to grab a few more pieces of wood from out front before I go to bed...
Not so much looking forward to that.
Got a few errands done in town this afternoon. Should have done a few more. Involving purchasing enough food to last for the next three months.
Because I'm about ready to hibernate.
Mine:
The road can be a lonely place. Voices on the CB try to keep me company but it's not the same. As much as I try to put on a brave show, try to pretend that it doesn't bother me... it does.
So that's why I have a tendency to pick up some rather oddball hitchhikers...
Write four lines of prose about: the long haul trucker.
It is frickin' cold out there. Thankfully I've had the fireplace going strong all day so I don't feel it right now. Of course, I'm going to need to grab a few more pieces of wood from out front before I go to bed...
Not so much looking forward to that.
Got a few errands done in town this afternoon. Should have done a few more. Involving purchasing enough food to last for the next three months.
Because I'm about ready to hibernate.
Mine:
The road can be a lonely place. Voices on the CB try to keep me company but it's not the same. As much as I try to put on a brave show, try to pretend that it doesn't bother me... it does.
So that's why I have a tendency to pick up some rather oddball hitchhikers...
Thursday November 26th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the butcher.
Found a couple of interesting jobs to apply for today. So fingers crossed one of them works out!
And... more company tonight. I think he's getting a little too used to this routine. I'd been getting to bed earlier the last couple of nights but... not early enough tonight, it would seem.
Mine:
It is... difficult for me to function... normally these days. Retirement... does not agree with me. I think, perhaps, that I performed one job for too long. As hard as that is for me to accept.
Kids these days, they change jobs every month, it seems. Go back to school once a year, get all trained up to do something completely different... and tire of that, too. On to the next adventure!
Maybe that should have been my path, as well. The only problem with that, of course, is that I loved my work. Could never imagine myself doing anything else, really.
But now... my body has betrayed me. These once steady hands shake too much. These muscles, once like iron, have grown soft and weak. My mind, though... my mind... well.
It would be nice if my mind could let the past stay in the past. But it continues to see where things ought to be chopped, ought to be sliced. Only I no longer have slabs of meat on a cutting board on which to practice my art. No butcher shop in which to perform my work.
Instead I walk the streets. I sit in parks. People are everywhere. But my mind does not see men, women, children. It just sees meat... and it won't stop telling me where to chop, where to slice...
Write about: the butcher.
Found a couple of interesting jobs to apply for today. So fingers crossed one of them works out!
And... more company tonight. I think he's getting a little too used to this routine. I'd been getting to bed earlier the last couple of nights but... not early enough tonight, it would seem.
Mine:
It is... difficult for me to function... normally these days. Retirement... does not agree with me. I think, perhaps, that I performed one job for too long. As hard as that is for me to accept.
Kids these days, they change jobs every month, it seems. Go back to school once a year, get all trained up to do something completely different... and tire of that, too. On to the next adventure!
Maybe that should have been my path, as well. The only problem with that, of course, is that I loved my work. Could never imagine myself doing anything else, really.
But now... my body has betrayed me. These once steady hands shake too much. These muscles, once like iron, have grown soft and weak. My mind, though... my mind... well.
It would be nice if my mind could let the past stay in the past. But it continues to see where things ought to be chopped, ought to be sliced. Only I no longer have slabs of meat on a cutting board on which to practice my art. No butcher shop in which to perform my work.
Instead I walk the streets. I sit in parks. People are everywhere. But my mind does not see men, women, children. It just sees meat... and it won't stop telling me where to chop, where to slice...
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