Not with my lambikins, you don't!

My oldest friend has always wanted to be a writer. Ever since we were little, we wrote stories and made little books. I made words my career, she kept it as a hobby. Now that she's no longer working, she's dived into Wattpad, a social media site for free fiction.*

I found one of her stories and realized I couldn't read it objectively. I know her too well. To me, it was just a series of Rorschach ink blots. Why, if my real-life friend believed she had to move to Southern California to be happy, does she plop her fictional alter ego in Chicago? Why, with her heart problems, does she glamorize smoking, for fuck's sake? Why did she change the name of one of her kids but not the other? And do I really say "fuck" that often? (Oh wait. Yes, I do.)

Anyway, I don't think I'll confess to her that I read it. I'll continue to ask her about her writing and encourage her, but until she puts a manuscript in my inbox, I'm exercising plausible deniabilty.

None of which is the point of this rambling post. I did read someone else's story. Start to (more or less) finish. It was fan fiction about my favorite Cub, Anthony Rizzo.

At first, I enjoyed it. The girl who wrote it clearly has a crush on him, which amused me. My feelings for Rizz are strictly of the maternal he's-such-a-nice-boy variety, but I remember being more than a little in love with several Cubs (from Joe Pepitone in the 70s to Mark Grace in the 90s).

Her romance story began when an as-yet unmarried Rizz famously climbed into the stands to catch the ball. In her story, he landed on her and gave her a concussion. He checks on her. They exchange phone numbers and begin a texting friendship that blossoms into love. She writes about his boyishness and has him playing a lot of video games (he's told us he can't get enough Call of Duty) and sharing lasagna and ice cream. My favorite part was when her fictional Anthony asks his dad for dating advice.


It was sweet. Unrealistic, of course. During the summer, when the Cubs are in town, he can't just go out for ice cream without fans approaching him for his autograph. There was nothing about his cancer battle -- which he admits has defined him as much as baseball -- nor his charity work. But OK. It's fan fiction and it was charming.

Then they have sex. Of course they do. It's her fantasy and besides, sex is what healthy, happy, normal young people have. But I wasn't prepared for my reaction to what she wrote. I DO NOT want to think about the size of Anthony Rizzo's erection! I don't want anyone else thinking about it either. And I want her to stop detailing where he places his "calloused fingers" and how it felt. No, no, no!

Stop it! No dirty thoughts allowed!

The game happened to be on while I was reading her story. I felt so embarrassed for real-life Rizz. There are literally 10,000+ of Anthony Rizzo romance stories on Wattpad. Has he seen them? Have his teammates seen them? Is it mortifying or flattering? Has his bride Emily seen this stuff? Are there more sites that publish erotic romance stories about my darling Rizzo?

There are six times as many Kris Bryant love stories on Wattpad. I can't stand it.

Who knew I was such a prude?

*I'd prefer her to take classes and treat writing like a craft, but what the hell. She's happy and she's gotten encouragement from an online community and maybe I shouldn't be so bossy.

How I spent my Saturday

I slept in, shopped, had lunch, and slept some more. I'm tempted to curl up and get back under the covers. It feels both indulgent and wasteful to spend a day this way.

I look forward to days when I have no imperatives: Nowhere I have to go, no one I must call, no chore that positively, absolutely has to be accomplished. It feels luxurious.

But I also feel a little guilty. I was gonna work on my Nanowrimo. Friday night I wrote the beginning of my first-ever murder scene! Lest that sound too ghoulish, it should be noted that I read many murder mysteries and trying my hand at writing the actual dastardly deed is hard! I'm good on most of the forensics -- my villain wants to set the scene to look like an accident -- but I don't know how he's going to dispose of the murder weapon. Then it occurred to me: the story could be told from the prosecutor's POV, and I could just say, "the weapon was never found." Now all I have to do is finish it ... and then write it again for the defense.

Or I could sleep some more.

And I should scrub my bathroom floor, and sort through the papers on my dining room table, and answer some emails for the condo board ...

Or I could sleep some more.

October Challenge -- Day 3

I'm joining Ms. Kwiz for her October blogging challenge.

Day 3: Most recent creative pursuit. Nanowrimo. Aka National Novel Writing Month. According to Wikipedia: National Novel Writing Month, is an annual, Internet-based creative writing project that takes place during the month of November. Participants attempt to write a 50,000-word manuscript between November 1 and November 30. Well-known authors write "pep-talks" to keep them motivated throughout the process.

 
Yes, I know the meter doesn't officially drop until November 1, but I've already set up my page @ nanowrimo.org and my story is taking shape. It's the tale of a trial that captivates a small town. I haven't decided which woman will be at the center of the saga: Frankie, the 50+ heiress whose body is found at the foot of the stairs, or Tracy, the 20-something trophy wife of a big-city lawyer who comes to town to defend Frankie's ne'er do well husband against murder charges. Will I become more interested in flashbacks of Frankie's life, or in Tracy's fish-out-of-water story?

Just for contrast: at the office these days I've been working on a project called BVL (bank vehicle loan). My client has a predictive model that indicates when a customer who financed their current ride with us will be likely to buy a new one, and it's up to me to remind them of how smooth the loan process was with us.

I like what I do. My client appreciates my efforts. They are an honest company that delivers on what I promise. I feel good about being a compensated cog in their Fortune 500 wheel. But writing fiction can be liberating and fun.

August Happiness Challenge: Day 10

Rizz is happy for me

On Day Ten, I'm happy I got high five'd. For the last three weeks, I've been in this Second City storytelling workshop sponsored by employer. Monday I wrote this story, recounting a true story from my childhood. The praise from my two instructors was universal, and I didn't really trust it.

Let's face it: this is a business for them. My agency paid them to run this three-session workshop and hosted a pizza/wine/beer party Thursday to celebrate the results. They needed us to participate and share our stories or it wouldn't look like the agency got what it paid for.

So before I committed to reading this in open forum, I shared the story with John, Kathy and Henry. All three of them are writers. None of them has read my personal writing -- just my professional, marketing-based stuff. When all three of them assured me that it was good and I wouldn't embarrass myself, I committed to reading it at the party.

The reception I received was positive! People actually laughed out loud, and at the right places. As I made my way back to my seat, I received applause and high fives. It was very encouraging, and I'm glad I did it.

Praise feels good.

If you want to play along, just come back here (meaning to this blog, not this individual post) each day in August, looking for the Happy Cub. Every day I will try to have a post with the headline: August Happiness Challenge: Day [X]. Leave a comment and then post your own daily happiness, with August Happiness Challenge in the title to make it easy to find.

Let me tell you a story

This month I've been attending a storytelling workshop here at the office. It's taught by members of Chicago's Second City troop.

Here's the story I'm telling/reading presenting at tomorrow's workshop (if I can get away from my desk). The prompt was, "Tell a true story about one of these things: your earliest memory, feeling lost, or being transformed." 

"Feeling lost" was the easiest for me, and I was surprised by how vivid this memory was.

FEELING LOST

When we’re little, we’re like corks on the water. Where we go depends on where the currents, or the grown-ups, take us. So I don’t know how or why I ended up at This Grandma’s house for a sleepover. I only know that my mother presented the idea to me as though it was going to tremendous fun.

I knew it wouldn’t. 

Spending time with This Grandma wasn’t as much fun as being with my Other Grandma. While This Grandma promised to teach me how to polish her silver some day, my Other Grandma laughed at my jokes and let me read to her. This Grandma didn’t get my jokes and told me she preferred it when I read silently.

This Grandma was all about noise. She didn’t like anything loud. She hated “disruption.” 

So when I woke up in the middle of the night and had to pee, I was conflicted. I was unfamiliar with my surroundings and unsure how to find the bathroom in the dark. I was also reluctant to call out for help or turn on the lights. The house was dark and completely still, just the way This Grandma liked it. I decided it was best to keep it that way.

I got out of bed and walked carefully through the bedroom. A bit of gray light from a street lamp showed through the window shade. I was tempted to roll it up to let more light in, but that roll-up shade could make a sudden and startling “snap” noise, and that would not be good – not in This Grandma’s house in the middle of the night.

Now I was in the hall. It was long and really dark. I felt along the walls until I reached the door and knob that would let me into the bathroom. I stepped in and felt cool tile, instead of carpet, under my feet and was certain I was close to the toilet and the relief that would come from finally being able to pee. 

Only I could not find the toilet! Somehow, I was hopelessly lost in the pitch-black bathroom. I reached out and touched the smooth sink and the bumpy wicker clothes hamper. But where had the toilet gone?

I started to panic. It had to be here somewhere. I had to pee. 

Reaching up and around me in the dark, I felt the towels on their rack. Was I moving in the right direction toward the toilet? I could no longer remember how the room looked with the lights on. Suddenly I was scared. I was lost in the bathroom.

I took a step forward and felt something on my face. I didn’t like how it felt or smelled so I quickly turned away but it followed me. I tried to push it away but I fell down and it fell with me. Together we made noise and I started to cry.

The bathroom light came on and I heard This Grandma’s voice. 

“She’s wrapped in the shower curtain,” she called to This Grandpa. Then she came over and unwrapped me. 

“I’m sorry,” I cried, stepping up and out of the shower curtain. “I really have to pee.”

“Did you wet your pants?” she asked, pulling me toward the toilet, which now I could now clearly see was right where it belonged. I wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore. I was still a little afraid of This Grandma.

I shook my head, pulled down my pants and sat down. She leaned against the door, waiting for me. I looked up into her face. She didn’t seem mad, or even disturbed. She was all squinty and barely awake.

When I was done, she put a hand on each of my shoulders and steered me out of the bathroom. I started to remind her that I should wash my hands, but thought better of it. 

Filled with light from the bathroom, the hallway looked much shorter than it did in the dark.

Wordlessly she put me back in to bed and left the room. My mother or my Other Grandma would have said something reassuring, but This Grandma just shuffled out of the room and back up the hall. 

I noticed she left the bedroom door open and the bathroom light on. That made me happy.

And I remembered that even though I had been lost and scared, I didn’t wet my pants.  That made me happy, too. I fell asleep feeling almost brave.

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: Baby's in Black

1) Black is this week's signature color because Friday, November 25, was "Black Friday," when retailers cut their prices and consumers flock to the stores. Did you score any "Black Friday" bargains? I did, but I didn't go to the mall. Better World Books had a coupon for 30% off 5 or more books, and I took advantage of that.

2) Feasting and football are also popular Thanksgiving weekend pastimes. Do your Thursday-Sunday plans include pigging out or watching a game? Pigging out, definitely.

3) At Thanksgiving dinners, Crazy Sam's homemade gravy is always a hit. (Probably because she's so generous with the cognac, which gives the gravy a nutty taste.) What was particularly delicious at your Thanksgiving table? Dessert was hitsville. The pumpkin pie was particularly cinnamony (which I love) and a nutty glaze was drizzled across it.

 
4) Among the biggest the Black Friday advertisers are Target, Kohl's, Macy's and Best Buy. If you could have a $100 gift card to any one of those stores, which would you choose? Best Buy. I suspect that the TV in my bedroom is going to crap out soon. When it does, I'll move the set in the living room to the bedroom and buy a new one for the living room. That $100 would come in awfully handy.

5) This week's song, "Baby's in Black," is about a girl who wears black because she's in mourning. Do you find that the color you're wearing reflects your mood? I admit I love wearing Cubbie blue (Pantone 294). Especially this World Series winning year!

6) The woman who inspired this song, Astrid Kirchherr, has been friends with Paul McCartney since he and his bandmates (John Lennon, George Harrison, Stu Sutcliffe and Pete Best) met her in Hamburg back in 1960. Tell us what you believe are the components of a strong, lasting friendship. As life gets busier, I value availability more and more. There's always something to fill up our days and evenings. Friends make time for one another.

7) In the early days of the Beatles, Paul McCartney and John Lennon began writing a play but abandoned it. Do you have a novel, painting, play, song or poem that you're going to finish "someday?" Dozens! Every year I take a crack at Nanowrimo and write for fun, not profit. I never finish my great novel, though. Oh well, there's always next November.

8) When he was 16, George Harrison dreamed of moving to Canada, Australia or Malta. In just a few years, he would visit all those places with Beatles and eventually decided there was no place like home and stayed in England. Have you ever thought about moving to another country? If so, where? I never think about leaving the country, not even on vacation. I do sometimes fantasize about living in Boston, Philadelphia or Washington, DC. But I'd never leave Chicago.

9)  Random question: Finish this sentence -- If you want me to give you "yes" for an answer, the best time to approach me is _____________________. while I'm eating pizza.

And all I want to do is sleep

I have so much to do! My home is a mess, and I had rededicated myself to finally doing something about that before November 19 -- which is the day a contractor may be wandering around, moving furniture, as he remedies the problem with my heat.*

But I have no energy. I'm battling the beginning of a cold. So far no cough, and the congestion that isn't so bad. But it's a battle to stay awake!

As I post this, I'm watching Ken Burns' Civil War, which could be an inspiration as I continue Liza's saga for my Nanowrimo, but I'm struggling to remain upright on the sofa ... and here it's barely 5:30.

Oh well, it's not like I did nothing this weekend. Saturday I did laundry and put my summer clothes away. And today I took a bag of clothes to Goodwill and bought a new set of sheets at Bed, Bath and Beyond.

Best of all, I had lunch with my niece. My 23 year old niece! I can't get over how time has flown, and that she's done with college. She was just in for the weekend and wanted me to meet her new fella, Michael. A sanctimonious pain in the ass if ever there was one. Though, I suspect, the woman I am today would have felt the same way about a 23 year old Gal. And, it's important to note, she seems quite happy with and proud of him. I just hope there's no wedding in the near future. She went from a few months in the dorm to sharing an apartment with her boyfriend Jason directly to sharing an apartment with Michael. I worry that she's not spreading her wings and flying solo. But then, that's me wanting what I wanted/want for myself, and this is her life we're talking about.

*Which is way too much heat. I can't regulate it.

Saturday 9

  Random

 

1) Do you prefer your pickle sliced thin, sliced thick, or in a spear? I like the spear when it's served on the side with my burger or sandwich. I'll happily munch it solo. But if I'm having pickles on my sandwich or burger, I prefer sweet relish.

2) What kind of eggs do you like best for breakfast? I like all eggs. Scrambled with diced ham. In an omelet with cheese and spinach. Over easy or poached. It's all good. (Can you tell I'm thinking of heading over to the coffee shop for breakfast this morning?)

3) If you got 2 pennies for change, would you pocket them or leave them on the counter for the next person? I'd take them because I save pennies in a red piggy bank (a gift from a coworker). It holds about 750, and when it's full I take it to the Coinstar machine and give myself a little present. Last year I got an Amazon gift certificate, this year, one from Red Robin (yum).
 

4) You’re now in charge of the manners for the planet. Tell us the new rules for cellphone etiquette. NOT at the table! My friend Barb used to check her phone all the time while we were eating, until one evening I told her if she touched it one more time, I was getting out my hardcover book and beginning to read. She never did it again. My oldest friend needs to shape up her phone manners, too. She takes her son's every utterance way too seriously (he's now 25) and I've seen her take his call during a lecture and a museum exhibit. I know he's had problems in the past, but the last call turned out to be about whether he should pick up cat food at the grocery store or Petco. That certainly could have waited.

 

5) You’re about to write a novel. What genre will it be (sci fi, chick lit, historical fiction, comic …)? I'm writing a novel right now. Does that sound pretentious? It shouldn't, because November means NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and people all over the country are working on that idea that's been rattling around in their hands. Anyway, mine is historical fiction, set in the mid 19th century.

6) Is it a bad thing to lie to save a friend’s feelings? Usually, no. Especially if the question is something like, "Do you like my hair?" Sometimes, though, if it's a serious matter, people need to hear the truth if they are to move ahead in their lives, and who better to tell them than a friend? So it depends on the situation.

7) Is your big toe your longest toe? Yes.

8) Hot stone massage: yea or nay? Yea.

9) Do you check the mirror before going out? Yes.

 

Turning back time

Last weekend is when we turned the clocks back. As luck would have it, I spent that weekend in the past, in Springfield, IL.

First, my hotel. The State House Inn, so called because it is almost directly across the street from our State Capitol. I imagine it's very popular with lobbyists and others in town to conduct state business. I loved it though because of it's charmingly retro mid-century modern decor. Pop art and blonde wood was everywhere! It reminded me most fondly of my uncle, for this is the style of decor he always favored. (It's why I have such affection for the sleek, light colored coffee table upon which my feet rest as I post this.) It's also very Mad Men.

 

Then there is our State Capitol Building. In all the times I've visited Springfield, I've never even seen it because our current state house is not one of the Lincoln sites. Built in 1870, it's more attractive than I realized. (News coverage is always a reporter close up, on the steps, holding a mic.) It's also more majestic than our current legislators deserve.*  

 

The way the Capitol looked from my hotel

I wonder if 50 years in the future, this state house won't join the Old Capitol on every school kid's tour. The Old Capitol is preserved because it's the site where legislator Abraham Lincoln delivered his "Nation Divided" speech. From 1997 to 2014, Barack Obama was a state senator here.
 

I was surprised by how nondescript the other buildings in this part of town are. So many of the issue that impact my life have been decided in gray squarish structures -- The Illinois Supreme Court and Illinois Secretary of State -- that look like boring little community colleges.

Of course, I also spent a good deal of time with Abe. I visited his house in the morning, followed by a visit to the train station where he gave his impromptu farewell to Illinois (a short, lovely little speech that revealed so much about the way his glorious mind worked) and ended the day with a stroll through the Presidential Museum.

I've visited the Truman, Kennedy, Nixon and Clinton museums, as well, and Lincoln's is the one aimed most directly at children. I understand this. To kids, Abe is the Elvis of Presidents. (As, of course, he should be.) But it's disappointing because on this day (Sunday, November 1), I had the place virtually to myself. Truly, I've never been here when it's been so empty. It would have been nice to linger and learn from a terrific, challenging new exhibit. Alas, that didn't happen.

I was excited to see one of the original sets and many costumes from the recent movie Lincoln, generously donated by Steven Spielberg. Sally Field lent her thoughts on playing the much-maligned Mary, and I appreciated that. But did I learn anything new? Not really.

Me in Cubbie blue, waving from Abe's house

Still, time spent with Abe is always time well spent. Impressive and inspirational. It was also cool because this year's Nanowrimo is historical fiction, and it was nice to immerse myself in the world my characters would have lived in.

I also loved getting away by myself. Reading magazines, working on my 2015 novel, wandering streets where no one knows me. It's so refreshing! En route to Springfield, I rode the train partway with a neighbor. Upon my return, I ran into neighbors in the hall and the laundry room and was intercepted by the janitor. Nice people, all, but blah-blah-blah. I enjoyed, and was rejuvenated by, my anonymity. This may come as a shock to those who know me in real life, because I can be quite blabby, but I do dearly love my alone time!

*Our state finances are now such a mess that Illinois has stopped paying our lotto winners. Gulp.

The allure of the 1860s

It started last summer when I was housebound with a cold. That's when I rediscovered Bonanza, which has become an ongoing obsession. Partly because it brings back childhood memories, partly because as an adult I realize why it was so crazy popular back in the 1960s: it's filled with attractive men in tight pants. The Cartwrights were so freaking capable. They're always fixing wheels and wagons and windows and fences and protecting people and property and just forever standing firm on the side of right.

It continued with my autumn viewing of Gone with the Wind on the big screen. The clothes! The hair! The romance! This inspired me to immerse myself in the 1860s when I began working on my Nanowrimo novel.

Now I don't want to come back to the 21th century. I like imagining myself celebrating the holidays in Nevada, ca 1865. I choose Nevada because it really wasn't involved in the Civil War, and I don't want that brutal conflict to mar my fantasy.*

Authentic greetings of the season

I want to ride my horse through the snow. I want to go Christmas shopping up and down mainstreet and put my parcels in the back of the buggy. I want to wear a cloak, not a coat. I want to enter rooms through swinging saloon doors and warm myself in front of the fireplace or the coal burning stove. I want to go to church on Christmas morning in a one-horse open sleigh.

This is where my head is, and this is where it's staying.

*Yes, I know that if I were to be realistic, I'd have to be worried about battle with the Shoshone and Paiute Indian tribes. But I don't want to be realistic. I'm enjoying my fantasy.

Done!

For the first time, I reached my Nanowrimo goal of 50,000 words! Yea!

I'm nowhere near done with Liza's saga. It was too ambitious for 50,000 words. But I'm going to give it a rest for a while. I've been more than a little obsessive and it's time to do housework, write holiday cards, laundry, etc.

November with Liza Seebury

November is Nanowrimo, or National Novel Writing Month. So beginning at midnight, people all over the country will begin pounding out works of fiction, hoping to hit the 50,000 word mark by November 30.

This year, my completely fictional heroine is Liza Seebury, a 17 year old from Williamsburg, Virginia. Her parents, worried about the impact of the impending Civil War on their "precious petal," send her away to visit friends in the still neutral Nevada Territory. Out there, in a new and completely different world, she begins to question the teachings, values and suppositions of her old life and discovers strength and passion within herself she didn't know she had.

I'm excited about writing this because I've been thinking about this period a lot ever since seeing Gone With the Wind on the big screen last month, I miss Williamsburg, and it will be fun to write a character with a big arc of development. The thing is, at the beginning of the story, she's pretty hideous: spoiled and most definitely racist. Of course, much of that is just part of being 17, and much of that comes from being a product of the antebellum South. It will be nice for me to find things to admire about her as she matures and evolves.

My title is Compact of Fire, taken from Shakespeare.

"Love is a spirit all compact of fire, Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire."

Wish me luck!

November Challenge

Day 30 -- One thing you're excited for

I actually got to write today! It was the first time in ages that I have managed to move my Nanowrimo story along. I have really enjoyed it.

I have been relieved to be busy at work and happy to be busy with friends. But I like writing for myself and found today satisfying.

Me and my Nano

I've written 7000 words for my November novel, More Real than Anything. According to conventional Nanowrimo wisdom, my wordcount should be double that if I'm to finish my 50,000 word book by November 30.

I write to deadline. It's what I do. Therefore this bothers me, even though there is no downside to not finishing my Nanowrimo attempt. Plus, I like my heroine, Dorothy. She's the editor of a very popular 1960s-1970s era teeny bopper rag. She truly cares about her young readers and the message she sends their way on the pages of the fictional Teen Datebook. And she just fell into this success when her first career as a model fizzled. As you can see, Dorothy is very real to me and I have many plans for her. I just have to get down to it and write it!

Nanowrimo isn't the only thing I haven't had time for. I also didn't work out one single day this week! I feel mega-pudgy right now. (Thank God I don't have a scale!)

The upside to all of this is that I have been very busy at work. The days just fly by, and I feel more secure in my position at the agency. That's a relief.

Me and Dorothy

Dorothy Holley and I will be spending a lot of time together this month. For she is the heroine of my novel, More Real than Anything.

November is Nanowrimo, aka National Novel Writing Month. I have pledged to write a 50,000 word novel before November 30. Hundreds and thousands of us, all around the world, are taking part. No one will ever see my novel, and I may not finish it, but that's not the point.

I write for a living. I'm a wordsmith for pay. But sometimes I like to write on my own, for me. And that's how I ended up with Dorothy. Here's my official synopsis, where my girl Dorothy first sketchily came to life. Wish us luck!

Synopsis

Dorothy Holley, by far the prettiest girl in North Tonawanda, NY, believed the world was just waiting to be dazzled by her. Yet when she traveled less than 50 miles to Manhattan, Dorothy discovered that New York was full of girls who had been their hometown’s prettiest and, much to her disappointment, she didn’t instantly become a designer’s muse or even a cover girl. Instead she found herself just another brunette with a portfolio under her arm, more likely to demonstrate the new Hoover Slim Silhouette vacuum at a trade show than to model a Balenciaga gown.

In the summer of 1962, faced with a stack of bills, she took a temporary job in the mail room of a silly little magazine called Teen Datebook. She found herself reading letters from preteen girls who were consumed with longing, just as she had been in North Tonawanda. She was inspired because she knew how to turn their hankering into hope, and by 1967, Dorothy Holley had worked her way up to editor. She realized that within the masculine world of magazine publishing, she was a punchline, “The Citizen Kane of the Clearasil Set.” But she didn’t care. Unlike her male counterparts, she reliably made millions, and at a newsstand price of just 25¢.

-------------------

“Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star. It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn't even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.”
Haruki Murakami

Trifecta

This week's challenge: Give us the 33 words that follow this illustration. What happens next?

Give us the 33 words that follow this illustration.  What happens next? - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.RKqGUkhE.dThis week's challenge: Give us the 33 words that follow this illustration. What happens next

Give us the 33 words that follow this illustration.  What happens next? - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.RKqGUkhE.dpuf

Give us the 33 words that follow this illustration.  What happens next? - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.RKqGUkhE.dpuf

Sure, like all the kids, she knew the legend. In the olden days, the criminally insane weren’t jailed; instead, supposedly, they were buried alive in the swamp. She didn’t believe it.

Until now.

Artist credit: Don Duford. Poisoned Playground. (http://www.poisonedplayground.com)

www.poisonedplayground.com. 

Trifecta

This week’s challenge: About.com defines apostrophe as, "A figure of speech in which some absent or nonexistent person or thing is addressed as if present and capable of understanding."  Give us your best 33-word example of an apostrophe. 

Mommy, you died a year ago today. What’s heaven like? Have you made up with Dad? Did you get to meet JFK? Can you see the awful hole you left in our lives? 

About the photos: Life Magazine makes a library of their archive images available for free to use for “non-commercial personal purposes."

mmm
On now to our weekend prompt.  This week we are taking you, once again, back to school for a lesson in literary devices.  Remember the apostrophe?  About.com defines apostrophe as, "A figure of speech in which some absent or nonexistent person or thing is addressed as if present and capable of understanding."  That same site provides some excellent examples of apostrophes in classical literature. Check them out and then have a crack at it yourself.  Give us your best 33-word example of - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.qSNankDn.dpuf

Trifextra

This week's challenge: 33 words inspired by this photo --

33 of your own words inspired by the following photo. - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.XRHWr1ko.dpuf

Author [ changó ] / photo on flickr

"Oh, I dunno. They cut my hours, so I started living on my credit cards. Then I got sick and couldn’t work. Then I missed my rent a couple times. How about you?"

 

Trifecta

This week's challenge: Create a 33- to 333-word response using the third definition of the word:

CRACK
1a : a loud roll or peal 
 b: a sudden sharp noise
2: a sharp witting remark; quip
3a : a narrow break : fissure   
  b : a narrow opening —used figuratively in phrases like fall through the cracks to describe one that has been improperly or inadvertently ignored or left out
4a : a weakness or flaw caused by decay, age, or deficiency :unsoundness
  b : a broken tone of the voice
  c : crackpot
5: moment, instant

GIRL CRUSH

Mary fascinated Tess. First there was the way she spoke. Mary’s soft, husky voice drew you in and made you feel like an intimate or a conspirator, even when she was talking about the bagels in the coffee room.

And her style! While Tess never left the house without trying more than one top or changing her earrings – and yet was still usually disappointed by her reflection in the mirror – Mary always looked effortlessly perfect.  One day, in the restroom, Tess was washing her hands at the basin when Mary breezed in brandishing a Macy’s bag.

“I made good use of my lunch hour because I found the scarf that goes with everything,” Mary announced definitively, withdrawing a bright red and blue print that looked too loud to go with anything. Tess stared transfixed as Mary swiftly, efficiently tied it around her slender, porcelain neck. And damn, if it didn’t look just right.

Mary may seem imperturbable, but Tess suspected otherwise. If her marriage was such a charmed union, why the separate vacations? Tess knew they had one child, a rambunctious toddler who looked just like his handsome father, but she’d heard Mary make fleeting references to other pregnancies – she didn’t toast the New Millennium because she was expecting … the convention she missed in ’07 because her doctor advised her not to fly in her condition.

So Tess sensed Mary’s life wasn’t as lovely as it looked. But the only real crack in the perfect demeanor were Mary’s hands. As many times as Tess saw Mary stride toward the elevator with a pack of Newport Menthols firmly in hand, she never got used to the sight. And often, when Mary was lost in thought, her arms were folded across her chest, each hand massaging the opposite elbow. Tess thought Mary looked so vulnerable and sad, as though somehow trying to comfort herself.

Yes, the hands gave her away.

CRACK
1a : a loud roll or peal
  b : a sudden sharp noise
2: a sharp witty remark : quip 3a : a narrow break : fissure   
  b : a narrow opening —used figuratively in phrases like fall through the cracks to describe one that has been improperly or inadvertently ignored or left out
4a : a weakness or flaw caused by decay, age, or deficiency :unsoundness
  b : a broken tone of the voice
  c : crackpot
5: moment, instant - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.kYt68euA.dpu

FLY (intransitive verb) 1a : to move in or pass through the air with wings

  b : to move through the air or before the wind or through outer space
  c : to float, wave, or soar in the air
2a : to take flight : flee
  b : to fade and disappear : vanish
3a : to move, pass, or spread quickly   

  b : to be moved with sudden extreme emotion   

  c : to seem to pass quickly

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.ozjMwpAt.dpuf

FLY (intransitive verb) 1a : to move in or pass through the air with wings

  b : to move through the air or before the wind or through outer space
  c : to float, wave, or soar in the air
2a : to take flight : flee
  b : to fade and disappear : vanish
3a : to move, pass, or spread quickly   

  b : to be moved with sudden extreme emotion   

  c : to seem to pass quickly

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.ozjMwpAt.dpuf

a 33- to 333-word response using the word:

a 33- to 333-word response using the word:

FLY (intransitive verb) 1a : to move in or pass through the air with wings

  b : to move through the air or before the wind or through outer space
  c : to float, wave, or soar in the air
2a : to take flight : flee
  b : to fade and disappear : vanish
3a : to move, pass, or spread quickly   

  b : to be moved with sudden extreme emotion   

  c : to seem to pass quickly

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.ozjMwpAt.dpuf

a 33- to 333-word response using the word:

FLY (intransitive verb) 1a : to move in or pass through the air with wings

  b : to move through the air or before the wind or through outer space
  c : to float, wave, or soar in the air
2a : to take flight : flee
  b : to fade and disappear : vanish
3a : to move, pass, or spread quickly   

  b : to be moved with sudden extreme emotion   

  c : to seem to pass quickly

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.ozjMwpAt.dpuf

About the photo: Life Magazine makes a library of their archive images available for free to use for “non-commercial personal purposes."