Tag: writing exercise (Page 2 of 5)

Jenny interrupted Elena mid-word and hoped her attempt at an apologetic face looked sincere. “Sorry, let me go grab the doorbell real quick. But I can’t wait to hear more about your embroidery collection later.”

She heaved a sigh of relief as she hurried across her living room toward the door, a quick sway of her hips giving a swish to her skirt and avoiding a collision with David. Or more accurately, the glasses of champagne he was holding on a tray. Jenna tossed him a quick air kiss, but he’d already been swarmed by thirsty guests.

The door let in a burst of cooler air from the stairwell. “Sven! Please, come in.”

“I can’t, Jenny.” Her downstairs neighbor’s bright blue eyes peered out of a weathered face, brows tight with tension.

Her hand flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I’ll turn the music down.”

“No, no, not that. I wanted to let you know. I was about to take Rolf for a walk when he got out. But I think he’s in the building somewhere.”

She stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her. “I love animals! Let me help you search.”

He held out a glove-covered hand with an empty leash draped over it. “But your party?”

Lips pressed together, Jenny let out an exaggerated shudder. “I need a break from hearing about my husband’s coworkers’ hobbies. Please, let me help you find your dog. You might need help catching him.”

“Oh, well…Rolf isn’t exactly a dog.” Sven’s face was earnest as they headed upstairs. “Some people aren’t fond of him, but he’s quite companionable, really.”

Jenny froze. “Uh, Sven?”

He kept moving up the worn and chipped staircase. “Really, he’s quite beautiful. So much friendlier than you might expect.”

She stared at the bannister two stories above and hoped her eyes were playing tricks in the dim lighting. “Sven, does Rolf have, uh, tentacles?”

“Of course!” He grinned, his pale visage looming from several steps above. “What good squid doesn’t?”

Her thighs ached as she bolted past him. “Then we have to stop him before the guy on the fourth floor sees him. He’s a chef! Come on, before he’s calamari!”

***

‘Tis the time of year for illness, and this one made me dizzy when I looked at computer screens for too long. I’m a week behind, but having fun catching up. This prompt on trouble starting after walking the squid came from nother Mike, and check out what AC Young did with a clever revenge story over at More Odds Than Ends. (Psst. You can play too!)

The djinn nudged him with her elbow, then turned it into a full-blown poke when Mikhail didn’t respond. “C’mon. You’ve been staring out the window forever. Are you going to eat so we can get to class?”

“Yeah.” His answer was distracted and did not involve the BLT on wheat toast moving toward his face. It remained floating in front of him, right where he’d placed it five minutes before.

Liza heaved a sigh with all the drama a teenage female could muster, the fire extinguishers that followed her around Wisburg academy clanking with her shoulders’ collapse. “At least tell me so I know whether to leave you here.”

That got him to look at her, at least.

She rolled amber eyes that flashed annoyed sparks, and a crisp poof came from the red metal cannister to her left. “Fine. I’d answer whatever your question is if I can. And I’ll get you back into the library if I can’t.”

Bacon drifted toward his mouth, tempting with its crisp, shining gleam. He snagged the sandwich and started talking with his mouth full. “That’d be nice. I tried promising not to take anything -“

“Focus. Please.” Her hands waved at the rapidly emptying room.

He swallowed with a painful gulp. “See that grove? The colorful one?”

She shrugged. “Sacred grove. Lots of trees. We’ll take classes there spring term, I think. So?”

“So, the trees are different.” The diamond panes of glass showed multi-colored trees, brilliantly shining at their peak. It wouldn’t be long before the leaves dropped.

A slim hand waved impatience. “Read the plaque. Under the window.”

“I did.” He ignored her tone. “The Tree Circle contains twelve different deciduous trees, each corresponding to a different month. Over the year the months cycle, with the Oak always associated with the current actual month, and the others permanently off-set. Magic ensures that each tree appears as it would during the month it was currently associated with.”

“Tree Circle, sacred grove, whatever you want to call it. Same thing. Can we go now?”

Mikhail snagged the rest of his sandwich out of the air and stuffed another bite in his mouth, grabbed his satchel, and followed Liza down the castle hallway. “So why’s the circle of deciduous trees different today?”

“November.”

He could tell she was trying really hard not to snap at him, and took pity on her. “I was hoping you’d see it.” He snagged a falling shard of bacon before it could hit the ground and shatter in a waste of salty goodness.

“See what?” She stutter-stepped, starting to turn back before sighing at the time and hurrying them along.

He mumbled the rest, swallowed, and ducked too late as one of her fire extinguishers bopped him. “I said, it’s a conifer. There’s an evergreen out there that doesn’t belong.”

***

This week, AC Young challenged me with what became a plaque inscription. I haven’t visited Wisburg Academy for a while! My prompt went to Leigh Kimmel, who hopefully will be inspired to write about a snippet of weaponized fog. Join the fun at MOTE!

“Fishcicles,” Anna insisted. Her jaw elevated, a stubborn point hovering above her collar and scarf. Dark eyebrows furrowed into a glare.

Brad sighed and spread his hands flat on the rock wall surrounding the polar bear enclosure. Being on the receiving end of Anna’s glares usually led to worse later. “I’m telling you, fishcicles are not a thing.”

She poked him in the side with a bony finger. “They totally are. It’s an animal enrichment thing. Keeps them from getting bored. They freeze a bunch of fish and give it to the bears. Snack and play all in one. What else would you call it besides a fishcicle?”

“They freeze a lot of things around here,” he muttered. The rock was freezing, just like the rest of him. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets. “How about we head into the aviary for a while and warm up?”

“You do what you want,” she loftily informed him. “I’m going to see the giraffes.”

He sighed and followed his girlfriend. The path leading to the giraffes was covered in familiar fake hoofprints and bird tracks. Enormous pawprints led to the left, where the big cats prowled behind glass enclosures.

Or did, when it wasn’t well below freezing. Today the cats were huddled into furry communal piles, with no interest in entertaining visitors who should be prey.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the zoo. He had a membership. There was something new every time, like the escaped flamingo flock or the rhino’s sneezing fit. He just liked it better when it was warm. When fishcicles weren’t a consideration, and ice cream dripped onto his hands, making Anna laugh and give him a sticky-sweet kiss.

Brad caught up to her at the edge of the enclosure. Once they’d seen the giraffes racing in a circle, the seven-foot baby ungainly as it tried to keep up with the longer legs of its herdmates. Today, only a lone giraffe awaited, outstretched head nuzzling sadly at bare branches. Anna had stopped to watch, her chin tucked back into her woolen scarf.

“You realize there are about six other people here at the whole zoo, and they’re all employees?” He flinched at her expression and backed up a step. “I just meant that they aren’t letting people feed the giraffes today.”

“You can if you have any food,” a deep voice said from above his head. “Those crackers the zoo employees sell to gullible tourists are pretty boring. You got any Doritos?”

Anna squeaked. “Did you hear that?”

“I’m pretty sure the giraffe just talked.” Brad felt his eyes burn in the cold air.

“I’ve got a name, you know.” The knobby head tilted, and those giant brown eyes looked annoyed. “The zookeepers call me Zippy, but Mom calls me Zeke.”

“Hi, Zeke.” Anna’s faint voice floated onto the air. “I don’t have any Doritos. Sorry.”

The creature sighed. “That’s all right. You probably didn’t think I liked them. Let me tell you, that cheese dust is amazing.”

“Or that you could talk,” Brad blurted. He wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a frozen hallucination.

The giraffe bent all the way down to look him in the eye. “There’s a lot you probably don’t know about us. Well, let me tell you…”

***

Becky Jones and I traded animal-themed Odd Prompts this week. I had fun with talking giraffes, and tossed aeronautical rabbits her way.

“The Shadow President laid his plans with care.” This one from AC Young was an interesting challenge. I prefer to avoid politics as much as one can these days, so the obvious answer is out. Similarly, while I enjoy reading some alternative/historical universes, I’m not particularly attracted to creating them. Done well, they’re great; done poorly, not so much.

But there are other types of presidents, and perhaps one of their shadows could wander off and have adventures on its own, J.M. Barrie style?

Which led to – I am not kidding – conversations about space assassins. The guild needs a president, right? What about scouting organizations? HOAs? (Please tell me we won’t export those to space.)

And that led to this.

***

“Those crows are hanging around your yard a lot.” The sharp, nasally voice interrupted George’s reading. “You’d better not be hanging up birdfeeders again.”

He put down his book with a sigh and looked over at the post-and-rail fence that had been perfectly adequate until his new neighbor moved in. Why, he’d even had conversations at the fence in the past, just like you saw on TV. With all three of this hag’s predecessors.

The hag in question was wearing her usual sweater twinset and pearls, looking for all the world like an out-of-place schoolmarm. One that tormented rather than taught students, judging by the near-permanent snarl on her face. He’d only seen it leave when she was advocating to form a homeowner’s association.

As if this neighborhood didn’t already take care of its own.

He didn’t bother to stand up and head for the fence. The conversation wouldn’t last long enough to be worth the effort. “I don’t hang up birdfeeders, Janice. Never have.” Not since Lydia passed, he amended silently. He was sure some of the crows retained fond memories, and he wouldn’t chase them off. Nor would he share Lydia’s memory with someone who didn’t value nature.

“I’m the president of the homeowners’ association, and you’d best believe I will make you find a way from keeping bird dookie off my car.”

“You want me to put up a scarecrow?” He raised his glass of iced tea in a mock toast. “Only if it will scare off the HOA I didn’t agree to belong to. I’m not subject to your rules, nor can I control the crows.”

Squeaky fuss emanated from the fenceline, but George paid it no more attention than he’d give to a yapping dog. He took a drink and picked up his book. The mystery was far more interesting than anything Janice Tweller had to say.

The light was dying by the time he turned the last page, and the air growing chill. He went inside, bones creaking after so long without moving. A solitary dinner under the kitchen lights was in his future, just as it had been for three and a half years now.

The pot was on to boil water when he realized he’d forgotten to get the mail. He was so engrossed in mocking the latest ads that were all he’d received that he nearly missed the giant red paper tacked to his front door as he trudged back inside.

Janice’s latest trick, presumably. George rolled his eyes and snagged the paper to laugh at while he made dinner.

“Well, now, Lydia.” He still talked as if his wife could hear him, and who’s to say she didn’t? “Looks like the hag has found a new way to annoy me. She thinks she’s found a legal way to force HOA membership. Plus fees, of course.”

He stirred the spaghetti sauce and gave it a taste test. “More garlic, I think. Almost ready. You’d have found a way to drive her off by now, I’m sure. I do wonder what John was thinking, selling the property to her at all.”

George drained the noodles. “Perhaps it’s time for something to convince her to move on.”

Step by step, the shadow president of the entirely unofficial, nonexistent homeowners’ association laid his plans aloud for his late wife, pausing for occasional bites of spaghetti.

His shadow nodded in response. At the end of the meal, it slipped out of the kitchen window without him and crossed over the fence line.

George sat at the table with a sad smile and took a sip of wine. “Wish you could see this, Lydia. He’ll be up to all sorts of antics now. We’ll have a ‘for sale’ sign in her yard within a week.”

***

My prompt about the aliens’ dream invasion went to Becky Jones. Check it out, as well as the rest of the More Odds Than Ends odd prompters!

This story has been removed. Why? Because it’s part of the Professor Porter tales, and will be published in modified form.

***

This week, Becky Jones challenged me to discover what was buried under the snow. My prompt went to nother Mike, to see what happens when tech and traditional fairy tales converge.

This post has been removed as of 27 March 2021. But don’t worry – it’s part of book two. Coming soon!

***

This week, my prompt was from nother Mike, and fit perfectly to kickstart me back into book two: “It was hard to see to drive in the pouring rain, and then the car thumped as we drove over something. When we stopped and got out to see what it was, we learned we had hit…”

My prompt went back to nother Mike, and was also about adventures in driving through weather. I guess it’s that time of year in the northern hemisphere.

This post has been removed by the author in order to publish it as part of Professor Porter’s story

***

This week on MOTE, I prompted AC Young with a fluttering caution tape, and Cedar Sanderson asked me to ponder what was not evil, but not right. Down to the wire!

Also, I have no real idea what happens on girls’ nights. I don’t get out much. 😀