Writer of Fantasy. Wielder of Red Pens.

Tag: writing exercise (Page 5 of 5)

Of Hoaxes and Business Plans

Dear Ms. Nessa Lochland,

Congratulations on completing your online M.S. degree in Business Administration from Stellar Online University. Attached you will find a letter certifying your graduation. Please contact the Registrar’s Office via our website to request an official transcript.

Your diploma will be sent by international mail to the address we have on file. Please contact us immediately by replying to this email if an update is required.

Again, congratulations and best wishes in your future endeavors. We are proud to call you a graduate of SOU, and cannot wait to see the impact you make upon the world.

Aut viam inveniam aut faciam!

Regards,
Rike Williams, Dean
Office of Student Services
Fisherman School of Business
College of Business Administration and Strategy
Stellar Online University

“What a relief,” Nessa said after she finished reading the email aloud to her mother. She shifted her headset with a lazy nudge of her chin against the wall. “That thesis was such a pain. I hate dictation software. And I’m not sure my advisor even had time to look at the last revisions.”

Her mother’s voice crackled through the long-distance connection. “So proud of you, dear. Your father would be, too. I wish he were around to see this.”

“Me too, Mom. Me, too.” Nessa settled into her nest of fresh bracken and gazed up at the ceiling of speckled granite. The scent of Scots pine from the Caledonian Forest wafted up to tickle her nose. “I told you about my local tourism revitalization plan?”

“Ye-esss…” Static crackled on the line again, and Nessa almost missed her mother’s next words. “I just wonder if it’s worth the exposure.”

“People are more accepting now.” Nessa hoped her words were true. Her livelihood depended on it. So did her life.

“Well, I still wish you’d come join me in Tahiti instead. Sun, sand, even a few hotties your age splashing around. I need grandbabies.”

Nessa laughed. “Retirement suits you.”

“No one believed anymore.” Ethel’s voice became sad. “And it wasn’t the same without your dad. He was like you. Lived for the fun of it.”

“That’s why this area needs some shaking up, Mom. Let me get my plans up and running first, then I’ll come visit you. Some of the younger cousins can handle the day-to-day business for a while.”

Her mother sighed. Nessa scrunched her eyes shut and suppressed her own frustrated exhale. Any additional discussion would just lead to a fight.

“I’ve got to go, Mom. Big day tomorrow. The bank’s approved the loan. Tons of paperwork to do.” The degree had mattered less than the skills to put together a proper business plan.

“There’s an idea. Sure I can’t convince you to become a banker?” She heard the quaver in her mother’s voice. “Running a small business is so risky.”

Unspoken were the fears of bringing danger back to Lake Inverness. Not just danger, but hunters, like those who had killed her father that horrid day, a decade earlier.

“I’m sure,” Nessa said. “Love you. Bye.” She hung up before Ethel could chime in with anything else.

“Alexa, turn off the lights.” Nessa rolled over and laid her head down in the sudden darkness. Her eyes remained open. “This is for you, Dad.”

Her voice echoed oddly as it bounced off the irregular cavern walls. She could have sworn it sounded just like his belly-aching laugh.

***

“Right,” Nessa said to her younger cousin Cynthia. “You know the drill. I go swimming, then let myself be seen by the tour boat. You use the boat company’s social media to make it go viral.”

“You think this will work?” Cynthia asked. “Does the world believe in us anymore? They won’t think it’s just a special effect?”

“I have to try.” Her dad would have had so much fun with this. His mischievous streak was never malicious, but he’d lived for the moments when he could mess with the tourists. “I miss Dad.”

“I wish Uncle Frank was still around to see this,” Cynthia said, bobbing her large head with a fond grin. “I can just picture him doing something ridiculous. Doggie-paddling along with a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt and a straw hat, pretending he doesn’t see a boat full of gawking drunk tourists. Then pretending he’s been caught flatfooted. Or maybe offer them mimosas. He’d have loved the attention.”

Nessa blinked back swelling tears. “For that, you get employee of the month.”

The glare she received contained some epic side-eye. “I’m your only employee.”

“It’s not automatic. Don’t get cocky. I have plenty of humans to choose from, too.”

Cynthia adjusted her headset and turned back toward her computer. “They don’t know who their boss really is yet, so they don’t count. Are you doing this or not?”

“Yeah. Just nervous. I want to boost local business, not bring down the army upon us.”

“There aren’t many of us left,” Cynthia said, twisting her head backward. Her yellow eyes were narrow and annoyed. “And you just bought half the local vacation rentals and the boat tour business with Uncle Frank’s insurance settlement and a bank loan.”

“That I did.”

“I assumed you’d accounted for this. Made contingency plans.”

“Sure, but –“

“Then get over your stage fright and get out there.” Cynthia turned away again. “Smile pretty for the cameras!”

“Fine, fine.” Nessa grumbled to herself on her way down to the cave’s entrance. “This had better work. I don’t want to live in Tahiti with Mom. The water’s too clear. Too warm. And saline makes my skin itch.”

Her feet hit the smooth pebbles that meant the shoreline was close and poked her head out of the cave’s concealed entrance. Seeing no one, Nessa ventured a few feet out, staying hidden in the earthy vegetation. It smelled delicious, but this was no time to snack.

She planted all four feet and took a huge breath, expanding her ribcage until it hurt, repeating it in hopes of calming her overanxious heartbeat.

“Find a way or make one.” She’d chosen her business school based solely on its motto, thinking it a sign. “My people are dying because we cannot afford sanctuary.”

A noise in the distance had her tilting her head. “It’s time.” She whispered the words into the air and headed toward the lake. “Stay with me, Dad.”

The water lapped cool and dark against her legs. It felt right, as did the clouds above. Yes, this was home. There would be no permanent vacation in Tahiti for her, even if her business venture failed.

Nessa saw fingers pointing and gaping human maws as she drew alongside the boat. Most people seemed to be shocked silent, with a few screams. A young boy jumped up and down, trying to climb the railing. The boat’s engine sputtered and died with a puff of diesel smoke.

She raised her long neck out of the water and above the deck, resting her oval head on the railing. The humans backed away, leaving about a six foot gap. Nessa put on her best nervous smile.

She hoped she wouldn’t have to dive away from a terrified crowd. Too much tooth display and there came the army, the hunters that had taken her father’s laugh out of this world, who hungered for the next trophy.

“Hi, guys! Who wants a selfie with the Loch Ness Monster?”

***

“Physical newspapers?” Cynthia asked. “What am I doing all this social media stuff for, then?”

“To make sure they see that grin as harmless and friendly,” Nessa retorted.

Her cousin gave her a dubious look. “It’s been a month. Think we’re good.”

“Keep an eye out anyway. I don’t want to not see something coming because we got lazy.”

“Mmm-hmm. Sure thing, boss.”

Nessa blushed, her thick skin turning blue rather than its usual stony grey. “Fine. I’m also vain enough to want hard copies. Maybe frame them for our business offices.”

Cynthia snorted and headed for the back room. “You do you. I’m getting coffee. Then I’ll get back to watching for monster hunters.”

She spread out the papers and read over the headlines.

“IT’S NESSA, NOT NESSIE”: LONELY MONSTER SPEAKS

COMPLEX HOAX IN SCOTLAND’S HIGHLANDS

IS BIGFOOT NEXT? ANCIENT PLESIOSAUR DISCOVERED ALIVE

LOCAL TOURISM BOOMS AS LOCH NESS MONSTER EMERGES FROM HIDING

BUSINESS SCHOOL CLAIMS NESSIE AS ALUMNA

“My plan is working, Dad. Local business is up, so they’ll protect us for the prosperity alone. We can afford our own security, too, and we’re harder to kill with everyone watching.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, hot against her face in the cool cavern.

She could have sworn she felt a warm, familiar snort of approval.

The snort she’d missed every day for ten years.

In this week’s Odd Prompts challenge, Becky Jones challenged me to explain what happens after the Loch Ness Monster reveals herself. My prompt went to Nother Mike: “Oh, no! The coffeepot has been stolen!”

Writing Cat wishes her fellow Americans a happy Independence Day.

Sometimes, It’s Just Not Your Day

Celia walked through the woods, grumbling about everything. The humidity made her shorts cling oddly to her legs, and the sun flickering through the leaves only gave her a headache. The path was muddier than the lack of recent rain had indicated, and her new sneakers were ruined. She’d stepped on a rock funny half a mile back, and every step with her left foot twinged up her ankle, which served her right for wearing sneakers rather than boots in the woods. And she wasn’t sure she’d gotten that last turn right, either. Everything in this direction looked generic and familiar, in a vague way that wasn’t specific enough to be sure.

She didn’t care. Her boss had cut her hours again, that pesky cat clawed her leg and ran to hide in the basement when Celia yowled a protest, she’d burned dinner four nights in a row, and her boyfriend had drifted off in the past few weeks without even bothering to properly dump her.

A clearing appeared, and Celia knew she was lost after all. A tree had fallen, huge majesty now dark with internal rot. It blocked the path, but opened up an entrance to a hidden grove, shining with gentle sunlight.

A grove that held a miniature field of tiny wild strawberries, untouched by hungry wildlife and so ripe her mouth watered at the sight. The berries dangled from the vines, lush and ready to burst, while tiny white and yellow flowers promised more prizes if she returned. The sweet scent washed over her in a wave as a breeze cooled her sticky body, and Celia knew there was no more resistance.

Five minutes later, she’d stained her only white t-shirt with berry juice, because her hands just weren’t big enough. Well, this was why she didn’t wear white often.

It was worth it. The taste exploded on her tongue, sweet and tart simultaneously. Celia let out a whoop.

“About time this week started getting better,” she told a distant honeybee. It ignored her, but as her eyes followed, her pleasure received a jolt of adrenaline.

She froze. Was that a wasp nest? It was swollen and grotesque, a giant grey lump caught between the branches of an enormous tree even larger than the one blocking the path. Why, it must be larger than her neighbor’s Saint Bernard.

Celia slowly started to stand up, still clutching a shirt full of miniscule strawberries. The pollinators certainly liked the berry patch, but now she knew why the wildlife had left this grove of temptation alone.

Her eyes didn’t leave the nest as it began to quiver. Celia felt her ankle twinge as she stood up, and wondered how far wasps would chase her.

A tiny, elfin face popped out of an entrance cleverly hidden by the natural bumps of the wasp nest. “There you are! I was wondering when you were coming to tea. I’ll be right – down – “

The miniature woman let out a disproportionately loud gasp and clutched her cheeks with delicate hands. “My winery! What have you done! Thief! Stop, thief!”

For this week’s Odd Prompt challenge, I asked Leigh Kimmel to explore alien condescension. Cedar Sanderson challenged me to explain the tiny, elfin face in the wasp nest.

Headphones

I close my eyes and let the music roll through my bobbing head, headphones soft against my ears as the bass sings. Artificial cherry flavored crushed ice solidifies my tongue, frozen and numb as I slurp, unable to stop. One taste is all it takes to stain bright red, a red that matches my headphones except where I’ve duct taped them as a theft deterrent. No one wants the tiny ipod that can’t connect to anything, but the headphones are a target.

Reluctantly, I open my eyes. It’s too dangerous here not to pay attention, even wedged in by the dumpster. No one wants to get this close, not with the overlapping smells of urine and rotting garbage from sweet Memphis barbeque sauce a week too old and gas station sushi I don’t even know why they bother trying to sell in the south. But here, no one can sneak up on me from behind.

Besides, this is my place to disappear from home.

Why the parking lot of a run-down gas station is the place to hang, I don’t know. Maybe the owner was one of us, one of the forgotten, when he was younger. He won’t tolerate dealing because it’s bad for business, but rarely runs us off if we’re just talking and don’t get too numerous. And he knows exactly when to yell out the door to scatter, right before things get so rough you can’t back down without losing face. So we’re polite and buy something. Nobody steals here, not from the semi-safe zone.

Otherwise we’re the forgotten wanderers, searching for a place to call our own, teenagers frightening the aged just by existing, competing with the homeless for spots to hide.

The door opens with a bell I can see but not hear, and I snap my head up. Jerome comes out, spooning what must be blue raspberry into his mouth. I can relax, he’s friendly enough, but my adrenaline’s still pounding.

Jerome wanders over. “Whatcha listening to?”

“ZZ Top,” I reply, eyebrows raised.  He must be bored. He never talks to me directly. I try hard to blend in, hidden amongst the garbage. I’m discernable only through ubiquitous headphones I can’t quite let go, because I can’t let the music stop.

“Zee zee who?” he asks. He puts a finger over his straw to create suction and tilts his head back, trying to aim his melted prize into his mouth. Blue dribbles down his face.

He sees me staring at him in shock and shrugs. “All Ma lets in the house is gospel. Can I hear?”

“Huh.” I sit back and digest that, neatly sipping my slurpee. I wonder how I can dissuade him without being rude. Maybe make it boring. “Well, it’s bluesy. An’ there’s a line about heaven. So not too different.”

“Anything’s better than gospel,” he says, and sits down on the concrete wheel stop, with a giant, rusty nail barely holding it in place so crooked no one ever parks here. He slurps again, normally this time, rattling his straw against an empty cup. He grins, teeth stained bright blue, feet splayed, and holds out a hand with drops of liquid still glistening electric on his skin. “Lemme have a listen?”

I hesitate, but he’s one of the good ones, and a girl needs all the platonic protectors she can get in this world. He doesn’t need to know the duct tape’s only for show.

I shrug. The world can always use another blues rock fan. So I hand over the carefully faux-battered and taped-up headphones, and try not to act like I’m watching him to make sure he won’t run off with my prize from a summer’s worth of babysitting money.

He nods his head as I pretend interest in the wild cherry, too-sweet, melted in the summer stickiness slurpee, freezing my brain in the process because I’m splitting my attention.

“Nice,” he says approvingly, too loud because of the headphones.

I see him get into it, his eyes widening, feet tapping. I can follow along by his reaction, I know this song so well. “This is amazing. Wish Ma’d let this in the house.”

Reluctantly, the words drop from my lips. I don’t want to share the magic, but can’t resist. “Come by tomorrow and I’ll play you La Grange.”

“Why not today?” His eyes turn puppyish, liquid brown and pleading, and either I have him hooked or he isn’t as platonic as I think.

“You gotta savor ZZ Top. One day at a time. Today you get My Head’s in Mississippi.

He leans forward, loose elbows on gangly knees, hidden under baggy fabric. “What do I get tomorrow?”

I shrugged, studiously noncommittal, studying the many-patched crack in the asphalt behind him. Maybe I’m less platonic than I thought, too. “Won’t know until it gets here.”

He laughed, and unfolds himself from the ground, hands back the headphones. “I gotta get back.”

He walks away, and I call after. “You’re gonna love La Grange.” He waves a hand in acknowledgement and keeps going.

“He will,” I mutter.

I toss the remnants of my slushy drink and caress the plastic for a moment before slipping the headphones over my ears again, seeking solace in brief silence before I play the song again.

As always, the music helps me travel. The gas station fades away, slowly invisible, as does the smell of uneaten old hot dogs and oxygenated beer, dripped through paper bags and cardboard to create a foul and sludgy miasma.

I know I’m there instead when I get the apricot whiff of sweet olive, when I can taste the barbeque smoke on the back of my tongue, feel the buzzing cut lumber of new construction, feel the tang of the river, untouched by West Memphis.

I open my eyes. The river spreads wider here, I see, but the heat and humidity make me feel flatter than a pancaked possum on the road.

I’ve definitely made it through the portal this time.

I turn around, away from the view, and reluctantly pull the headphones of my head to rest comfortably around my neck.

“Sorry,” I offer to the group of impatient eyes greeting me. “Took me a bit to get rid of him. How’s Mississippi so far?”

Writing Cat sticks out her tongue at not being allowed to sleep on the keyboard.

In this week’s Odd Prompts challenge, I prompted Cedar Sanderson with a 3-D printed spaceship. Leigh Kimmel gave me the ZZ Top lyrics that I took for a spin above: “I thought I was in Heaven. But I was stumblin’ through the parking lot of an invisible seven eleven.

Coming Soon

This week on Odd Prompts, I rolled with a technical glitch. 🙂

“How was that movie last night?” Alyssa asked as the two teenagers walked along the crumbling sidewalk. Long legs flashed pale and cold under too-short shorts she’d managed to keep her mother from noticing. The chill air bit and made her shiver, but what was early springtime for if not to start on her tan early?

“The romantic comedy I was supposed to go see with Brad? Or the original Dracula from the 1930s that was on the movie channel?” Caroline replied. Her own legs were sensibly covered by dark tights. Curly brown hair with a bright crimson streak bounced atop a black leather jacket.

“That jerk.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an idiot for thinking I’d like that nonsense fluffy crap anyway.”

They kept walking, meandering through the small town’s maze of brick storefronts, budding flowers wafting a faint perfume into the air.

It was early enough they only passed a few others. A café worker arranged wrought-iron chairs in a fenced-in seating area. Alyssa smiled, remembering the restaurant’s brownie indulgence. She and Caroline had splurged late last summer on the giant dessert, before the school year had started. Her mouth watered just at the thought of the deep, rich chocolate scent, vanilla and caramel notes emerging only when it touched her tongue.

“I want to go back there.” She wiped her mouth, hoping the drool was only in her head.

“Yeah, me – whoa!” Caroline raised a hand and bounced off the glass door that opened right in front of her.

Both girls stared at the stout woman with the greying beehive. She’d opened the door with her hip, backing out of the shop without looking. The woman carried an enormous box filled with a wide variety of multi-colored cheese wedges and staggered slightly under its weight.

“Um. Need a hand?” Alyssa tried to blink so she wouldn’t be rude. Her eyes stubbornly remained fixed and wide.

“I’m right here, girls, thank you,” the woman wheezed. She parked the box on top of a shiny green Cadillac and fumbled for her keys.

Shaking her head, Alyssa moved on, Caroline beside her. They didn’t make eye contact until they’d turned the corner, collapsing into giggles by a storefront that had been empty for over a year.

“Oh, man. How much cheese do you need?”

“I hope she’s having a party,” Caroline replied. She sat on the brick windowsill. “Oh, damn, I just ripped my tights. Stupid rough brick.”

“Goes with the rest of your vibe.”

“Should’ve known better,” she grumbled. “That’s still a lot of cheddar to eat by yourself.”

“Hey, look at this,” Alyssa said.

Caroline twisted and gazed at the sign in the window. Last week, the glass had been dull and dusty. This week, a black cloth shot through with silver thread filled the display.

“Huh. Coming soon. The Dark Rose. A goth clothing store.”

Alyssa shook her head and twisted her lips a little. “I don’t know. Sounds weird.”

The brunette’s lips hinted at a smile. “You don’t have to come if you’re scared.”

“Probably filled with weirdos. C’mon. Let’s go. I want to get a coffee.” Alyssa stood up and looked at her friend expectantly.

“Yeah. Sure.” Caroline stood, her eyes still fixed on the sign.

“You coming?” Alyssa’s voice called impatiently, already several feet away. She turned back and tapped her hand on her bare leg.

“Yeah, yeah,” Caroline said.

Her gaze lingered on the painted plaster skull next to a black rose, surrounded by artfully puddled fabric.

“I’ll be back,” she whispered.

Thesis Cat’s work badgering her procrastinating human is complete. It’s naptime!

The Old Gods Return

In this week’s odd prompts challenge, Misha Burnett and I traded writing ideas. I suggested he detail why someone was both prickly and poisonous. He challenged me to explore the old gods’ return after a young girl is removed from a cult. However, I seem to have forgotten about the “twenty years later” part...

“Blast the rotting spots!” Savannah swore, and glanced sideways to see if anyone had overheard her. She tossed the book aside onto the wooden plank floor.

Her brown eyes met Hugh’s, across the porch steps. Her shoulders slumped for a moment before remembering no one here would care, in this strange neighborhood filled with cookie-cutter houses and bread with no personality trapped in shiny, colorful plastic bags.

“Why do you say that?” Hugh asked. “You say it like it’s a swear.” His eyes were half-shut under long lashes she envied.

Savannah turned her head and studied him with narrowed eyes. His face was blank, but she thought his core was tense. Perhaps he was interested after all. Perhaps he was bored. She couldn’t tell.

“It is a swear,” she muttered.

He closed his eyes but didn’t move away. “I don’t understand it.”

“Everyone tells me not to talk about it, but nobody will tell me why.” Savannah leaned back against the railing and tried to imitate his laid-back posture. She breathed in the scent of new grass and damp earth.

He sighed. “So tell me.”

She glanced up over her shoulder. The back door was open with only a screen to stop the words she was tired of holding inside, but she didn’t care anymore.

“You know that I’m a foster kid.” It wasn’t a question. They were all foster kids here.

He nodded.

“My parents were part of a big church. In that compound with all the buildings. Mama Rosa says it’s a cult,” she said.

The carefully pronounced words felt odd in her mouth. A cult meant bad, meant weird, meant crazy. This was the crazy place, with its trimmed unnatural hedges and carefully planted gardens, not a weed found between the perfect, uncracked sidewalks, covered with pastel chalks.

Hugh opened his eyes. “So?”

“So, it’s a swear in the church,” Savannah said. She glared at him and frowned. She gave up on copying his cool don’t-care pose and kicked a stubby leg out over the porch stairs.

He was unfazed. “Okay, so it’s a swear. Why were you swearing?”

“This history book doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t match anything I ever learned before. I was a good student until I came here.”

She felt her eyes starting to water and stared out into the yard with its too-perfect leafy green tree, fresh with early spring buds. So what if the swing hanging from a thick branch was fun? It wasn’t home, filled with the smell of sourdough bread baking and the sounds of chanting.

Savannah tried not to blink and failed. Water dripped slowly down the right side of her face. She pressed closer to the railing and rubbed her face against the round wooden pillar, hoping Hugh wouldn’t see.

He grunted. “Least you can read it.”

She wouldn’t acknowledge his weakness, but was grateful he’d shared. Foster kids had to stick together. She’d been here only two weeks, but even she knew that.

Something moved in the woods behind that perfect tree and the rope and tire swing. “Hey, you see that?”

“What is that?” Hugh sat up. “Something yellow. Big, too.”

Branches crackled as the big yellow blob emerged from the woods, crashing through the undergrowth.

“Oh, sweet holy pudding,” Savannah breathed. She jumped to her feet.

Hugh rose more slowly. “Was that another swear?”

“They were right,” she said, jumping up and down.

“Who was right?”

Savannah couldn’t keep the grin off her face. Her bare feet danced over the worn wooden porch. “My real parents were right. Mama Rosa can call it a cult all she wants, but they were right!”

Hugh backed toward the door. “Uh-huh.”

She stepped down and spread her arms wide. “Hail and blessings, holy giant banana!”

Thesis Cat has been protesting the lack of attention this degree has caused since she was a kitten.
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