This week's prompt brought to you by something I overheard:
"... and then I'll put it in a locket and wear it around my neck."
What would your character put in a locket to wear around their neck?
Enjoy!
*******************************************************************************
My response:
It wasn't just a sense of foreboding that called me back - it was tangible, driving my feet forward almost against my will. Annye would scold me and pile on the chores if I returned without everything she'd asked for, in addition to giving me a sound tongue lashing. Still, I moved forward, hurrying back towards the cottage.
Foreboding turned to fear when I reached the clearing where Annye's cottage stood. Two months ago, when Mother first brought me to Annye, I wouldn't have even be able to see the echoes of magic in the air. Today, the lines were bright, hanging in the air as if three large spiders had warred at spinning webs. Annye's red lines splayed out from the front window, the door, and even a few from the chimney. The lines would fade within the hour. Now they were still sharp and fresh.
The door hung by its top hinge, the bottom one blasted clean away by a stream of blue magic. Whatever happened had to be over. Silence hung in the air, and there were no new streaks of magic as I stepped forward, out of the shadows of the trees. After a few timid steps, I rushed forward into the cottage.
Annye lay against the back wall, her old body barley a bump under the drape of her dress. I dropped to my knees in front of her and lowered my ear to her face. I could only just hear her rasping breath.
"Annye?" I pulled her head into my lap.
"Tharaine?" Her lips barely moved. Her eyes twitched, but did not open.
"I'm here Annye. Are you okay? What happened? Where are you injured?" My heart beat frantically. I had to save her. My training wasn't done. I still had so much to learn.
"It is too late, Tharaine. Your time ..." She paused to cough, her thin bones gouging my legs as they labored. "Your time has come early. Now you will serve as guardian. My time is done."
The whole of Annye's body began to glow red. Her spirit was dividing, separating itself from her body. I'd seen it happen once or twice in the time I'd been there, and Annye had taught me the proper songs to sing the spirit to the heavens. But I couldn't lift my voice to sing. I couldn't let her go. She couldn't leave me, not yet!
So I did the only thing I could think to do. I grasped my locket in my left hand and reached out my right. I whispered under my breath, talking to Annye, telling her much I needed her. As her spirit rose, so rose my voice. My hand glowed, a bright yellow orb enveloping it, small tendrils reaching out towards Annye's spirit.
The two colors met in the air, burning brighter than the fire. Annye's spirit lingered as my magic wrapped around it. Hope flared in my chest. Then I tore the locket from my neck, holding it towards the lights and shouting over the rushing between my ears. Both yellow and red lights dove towards the locket. The yellow stopped just shy of it, but Annye's red filled it. Her spirit bubbled and churned like smoke around the amulet, then settled and finally stilled.
My hands dropped to my sides. Yellow and red clouds of echoed magic lingered in front of me. Then my mind cleared. Annye's body lay on the floor. With every other death, we leave the body where it lies until the path to heaven disappeared. Annye didn't have a path to heaven. And when I looked, my locket glowed faintly red.
What had I done?!
Monday, March 30, 2015
Monday, March 23, 2015
Contemporary
I tend to shy away from contemporary writing, but sometimes I find myself marveling at how a contemporary novel can be absolutely engrossing, even when the most exciting thing the characters do is lounge on the couch and scour Netflix for something new to watch.
The prompt for this week is to write something contemporary. Don't worry about trying not to "date" your piece. Just write something that could happen today, somewhere in your town (or somewhere you're familiar with).
Enjoy!
****************************************************************************
My response:
My nail polish was chipping. I took a deep breath and pressed my jaw together. No matter how hard I tried, there was always something. I had a new pair of sensible black pumps, and the left toe had a white streak on it. The new dress skirt scratched, and I sweated under my silk scarf. Still, I thought I stood a better chance than the guy my age, with a carefully trimmed beard and sweat stains in his pits.
I looked up an accidentally caught his eye. He smiled widely.
Maybe not. He's a real charmer, and those blue eyes were killer.
If I didn't lose to him, there was the other girl in the waiting room. Her nail polish wasn't chipped. Neither were her toes. Her perfectly bronzed legs crossed neatly and her tailor was better than mine. If she didn't get the job here, she could walk down the street to Vogue and be their new cover model.
I ground my teeth harder, knowing I shouldn't but unable to stop myself.
The prompt for this week is to write something contemporary. Don't worry about trying not to "date" your piece. Just write something that could happen today, somewhere in your town (or somewhere you're familiar with).
Enjoy!
****************************************************************************
My response:
My nail polish was chipping. I took a deep breath and pressed my jaw together. No matter how hard I tried, there was always something. I had a new pair of sensible black pumps, and the left toe had a white streak on it. The new dress skirt scratched, and I sweated under my silk scarf. Still, I thought I stood a better chance than the guy my age, with a carefully trimmed beard and sweat stains in his pits.
I looked up an accidentally caught his eye. He smiled widely.
Maybe not. He's a real charmer, and those blue eyes were killer.
If I didn't lose to him, there was the other girl in the waiting room. Her nail polish wasn't chipped. Neither were her toes. Her perfectly bronzed legs crossed neatly and her tailor was better than mine. If she didn't get the job here, she could walk down the street to Vogue and be their new cover model.
I ground my teeth harder, knowing I shouldn't but unable to stop myself.
Monday, March 16, 2015
Science Fiction
Usually when I'm stalking literary agents before querying, if someone likes sci-fi, they're a good fit for my work. Lately, though, I've actually run into a few agents who state loud and clear that they rep science fiction ... NOT fantasy. My writing typically takes the two genres and blends them together.
Then I had a friend share a link to this: http://www.authorspublish.com/asimovs-science-fiction/
(Side note: I know I'm supposed to be submitting short stories to magazines like this to build up my writing credits, but my stories tend to come in chunks of 80k words ...)
I've been playing with the idea of trying to write a short sci-fi story, just to see if I can. So, with no further ado, the prompt for the week is to write a short science fiction piece.
Enjoy!
********************************************************************************
My response:
The old sci fi movies always seem to start with a music from the seventies or eighties, some old cassette or VHS playing while the hero works on the engine of some hulking, rusty-but-trusty spaceship. The truth is, all that old, film media died out in the first century after space travel began. Sure, we still have some dvds, blue-rays, and cds ... but I prefer to work in silence.
Of course, the silence of a space ship isn't complete. Dad used to compare it to sitting in a forest on a planet. He said, if you sit still and listen, you can hear the wind in the trees, the chirping of birds, the whir of insect wings. It's just like my ship. The groan of the metal struts, the chirp of monitors, the whir of life support. I can shut my eyes and listen for hours. A full hold of supplies, my dad's old ship, and I don't need anything else.
I've been hanging out at the edges of the President Quadrant lately. In spite of it's name, it's not the nicest place. It's the furthest reach of both the Kari Nation and the Alaman Republic, but far enough away from both of them that it stays quiet. I haven't seen anyone in weeks, which is great for me. I don't consume much energy on my own, and I've been alone for the last three years.
(This interruption is brought to you by a case of food poisoning. Or sudden onset of the flu. Or Norovirus. Either way, after letting it sit all day on my computer, I've decided I'll have to come back to this later.)
*UPDATED* I did come back to this, and the first thing I did was completely rewrite the first paragraph. Now I'm nearly at 2k words, and I'm really pleased with the way the story is developing. I'll put out an update if I find someone to publish it.
2nd Update: I did finish the story at 3k. I'll get it cleaned up some more and see what happens.
Then I had a friend share a link to this: http://www.authorspublish.com/asimovs-science-fiction/
(Side note: I know I'm supposed to be submitting short stories to magazines like this to build up my writing credits, but my stories tend to come in chunks of 80k words ...)
I've been playing with the idea of trying to write a short sci-fi story, just to see if I can. So, with no further ado, the prompt for the week is to write a short science fiction piece.
Enjoy!
********************************************************************************
My response:
The old sci fi movies always seem to start with a music from the seventies or eighties, some old cassette or VHS playing while the hero works on the engine of some hulking, rusty-but-trusty spaceship. The truth is, all that old, film media died out in the first century after space travel began. Sure, we still have some dvds, blue-rays, and cds ... but I prefer to work in silence.
Of course, the silence of a space ship isn't complete. Dad used to compare it to sitting in a forest on a planet. He said, if you sit still and listen, you can hear the wind in the trees, the chirping of birds, the whir of insect wings. It's just like my ship. The groan of the metal struts, the chirp of monitors, the whir of life support. I can shut my eyes and listen for hours. A full hold of supplies, my dad's old ship, and I don't need anything else.
I've been hanging out at the edges of the President Quadrant lately. In spite of it's name, it's not the nicest place. It's the furthest reach of both the Kari Nation and the Alaman Republic, but far enough away from both of them that it stays quiet. I haven't seen anyone in weeks, which is great for me. I don't consume much energy on my own, and I've been alone for the last three years.
(This interruption is brought to you by a case of food poisoning. Or sudden onset of the flu. Or Norovirus. Either way, after letting it sit all day on my computer, I've decided I'll have to come back to this later.)
*UPDATED* I did come back to this, and the first thing I did was completely rewrite the first paragraph. Now I'm nearly at 2k words, and I'm really pleased with the way the story is developing. I'll put out an update if I find someone to publish it.
2nd Update: I did finish the story at 3k. I'll get it cleaned up some more and see what happens.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Con Artist
I just finished reading CITY OF BRICK AND SHADOW by Tim Wirkus. Without going into too much detail, I would agree with a review I read that called it "not a mystery novel, but a novel about a mystery". If you're looking for an engaging story that will make you think, I recommend this book.
Three of the characters are con artists, and the author describes a number of cons put on by them. I happen to love The Italian Job and Leverage. There's something about the criminals who eschew violence and get what they want with cleverness. (Not that I have any desire to fall into one of those scams, I just admire the intelligence required.)
In honor of Tim Wirkus and his novel, our prompt for this week is to write about a con. Seeing as I had a little trouble finding them when I Googled, here is a website to give you ideas: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_confidence_tricks
(Because no matter what you like to write, we all have to get used to doing research.)
Enjoy!
****************************************************************************
My response:
I checked my reflecting in the mirror hanging behind the desk as I walked up, pressing my lips into a thin, hurried smile.
The clerk looked up at me and returned a wide grin, eyebrows raised. "Checking out? And how was your stay?" He was too young to be balding, and yet the oily strands brushed across his scalp proved the unfortunate truth. His tips were likely down from when he looked more his age, and he had to work harder. Looking at my tailored linen pants and silk blouse, he saw only money, and he practically groveled.
I slid a key card onto the deck. "It was lovely, as always, but I've run into a problem."
"Oh?" He scanned the card and started typing, his eyebrows shooting up almost high enough to compensate for the missing strands on top.
I rest my purse on the counter and check the time on my phone before pulling out the earring. Behind him, the phone starts ringing.
"I was checking over my room before I left, and I found this earring." I hold it up, so he can see. It really does look like a nice piece - all glass and gold plating - only the weight of it in my fingers gives it away. "I found this had fallen behind the toilet. The maids must have missed it when they cleaned before me ..."
"I do apologize for that ..." he begins, but I wave him off.
"Nevermind that, my ex-husband was a gem dealer, and I can tell these stones are top quality. Someone has a matching earring, and I'm sure they'd want this one back. They'll not be able to make another to match so well." I check my phone again. "Anyway, I need the name and contact information of the people who had the room before me, so I can contact them and return the earring."
I look up expectantly. I can see shock and dismay dissolving his smile. He knows he can't give out guest information, and I know it too. I also know how bad he wants to keep me happy.
And he takes the out.
"One moment, please?" He turns and answers the phone from the desk behind him. I wait until he turns back towards me and make a show of checking my phone again.
"An earring? Could you please describe it to me, Sir?"
He steps back to me and studies the earring. I narrow my eyes suspiciously, but I let him look.
"A reward? How much are you offering, Sir, so I may write it down?" The clerk's smile ticks back onto his face even as his English falters in his excitement. Then his eyes grow wide. "On your way, now?" Then the blood drains from the clerk's face. "What, Sir?"
The voice on the other end of the line is so loud now that I can hear as the man threatens to tear every stone of the hotel apart if he can't find his wife's earring. Then the connection ends, and the dial tone buzzes.
The clerk smiles sheepishly at me. "I am not supposed to share secrets between guests, but I suppose you could not help but hear the end of that. They have discovered their missing earring, and they are on the way back. Lucky for me, you have found it, and lucky for you, they are offering a reward if we find it before they get here."
I wave my hand dismissively. "That's not lucky at all. My ride is sitting right there," I nod towards the black sedan sitting just outside the glass doors. "My plane leaves in an hour, and I'm on a tight schedule. I cannot possibly wait around."
"Please, Madame, I'm sure you want to see their earring returned as much as I do. Just give it to me, and I will return it."
I let my eyes widen and I jerk back from the desk. I let my eyes dart from the car to the clerk and back. I frown. I fiddle with the earring. Then I pin him with my most intense stare. "And how do I know you will return their earring? I could have kept it for myself, but I didn't, so you and I both know I can be trusted with it. You'll just have to give them my information, and they can contact me about the earring."
His head sinks lower on his shoulders. "But ... but Madame ..." Then his smile returns. "The reward! You wouldn't want to miss the reward. He's offering five thousand US dollars."
I wave my hand again. "I paid more than that for my plane ticket, which I'll miss if I don't hurry." I drop the earring into my purse and tuck it under my arm.
"Wait!"
I pause.
He lifts a finger. "I can prove to you that I am trustworthy." He leans over, punching keys on his side of the desk and rifling in a drawer. "I will give you the reward money, and you will give me the earring. Then, when he gets here, I replace the money, and he gets his earring back."
I can see the flicker of fear in his eyes as he realizes what he's offered me, and I wait, giving him time to take it back. "... and I know you're trustworthy, I guess, because you'll be in trouble if that money isn't back in the drawer by the time you count out tonight." I nod, as if agreeing.
A chime sounds from my phone, and I lift it, sighing. I shake my head and dig the earring back out of my bag. "Well, if you're sure. I don't have time to wait around."
He pulls a wad of bills out of the drawer and starts counting them on the desk. Handling the money is stealing his nerve, and I can see his fingers shaking. I stop him when he gets to two thousanad, five hundred.
"That's fine. Really. And then you get a reward for your part, too. I really must be off."
"Madame?" His eyes light up again at the sight of the money on the granite.
"Come on then." I lay the earring down, and he taps the edges of the money against the counter and slides the stack into my hands.
I push the bills into my wallet and wave. "I guess you were right. It is our lucky day."
He salutes me with the other stack of money as I stride out the front doors.
The driver opens the door for me, and I climb in. The same voice I'd heard over the phone speaks to me from the shadows of the car.
"How much?"
I sigh and pull the bills out of my wallet. "Only half. He was getting nervous."
"You took too long."
"Be nice now," I coo. "Dinner is on me tonight."
Three of the characters are con artists, and the author describes a number of cons put on by them. I happen to love The Italian Job and Leverage. There's something about the criminals who eschew violence and get what they want with cleverness. (Not that I have any desire to fall into one of those scams, I just admire the intelligence required.)
In honor of Tim Wirkus and his novel, our prompt for this week is to write about a con. Seeing as I had a little trouble finding them when I Googled, here is a website to give you ideas: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_confidence_tricks
(Because no matter what you like to write, we all have to get used to doing research.)
Enjoy!
****************************************************************************
My response:
I checked my reflecting in the mirror hanging behind the desk as I walked up, pressing my lips into a thin, hurried smile.
The clerk looked up at me and returned a wide grin, eyebrows raised. "Checking out? And how was your stay?" He was too young to be balding, and yet the oily strands brushed across his scalp proved the unfortunate truth. His tips were likely down from when he looked more his age, and he had to work harder. Looking at my tailored linen pants and silk blouse, he saw only money, and he practically groveled.
I slid a key card onto the deck. "It was lovely, as always, but I've run into a problem."
"Oh?" He scanned the card and started typing, his eyebrows shooting up almost high enough to compensate for the missing strands on top.
I rest my purse on the counter and check the time on my phone before pulling out the earring. Behind him, the phone starts ringing.
"I was checking over my room before I left, and I found this earring." I hold it up, so he can see. It really does look like a nice piece - all glass and gold plating - only the weight of it in my fingers gives it away. "I found this had fallen behind the toilet. The maids must have missed it when they cleaned before me ..."
"I do apologize for that ..." he begins, but I wave him off.
"Nevermind that, my ex-husband was a gem dealer, and I can tell these stones are top quality. Someone has a matching earring, and I'm sure they'd want this one back. They'll not be able to make another to match so well." I check my phone again. "Anyway, I need the name and contact information of the people who had the room before me, so I can contact them and return the earring."
I look up expectantly. I can see shock and dismay dissolving his smile. He knows he can't give out guest information, and I know it too. I also know how bad he wants to keep me happy.
And he takes the out.
"One moment, please?" He turns and answers the phone from the desk behind him. I wait until he turns back towards me and make a show of checking my phone again.
"An earring? Could you please describe it to me, Sir?"
He steps back to me and studies the earring. I narrow my eyes suspiciously, but I let him look.
"A reward? How much are you offering, Sir, so I may write it down?" The clerk's smile ticks back onto his face even as his English falters in his excitement. Then his eyes grow wide. "On your way, now?" Then the blood drains from the clerk's face. "What, Sir?"
The voice on the other end of the line is so loud now that I can hear as the man threatens to tear every stone of the hotel apart if he can't find his wife's earring. Then the connection ends, and the dial tone buzzes.
The clerk smiles sheepishly at me. "I am not supposed to share secrets between guests, but I suppose you could not help but hear the end of that. They have discovered their missing earring, and they are on the way back. Lucky for me, you have found it, and lucky for you, they are offering a reward if we find it before they get here."
I wave my hand dismissively. "That's not lucky at all. My ride is sitting right there," I nod towards the black sedan sitting just outside the glass doors. "My plane leaves in an hour, and I'm on a tight schedule. I cannot possibly wait around."
"Please, Madame, I'm sure you want to see their earring returned as much as I do. Just give it to me, and I will return it."
I let my eyes widen and I jerk back from the desk. I let my eyes dart from the car to the clerk and back. I frown. I fiddle with the earring. Then I pin him with my most intense stare. "And how do I know you will return their earring? I could have kept it for myself, but I didn't, so you and I both know I can be trusted with it. You'll just have to give them my information, and they can contact me about the earring."
His head sinks lower on his shoulders. "But ... but Madame ..." Then his smile returns. "The reward! You wouldn't want to miss the reward. He's offering five thousand US dollars."
I wave my hand again. "I paid more than that for my plane ticket, which I'll miss if I don't hurry." I drop the earring into my purse and tuck it under my arm.
"Wait!"
I pause.
He lifts a finger. "I can prove to you that I am trustworthy." He leans over, punching keys on his side of the desk and rifling in a drawer. "I will give you the reward money, and you will give me the earring. Then, when he gets here, I replace the money, and he gets his earring back."
I can see the flicker of fear in his eyes as he realizes what he's offered me, and I wait, giving him time to take it back. "... and I know you're trustworthy, I guess, because you'll be in trouble if that money isn't back in the drawer by the time you count out tonight." I nod, as if agreeing.
A chime sounds from my phone, and I lift it, sighing. I shake my head and dig the earring back out of my bag. "Well, if you're sure. I don't have time to wait around."
He pulls a wad of bills out of the drawer and starts counting them on the desk. Handling the money is stealing his nerve, and I can see his fingers shaking. I stop him when he gets to two thousanad, five hundred.
"That's fine. Really. And then you get a reward for your part, too. I really must be off."
"Madame?" His eyes light up again at the sight of the money on the granite.
"Come on then." I lay the earring down, and he taps the edges of the money against the counter and slides the stack into my hands.
I push the bills into my wallet and wave. "I guess you were right. It is our lucky day."
He salutes me with the other stack of money as I stride out the front doors.
The driver opens the door for me, and I climb in. The same voice I'd heard over the phone speaks to me from the shadows of the car.
"How much?"
I sigh and pull the bills out of my wallet. "Only half. He was getting nervous."
"You took too long."
"Be nice now," I coo. "Dinner is on me tonight."
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