Category Archives: #Learn to Write/Begin to Write

Monster Come Home

#Learn to Write/Begin to Write, #Writing Exercise, Writing August 18, 2015

dragonboxfront

I am struggling to write. This morning I read another struggling writer’s thoughts and was inspired. I even borrow her pic. Please check out writersramblings

Monster Come Home

     Interesting? Yes! Pretty? No, was my initial reaction to the decorative item the customer ahead of me held in her hand.

     The box was unusual. A purple ceramic dragon sat on a book, whose gilded pages had been stonewashed to give the appearance of aged parchment.

“Can you come down in price? The filigree is chipped in several places.” She asked. Her voice was soft and gentle, her blunt haircut envious as she swung her head side to side.

      The cashier smiled an unfriendly smile. “What’s the color of the sticker?”

      The purple dragon glared with hatred and its blood red tongue stuck out. I anticipated the mythical creature breathing fire in her direction any minute. The reptile had a crusty head and shiny gold scales decorated its back.

      The customer raised the dragon box high to view the only flat surface a price tag might adhere, and said, “Red.”

      “Red means it has already been marked down fifty percent.”

       Putting the trinket box on the counter she responded, “Is that really the best you can do?”

       I positioned myself counter side and joined the conversation. “It’s unique, only appeals to a niche market unless something of value is inside.” The shop was one that invited patron participation, more a second hand or consignment rather than antique.

      The cashier studied the item with consideration, “No can do, that red sticker has the final say, that’s the price. Twenty-five dollars, if you want it.”

       “I’ll think about it, perhaps come back.” She returned the box to the spot in which she had found it.

        The elaborate details appeared to confine the dragon in ways I had not noticed before. Was he breaking out or settling in?

       I studied the disappointed on her face. Her eyes were hazel and when she closed them, thick black lashes sealed the lids. Opening them, she swallowed hard pressing her lips. I put my hand on her arm and said, “Why don’t you open it?”

        We have been friends since.

Gizmos & What-cha-ma-call-its

#humor/laughter, #Learn to Write/Begin to Write, #Writing Exercise June 25, 2015

It has been a real struggle to write recently, so I have returned to a daily writing exercise. Randomly flip through the dictionary and point at a word. Once you have ten words stop. Like them or not, use as many of them in a story/paragraph.

June 25th, 2015
Interview, ban, states, disturbed, inspector, location, announced, wine, recipe, gizmo

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A Gizmo or What-ch-ma-call-it

     “Hand me that gizmo,” Rita said.

     “What gizmo?” Allen asked while tying his tie and studying Rita’s reflection in the bedroom mirror. Sunlight reflected the red highlights in her auburn hair.

     This morning he was dressing for an interview. It was his third in the hiring process. Today he would meet and chat with staff, each of whom had the ability to ban his employment. A mental picture of several inspectors carrying poster boards that read, “Go Home, We Love Fred!” disturbed him. If hired he would replace a popular boss whose subordinates had whined and complained about his firing. He need of a recipe for success, not distraction!

     Rita primped oblivious to his situation. With both hands raised above her head and holding a curling iron she stated, “You know that thing-a-ma-gig I use to curl my eye lashes.” Rita bent her neck and pointed her head to indicate a location, “That gizmo over there.”

     Allen tightened the Windsor knot at his neck and looked in the direction of her dresser. It was cluttered with; tweezers, nail clippers, buffers, files, and emery boards. Things scattered haphazardly about.

     Clueless, he responded, “Which what-ch-ma-call-it?”

     Rita sighed with annoyance. “It’s the one with loops for your fingers and a bar to you slip your lashes between. Don’t play stupid. It’s right there.”

     Allen sauntered across the room and examined the items on her bureau. He debated which one best fit her description of torture. Then as though playing Russian roulette, held it out to her and said, “You mean this doohickey?”

The Whistler

#Daily Prompt/Metaphor, #Learn to Write/Begin to Write, Struggling Writer, Writing June 10, 2015 Comments: 2

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Recently it has been a real struggle to write so I have returned to a daily writing exercise. I randomly flip through the dictionary and point my finger at a word, then use as many of these words in a story/paragraph.

June 10th Writing Exercise:

Use these ten words to write a story; Transport, discrimination, estimate, collection, chance, whistle, layer, best, provide, and forth.

The Whistler

     Tanya turned around when she heard the whistle. It came from a man sitting on a wooden box turned sideways. His butt overflowed on the top while his feet straddled its sides. It was the kind of box featured in a Norman Rockwell painting. You know the kind, usually had some colorful lettering on it advertising Borden’s Milk or another dairy or produce company. Sometimes the lettering was in bold block letters done in black ink.

     This box was weathered, like the man who sat on it.

     Tanya put her hands on her hips and wiggled back to where he sat. Her high heels scratched the pavement as she walked. She said, “Mister here’s your only chance to apologize, so give it your best shot.

     The man wore a week old beard but smelled of day old cologne, possible Old Spice. He drank coffee from a white Styrofoam cup after blowing a circle of steam aside. Then slurped and said, “Ah . . . .” signifying the caffeine provided some relief. “Now why would I do that? That would be discrimination. I whistle at every pretty girl that goes by, regardless.”

     Tanya’s layered thoughts confused her. She was flattered while offended. She pulled at her too tight too short skirt and turned her chin to say, “Well this pretty girl wants to be the exception . . . discriminate me. I won’t be part of your collection. “

     The man nestled his coffee cup between his knees to free his hands and wrap a coat of sadness around him. “Collection? Never thought I was collecting anything, but now that you put it that way, guess I have a collection of sorts, a collection of memories.”

     Tanya watched the man as he stared into space, got a faraway look in his eye. The sadness he wore fell to the ground. Then a smile appeared on his face and when his eyes met hers said, “Well Miss whatever your name is, I don’t have bad intentions. Just like to whistle no need for you to be part of my memory collection.”

Me A Sandwich

#humor/laughter, #Learn to Write/Begin to Write, Struggling Writer, Writing May 7, 2015

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “You, the Sandwich.”

If a restaurant were to name something after you, what would it be?


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                                  The Crunch

It would be a sandwich, not a hoggie, hero or sub.
Something simple and delicious, to take on the run
My mouth starts to water and I lick my lips
Thinking of this everyday pantry item, always a hit.
Smooth and creamy it sticks to the roof of your mouth
Not to worry a thick slice of apple is packaged inside
That’s why it’s called  the “Crunch”

Recipe

2 pieces of rye bread, or any soft mushy bread of choice

Lots of creamy peanut butter

Slices of Granny Smith Apple

Cut the apple first than, than spread peanut butter on bread, layer apple inside.