Time for another <em><strong> The Writing Book Challenge</em></strong>! Am I the only one getting excited over here? Thought so…straight into the challenge then, eh?
<strong> Write one of the following words and phrases at the top of a page and then write for 60 seconds. Write whatever comes into your head about the word: something it reminds you of, someone you think of when you hear the word, an emotion it makes you feel.
<em> Mushrooms. Gorgeous. Telephone. Shout. Fur. Never. You wouldn’t have thought… She wasn’t a… Lying face down… </em>
Or take an object – either one you can see or one in your mind – and do the same thing. The object might be a stone, a leaf, a car, a photo, a painting, a garbage bin or anything else. </strong>
There we go, pretty straight forward, don’t you think? I think I’ll write a series of non-connected 100 word flashie-doo-wahs for each of the <em>word</em> prompts – maybe I’ll visit a random photo generator as well and use a random number generator to decide which photo I choose between numbers 1 & 12.
(this is taken from a short story I’ve recently written – <em>Home is Where the Heart is </em> (and yes I know that I’m cheating…))
<em> “There’s something about cooking at home, about cooking in your own kitchen. About knowing every single step in the process: onions, garlic, mushrooms. Chilli. Fry them off in some butter. Salt and pepper: add to taste. You have to brown them for a bit, too many people just throw the mince straight in – you ruin all the base flavours. Have to make yourself a stock out of the big four; the big four – you should chuck them in absolutely everything you cook. Can’t go wrong, you see that beautiful oil coming to the surface…” </em>
<strong>Gorgeous</strong>, <strong> Lying face down…</strong> & <strong>Telephone</strong>
(This one uses one of the InMon prompts for this week – <em><strong>Friends In Low Places</strong></em>)
<em>”Her eyes flashed out at me across the darkness, stopping me in my tracks.” A crowd of six, maybe seven barflies hung over my every word, their buzzing replies echoing through my head. Echoing through the fog of liquor that had enveloped me. “She was gorgeous – absolutely gorgeous. The perfect specimen. And didn’t she know it.”
“What’d she do then, Bill?” They needed to know the rest. Needed to hear the moral at the end of the story as unanswered telephones rang in their pockets.
“She pounced.” There was some sniggering behind me – some knew the ending before I had begun the tale.
“Tore my bloody hand right off. Stabbed her claws into my shoulder, sent me sprawling to the floor, lying face down. She nearly took the whole arm!”
“It’s no walk in the park, being a zookeeper.” </em>
<strong>Shout</strong>, <strong>Never</strong>, <strong> You wouldn’t have thought… </strong> & <strong>Fur</strong>
(This story also uses an InMon prompt – <strong><em>What does this button do?”</em></strong>)
<em>The heavy mahogany bedhead was covered in an intricate mosaic of switches, doohickies, levers and buttons. A dozen possible combinations – twelve dozen, ten thousand. It was creeping me out, to tell you the truth – although it wasn’t anything I was going to tell Susan about. She gleamed over the fleur-de-lis duvet, all her Christmases coming at once. All her Christmases outshone by this moment. I knew how excited she was, I could see it in her examining the room – identifying the hidey-holes and stash spots of earlier tenants. She turned her ministrations to the swathe of choices laid out before her.
“Hey, Daddy, what does this button do?” She lent down and pushed against it, her knuckles whitening at the strain, at the effort.
“Here, baby-doll, let me try…”
“<em>Shout! Let it all out!</em>”
She covered her ears, the rolling synthesiser unlike anything she had ever heard. I could see her lips moving, shouting silently beneath the crescendo.
“<em>Got the feelin’!</em>”
I struggled with the button, banging my fist against the wooden monstrosity. I had to turn the machine off before the Professor returned – he had forbidden me from touching it, had warned of the consequences rippling across the space-time continuum, about never do the blah, blah, blah. I had used his machine, had met Susan, had fallen in love. A thousand visits across the universe. Desperately I poked another button inward, trying to turn off the radio – you wouldn’t have thought to installs a damned radio on a time machine, would you? – and then a lever accidentally thrown.
The music stopped. The light stopped. I turned to Susie, looked down at her reddish fur and the smile stretching across her face, at her tail, pointing sharply down into the void.
“That’s what that button does, sweetheart.” </em>
(Is that a real song? I kinda feel like it is…)
Seriously, I can’t do this anymore – that’s good enough for this week, isn’t it? ISN’T IT!?!
In the end I didn’t do one for <strong> She wasn’t a… </strong>, or for the photo prompt, but it did say to write about something you can see – and who says I can’t see a time machine shaped like a four-poster bed? Or that I can’t see some weird intergalactic cat-sized thing scampering about in front of me? I also managed to work in two of the InMon prompts…