Brownie, Anyone?

Picking up where I left off with prompts, I've come to Angie's. Her suggestion was this:

It was, simply put, the worst day of my life. But then the mailman came in the late afternoon and...


…lo and behold, he had chocolate. Chocolate! Who doesn’t love chocolate? Maybe my cursed day would turn around yet.

“Heh’s some fudgy brahnies mah mam made. He’p yo’self,” he said.

Really, it was exciting. How many mail carriers barrel around with sweets in tow? And how had he known I’d need a pick-me-up at three p.m.? It was too good to be true, I thought. But when I eyed his weathered and wrinkled face, I saw goodness and honesty. He really was sharing his treat with me.

I hesitated in the doorway for what seemed minutes, suspended between a sudden ravenous hunger and ladylike decorum. Before I could stop it, my hand involuntarily reached for the daisy-patterned, chipped plate, my fingers closing around a square of yummy goodness. Heaven in my mouth!

It was as I eyed a second brownie that my throat began to feel funny, tight. And then the dizziness came, at which point I braced myself against the door jamb.

Looking to the man for help, I saw his kind face distort into an evil grimace.

“It’s really too bad, lady,” he said, all traces of his endearing accent gone, “ ‘cuz you shouldn’t’a ate a brownie.”

He pushed passed me, lurching for the table in my foyer. I tried to scream, to claw at his back, but he snatched my purse from its home before bounding back across the threshold.

He took off down my front path, throwing one last comment over his shoulder.

“It really was too bad.”

And the world went black.

Something To Think On

I still have more prompts, if you guys are willing to read 'em, but I'm going to space them out. I'll do the rest here and there, so as not to burn you (or me) out. Deal? Another will appear in a day or so...

For today, I'm keeping it simple.

I read Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird a few months ago. Most of it, anyway. I actually read the last couple chapters the other night - non-fiction is like that for me; I read it in spurts. Though silly me didn't pull out a highlighter until the last chapter, she said a lot that resounded with me. One of the best things was this, and I'll let it speak for itself...

Don't underestimate this gift of finding a place in the writing world: if you really work at describing creatively on paper the truth as you understand it, as you have experienced it, with the people or material who are in you, who are asking that you help them get written, you will come to a secret feeling of honor...

Don't Look Now... It's A Prompt

Hakan Tendell gave me this prompt:

You're on a mission to Mars together with twelve men and eleven other women. Your mission is to establish a colony on Mars, but you're only halfway to Mars when most of the crew have gone mad because of various reasons, and you've lost contact with Houston.

Here's the deal...

In sixth grade science there was this project. I was supposed to, using a 2-liter bottle, create a model of a space station that would endure life. I had to figure out the logistics for food supply, water and oxygen, entertainment, the whole gamut. How would people work? Provide for themselves? Exist?

That was one of the hardest projects I ever did.

My brain works no better at creating a scenario mid-way to Mars. An astronaut I'm not, and I'm afraid I don't have the right skill-set to pretend I am.

So sorry, Hakan. I realize this gives me a failing grade...

Incidentally, I'm not opposed to cheating! Anyone want to do this prompt for me? You want it, it's yours. ;)

Misterwrites: An Introduction

Thank you all so much for humoring me with these prompts the last week. I've so enjoyed doing them - and love the amazing feedback! - but I don't want to tire you of them. So, though I'll get back to my list on Monday (if you've noticed, I don't typically post on Sundays, which are church and family days for us), I'm taking a break from the exercise today.

*

Don't you always, after meeting someone and getting to know them a bit, wonder about their spouse? What's that person look like? What's their personality? I know I'm always curious in such a way. That said, I thought I'd introduce you to my husband, aka misterwrites, in a way more extensive than mentioning him in passing.

This is Mike. He's the oldest of seven kids and is, quite possibly, one of the smartest people I know. He's a jack-of-all-trades; one who has soaked up knowledge in so many areas he's like a very human, very beefy, sponge (which explains his abnormally large head...). He's confident and at ease with any circumstance, with any person. He loves baked goods and back rubs, and can't fall asleep without the t.v. on. He ruins more pairs of jeans than any man I know, and he recently made himself sick on Red Lobster's all-you-can-eat shrimp - but is ready for more. He loves teaching our daughters about nature and the world, and likes canoeing the lake by himself. Mike's not one to enjoy my (frequent) ramblings, and isn't nearly as sensitive as I think he should be, what with a wife and two girls. He must always be active and productive, works hard, and dreams of living in the mountains of Colorado, where he could turn his avid hobby of skiing into a lifestyle. Jesus is his hero, and he consults his Father in everything. He frustrates me like no other, and is frustrated by me as with no other. I still misunderstand him sometimes, even after eleven years together, but I know him like no other. He's pretty cool, I have to admit, looks good with a goatee, and I'm pleased to introduce him as my husband.

How about you? Care to introduce your spouse? Or tell us, if you're single, who your ideal mate would be?

Back to Prompts

...As for the prompts my readers and friends gave me here, I've made it to Janet's suggestion. She gave me: The Limit (fiction).



Jake's drive home through rush hour consisted of second-guesses and cursed words. He couldn't believe how the day had gone, what with the loss of one case and the fallout with a client over another. Jake's superior wouldn't be happy.

He should have handled things differently. Should have approached things in a more delicate manner. He had to quit screwing up, or he'd not have any cases at all.

Stress knots formed in the back of his neck as he sat at the stoplight, his mind rehashing the day. He could feel tension settling into that spot, that same spot as always, right above his eye. It'd be a miracle if Jake didn't wind up with a migraine.

Just then a smooth voice flowed from the car's speakers, cutting through Jake's thoughts. It was familiar, one he'd heard many times over the years; accompanied by mellow guitars, soft drums.

"Man, I love the Eagles," he mused aloud, twisting the volume knob. "Dudes rocked."

He focused on the strains of music, on the sound of bassist Randy Meisner's vocals. So soothing. And such a sad song, about being lonely and without love. Made a guy feel like he didn't have it so bad after all.

Jake felt the stress of the day begin to melt away. An amazing song can do that, you know; help you lose yourself, forget about whatever's on your mind.

And then he sang along...

"So put me on a highway
And show me a sign
And take it to the limit one more time..."

Tuesday's Stuff and Things

To continue with the prompts I’ve been working on… Marian (welcome to Something She Wrote!) gave me this one:

A plain wooden box, with hinges. Across the lid are carved the words DO NOT OPEN.



She found it among her great-aunt’s old things in the attic. She’d been digging for that elusive file of important estate paperwork, but when her hand grazed the small mahogany box, the document search was forgotten.

“Interesting,” she said aloud, her otherwise-meek voice filling the large space. “And quite mysterious, to boot.”

She traced the hand-carved words DO NOT OPEN with her forefinger.

So should she, or shouldn’t she?

“Of course I should. Who finds an amazing old box and doesn’t open it?”

Following a firm nod of her head, she used her thumbs to crack the lid. Realizing she’d closed her eyes against the anticipation, as if worried over what she would find, she laughed at herself.

A look at the now-open box revealed a ring – a diamond solitaire, dainty and held atop a tarnished setting – and a small creased and yellowed strip of paper. Her hands trembled as she smoothed the handwritten note.



My dearest Arabelle,
By now you’ve learned of my demise, and I only wish it could have been some other way. It’s with sorrow for our future lost, our love forgotten, that I leave this token of my love. Wear it always, and know of my deepest devotion to you.
Love always,
Earnest

She gasped as her heart wrenched over the words written to her aunt so long ago. Her mind spun. Who was Earnest? Did great-uncle Bernard know about him? And to what demise was the note referring?

How she wished there was someone to ask, someone to answer her questions…

A Second Prompt

From the prompts I asked my readers to give me, is this one from Turkey Lurkey:

You are riding home from school in a school bus. You look out of the window and notice something very odd. A two headed cow. Something else appears... a tractor floating five feet in the air. What happens next?



The vinyl was sticky under my bare, sweaty legs. Oh, how I wished a cool breeze would gust through my open window, there at the back of the bus. It seemed I was stuck in a pocket of stale, humid air.

Ignoring the chattering voices around me, I placed my forehead against the cool glass of the window, hoping for a respite from the heat. My gaze fell on the passing cattle field, and I began counting the heifers in twos. Two... four... six...

Something caught my eye.

"What?" I whispered to my reflection.

I leaned as close to the window as I could, nose pressing against the glass, and squinted my near-sighted eyes.

"I don't believe it," I said to no one but myself. "That cow has two heads."

I knew it was possible; I'd seen pictures, heard stories. But never had I seen one with my own eyes. I wondered if the farmer knew. He should be calling the news station. Maybe I'd call the news station. I'd tell them--

Wait. "What the... ?"

I rubbed my eyes, sure they were playing tricks on me. But when I looked to the field once more, it was still there. An old John Deere - hovering mid-air. No driver. No explanation. But there it hung, as if suspended by unseen cables.

Maybe the heat's worse than I think, I thought, swiping at my wet brow with the back of my hand.

I craned my neck, keeping my eyes on the tractor as the bus drove on.

"Samantha?"

A deep voice interrupted my thoughts. But I couldn't make my head turn, to find the voice. Too fascinated by the things I'd just seen.

I felt the shaking of my shoulder. "Sam? Sam, wake up."

The motion gave me a jolt, and I realized the bus driver was standing over me.

"You fell asleep," Bus Driver Bob said. "You're home now."

A disbelieving look out the window proved him right; I was looking down the length of my gravel driveway, at the end of which sat my house, waiting.

"Sorry," I mumbled in a groggy voice. I gathered my things and shuffled from the bus, trying to shake remnants of the surreal dream from my mind...

The First of Prompts

Yesterday I asked my readers to supply me with writing prompts. I've gotten several good ones (feel free to add your own if you've not yet had the chance), and look forward to the exercises. I thought I'd get started and, so as not to pick and choose unfairly, I'll just take 'em down the line.

The first was from Barbara, whose prompt was: "You're Never Too Old For Koolaid." And so here we go...



Timmy is nervous, and his tummy won’t stop flip-floppin’ around. It’s because he’s never been to the nursing home before. But Mama said he could come this time, and so here he is, standing outside Grandpa Charlie’s room. 2-0-8, the plastic plaque says.

In one hanging hand Timmy holds Buster, his worn and loved teddy bear; in the other, his Spiderman thermos, full of Kool-Aid.

“Come on, Timmy,” calls Mama from inside the room.

Timmy follows her voice, listening to the quiet squeak squeak his right shoe makes as he crosses the linoleum.

When he sees Grandpa Charlie sitting upright in a rocking chair, looking just like he always has, Timmy feels a grin spread across his face. His feet pick up speed, and before he knows it he’s standing at Grandpa’s side.

“Timothy, my boy!” Grandpa says, reaching for a hug. “I’m so happy you came to see me today!”

Timmy, always shy, returns Grandpa’s hug but says nothing.

“And what do we have here?”

Timmy holds Buster aloft, letting Grandpa get a good look, then drops the thermos into the spotted, arthritic hands.

“Is this what I think it is?” asks Grandpa, a bushy eyebrow raised high.

Timmy nods, a proud look upon his face. “I helped Mama make it.”

“Grape?”

The boy nods again and, when Grandpa can’t grasp the lid between his bent and awkward fingers, Timmy twists the cap open.

“We can share,” says Timmy. He pours some into the lid-turned-cup, careful not to spill, and offers it to Grandpa. “Just like we always do.”

I'll Take a Prompt, Please

In the last few weeks I've discovered how much I enjoy writing prompts. That is, when you take the one-word or sentence suggestion from someone and write something about it.

I first followed a prompt here, coming up with a short fiction piece called Shayna's Secret. That particular exercise was a lot of fun, and I got great feedback.

And earlier this week, Angie Ledbetter posted a picture on her blog. In the picture was a brightly painted bus and, if you looked closely at the sign, you could see its destination was a cemetary. Angie called her readers to write a plot blurb about that bus, or the people on that bus, and why they may be going to the cemetary. She considered it a contest, and I found out today I share the trophy with a few others. Thanks, Angie! It was another exercise I really enjoyed. Here's my blurb...

She knew the bus ride was significant, for it represented her transportation between two lives. The destination awaiting her, the cemetery, meant the end of one life, the beginning of another. She’d say goodbye to the woman she used to be, there, at the small headstone engraved with her given name. And there she’d take on her new name, embrace her new self, begin the new life she had no choice but to live...

So it's now that I want to ask my readers for more prompts. Do you have any ideas you'd like to see me flesh out? Give me a word or phrase, or a sentence, and I'll do my best to come up with something. I only ask that you keep in mind what you already know about me, and keep your requests wholesome and clean (scary or offbeat is okay). Depending on the response, I may not be able to use all the prompts, but I'll span them over the course of several days.

So. Have any good ones for me?