Three Word Resolution 2014

Trifextra: Week Ninety-Nine

We're asking for your own resolutions in just three words.  Make it count; we'll be checking back in come 2015. - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.pXULT6t7.dpuf


Find my place

I've been absent lately.  Not writing.  Not reading.  Thinking about both, but not getting either done.  I have plans in the works.  One project being worked on for me.  Many projects ricocheting around my head.  

Weatherin' the Storm

Write at the Merge, Week 47

This is my 201st post.  Wish I was writing more.  But...life.  I brought Willa, the psychic realtor back for this one. And it may be a little long.
The prompts for this week are: 
“Then the lights went out.”

The quote:

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

I

Willa stood on the walk in front of the sixth and final house on her list.   She'd been on her feet since nine am, inspecting each property, noting cupboards, opening closets, counting bedrooms and baths.  

Her notebook was filled with remarks for each listing.  One home needed exterior paint.  Another had a roof that wanted patching.  The bungalow needed a bachelor to keep it company, the modest ranch begged for a young couple just starting their new life.

Not only did Willa see the physical needs of the homes she contracted to sell, she felt the personalities of them.  

The sixth home of the day was a rambling two story in an old neighborhood. The lawn was well kept and the wide front porch invited visitors. She cut her exterior inspection short as clouds began to roll in, bringing the gusting winds and first cold drops of a storm she vaguely remembered being forecast.

Willa ignored the building gale as she focused on her checklist. It wasn't until she heard tornado sirens blaring that she realized how intense the storm had become.

Her first thought was to hurry home, but when she opened the front door, the roaring wind drove her back inside.  She'd never been afraid of heavy weather, but the rattle of small limbs being hurled against the windows and greenish cast to the sky warned her to take cover.

Ducking into a hall closet, she knelt on the floor waiting for the worst to pass.  It was the crash of breaking glass that finally made her heart pound with dread.

She tucked herself into a corner and closed her eyes while murmuring a small prayer.  Another crash induced a squeak of terror and she squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

The small space suddenly filled with the smell of gardenias.  Willa felt herself enveloped in a warm embrace.

"It's alright, baby girl.  I got you."  The voice was calm, filling her head but not her ears.

"Ain't no puff of wind gonna get you in here.  This house has solid bones."

Willa began to relax, listening to the voice reassure her.

"This house has deep roots, grown in hard work and love.  The oldest in this here neighborhood."

"Our people been livin' here for generations. We was here before this city sprung up.  When this was just a little scratch farm, full of family and joy."

Willa leaned into the embrace, listening to the story of lives and loves.  

"Wake up, baby girl.  Time to go, the storm is passed."

Willa felt a nudge urging her to her feet.  She opened the closet door a crack.  The last light of day streamed through the windows.   She made a mental note to call her handyman to board up the one that was broken. 

She gathered her belongings and stepped outside.  A gasp escaped her as she surveyed the rest of the street.  

An abandoned house several doors down had lost much of its roof.  Another home's garage had been leveled, and three trees had been uprooted.

Willa turned to look at the sixth house of the day.  The old two story stood straight, radiating strength.  The only damage was the one broken pane of glass.

She smiled,"Solid bones.  I know just family for you."

Stocking Up

Trifextra: Week Ninety-Two
Another round of 33 words for the Weekend Challenge.  Congratulations to the Trifecta winner from earlier this week.  I'm still playing catch up on the reading! 

Now, on to the weekend prompt...
In The Scorpio Races, author Maggie Stiefvater writes, "It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die."  Give us the next thirty-three words of this story, as you imagine it.  Take it wherever you like, but make it original and make it 33 words exactly. If you want to find out more about Maggie Stiefvater, check out her Twitter here and her Facebook here.  If you use her words on your page, please be sure to credit her. Good luck! - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.TWXI7eNy.dpuf

Here's my submission:


You were all asked to be frugal with last month's rations.

Abigail did best, with two weeks worth left.

Be sure to thank her for the additional food as you wish her farewell. 



.

Bad Company

 Trifecta: Week 101 

On now to our weekly prompt.  It's our last Halloween-inspired prompt of 2013, and we can't wait to see what you've got in store for us.  Please remember that we are looking for the third definition of our prompt word.  Please also note that we need the word exactly as it appears below.  No tense changes allowed.  Good luck!

boo 

1 (interjection)
used to express contempt or disapproval or to startle or frighten

2 (noun)
a sound that people make to show they do not like or approve of someone or something

3 (verb) to show dislike or disapproval of someone or something by shouting “Boo” slowly

- See more at: 

http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.ONrid52N.dpuf



It started with misplaced objects.  Candy would hang her keys on the hook, or lay her glasses on the bedside table.  When she went to retrieve them, they'd gone missing.  She would find the items eventually, in strange places.

At first, she ignored the implications.  But as the places she found her belongings became odder and odder, she began to believe something outside the normal was happening.

Candy would return home to find all the kitchen cabinets wide open, or all the books in the bookcase turned backwards.  All the classic signs of a haunt.  She wasn't overly concerned, in fact, she began to carry on one-sided conversations with her invisible house mate.

"You know, this is annoying.  Why don't you be useful and wash up the dishes."  She never received a reply, and felt she had nothing to fear.

However, any guests she had found plenty of things to fear.  They were poked, had chairs pulled from under them, or saw shadows where there shouldn't have been any. They all left hurriedly, and nothing could convince them to come back for a visit.  

"You have to leave my friends alone!"  Candy received her first reply in the form of a malicious chuckle.  

The activity ramped up after that.  Candy wasn't feeling so fearless anymore.

She burned sage, sprinkled salt, recited prayers, and demanded the spirit leave.  She was rewarded with more chuckles and even a ghostly raspberry.

Candy finally convinced on more friend to visit.  He stopped by on a particularly blustery day.  

"Thanks so much for coming over, I'm out of ideas," Candy said as she took his coat and scarf.

"Not a problem at all.  Ready to get started?"  He straightened the collar at his throat.

From the far corner of the room, they heard a subdued voice intone, "Well, boo."

No Longer on the Honey-Do List

Trifextra: Week Ninety-One

It’s now time for some Trifextra fun. Thirty years ago, Roald Dahl published the book Dirty Beasts, a collection of poems for children about weird and wonderful animals. The last poem, however, is called The Tummy Beast about a boy who thinks there’s someone living in his belly. Your Trifextra challenge is to write 33 words on a beast in an unusual place. No swamps or forests or caves, we really want you to take your beast out of its comfort zone. - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.5bmuSf5m.dpuf

"Get your coat! We gotta go!"

"What?"

"You know the beastly hair clogs I'm always fishing outta the bathroom sink?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, this one just climbed out by itself and snarled at me."

No Powerful Magic

Trifextra: Week Ninety 

Congratulations to the winners of Week 99!!

On now to our quick little Trifextra prompt.  Katherine Paterson, author of Bridge to Terabithia, wrote, “It's like the smarter you are, the more things can scare you.”  We are looking for a 33-word explanation of what scares you (or your character). - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.mGhTrElE.dpuf

I've searched all the mystical places I've built inside my mind.

And weep, for there is no spell, nor enchanted sword

To protect the children from the monsters that walk here 

Among us 

A Dose of Bravery

Trifecta: Week Ninety-Nine
This week we are giving you a page from the Oxford English Dictionary.  The ninety-ninth page, to be exact.  (Click to enlarge.)  From this page, you can choose any word, any definition, to use in your post.  (Please type your chosen word in bold, so we know.)  And instead of our typical 33-333 word limit, we are asking for 99 words exactly. - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.HmMOjuhJ.dpuf

Write at the Merge, Week 42

Your inspiration this week comes from the words “anticipation” and “leap.”







Two prompt muddled together this week. Here goes....



She measured the cinnamon with an iced tea spoon and half a thought. Added it to the brown sugar and nutmeg nestled atop a dollop of butter. She used he same spoon to lightly blend.

Her tea kettle began to hum over the flame, She anticipated the whistle of the imminent boil.

She poured Bacardi into the over sized mug, perhaps a little more than the recipe called for, then added the heated water, perhaps a little less.

Her story glowed from the laptop screen.  With a leap of faith, she hit publish.

Fine Print

Trifextra: Week Eighty-Nine

It's October and the folks at Trifecta are making it a fun month for me, cause I love the weird and wacky.  Or is that wacko?

This week we're asking for 33 of your own words inspired by this classic song by The Rolling Stones.  Good luck! - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.lb11kHNq.dpuf

"We had a deal, my dear.  One favor, one soul."

"Yes, Luc, but evidently, you misunderstood.
You got to unleash death and destruction, I get your soul. 
Mine went missing some time ago."

The Apocalypse is Coming

Trifecta: Week Ninety-Eight

I may have gotten silly for the weekly prompt,  using the THIRD definition of the word, as always. 

ZOMBIE (noun)

1

usually zombi

a :  the supernatural power that according to voodoo belief may enter into and reanimate a dead body

b :  a will-less and speechless human in the West Indies capable only of automatic movement who is held to have died and been supernaturally reanimated

b :  a person markedly strange in appearance or behavior

2

a :  a person held to resemble the so-called walking dead;especially :  automaton

3

:  a mixed drink made of several kinds of rum, liqueur, and fruit juice

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.fjesNbb6.dpuf





Earl watched through beer bleary eyes as Lester drew the cue back unsteadily.   As he took the shot, the waitress yelled over the blast of the jukebox to the bartender "Zombies!  I said they're serving zombies down at that new place."  Lester's head popped up as the stick made an angry gouge in the felt.

Lester! What're doin'?  You want Dusty to throw us out agin?" Earl looked over his shoulder to the bar. 

"Din't ya hear that, Earl?" Lester whispered loudly,"They's zombies at that new dive!"

"Zombies?  Like in the pocky-lisp?" 

"Tha's what she said!"  Lester grabbed Earl sleeve, "We got to do sumthin'.  You still got yer chainsaw in the truck, Earl?"

Earl's eyes widened with a mix of brew bravado and terror, "Yep, I do, Lester.  She's all gassed up an' ready to go."

"Then le's do this!"  Lester hefted the pool cue over his shoulder, gave Earl a thumb's up, and the pair staggered out the door.

"Where they goin'?" asked Dusty.

The waitress shrugged, "I dunno. Maybe down the road for that half-price zombie special."

"I'd fixed one for 'em if they'd asked." Dusty said as the jukebox's blared out Flirtin' with Disaster.

No Escape

Trifextra: Week Eighty-Eight



Congratulations to the winners this week! 
This weekend's prompt.  As you know, Trifecta has a history of dedicating the entire month of October to Halloween.  We're kicking it off early and easy with this prompt: You've found some old books.  On page 3 of one of the books, this illustration appears: - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.X7kWHltH.dpuf



Damned dryads!
Licking her wounds, she eyed the swamp.

The forest was out, she'd have to swim.

A mossy creature popped from below the surface.
"The nereids said to tell you, no passage!"

Wish Upon a Star

Write at the Merge, Week 40 

Cameron gave us two photos for inspiration this week.  You can find them here

"Why're we here again, girlie?"

"We are looking for the wulver that has chosen this place as its hunting ground, Liam."  Anne Marie sniffed the air at the street end of an alley.  "It's what I do."

Liam looked over her shoulder.  "Ye doona need ye're nose, sweetling, there's light enough ablazin' to see fer miles."

The pair continued down the avenue, at each alley, Anne Marie tested the scent.  So far, she'd found no hint of the werewolf she was hunting.

"I say ye're searchin' the wrong side a town, Annie.  No wolfman worth his hide would hunt in this light.  Ye canna even see the star through this sodium bathed backwash."

"What are you blathering about, Liam?"

"Stars, Annie, I canna see the stars."

"What stars?"

"My point exactly, lass."  Liam laid a hand on her shoulder, "Annie, let's go back to the old land.  I still own the manor..."

"The ruins of a manor, Liam, you haven't been there, in what?  Centuries?"

"All the better, no electric lights to block the stars."  Liam cocked a half smile, "Remember when we used ta sleep in the wilds, Annie.  Nothin' fer miles.  No light, just the faint glow of the dyin' cook fire.  No horns blarin', just the song of crickets and tree frogs, leaves whisprin' secrets to each other."

"Liam, are you alright?"  Anne Marie looked at her oldest acquaintance suspiciously. "You have fed recently, haven't you?"

Liam sighed, "Yes, pet, I have.  Ye needn't remind me what ye think of my condition."

"Alright then, let's get back to the business at hand, shall we."  Anne Marie returned to her hunt, sniffing the air and peering down alleys.

"Aye, Annie, the business at hand." Liam gazed into the sky, seeking the light of a distant star. 

Canning Season

Trifecta: Week Ninety-Seven

Congrats to last weeks winners!  This will be my first Trifecta post in too long.  I've been sneaking into the Trifextra Weekend, cause 33 words has seemed more do-able.  I do hope I got the gist of this week's prompt correct.
And here it is:

This week's prompt word is inspired by a less-than-inspiring few weeks in the life of at least one (no more than three) Trifecta editor(s).  If this type of language is not your thing, don't worry.  There aren't too many more swear words with third definitions in our dictionary, so we can guarantee Trifecta won't always be not safe for work.  If it is your thing, well, give us your best.

ASS

1. (noun): any of several hardy gregarious African or Asian perissodactyl mammals (genus Equus) smaller than the horse and having long ears; especially : an African mammal (E. asinus) that is the ancestor of the donkey

2.  (noun):
a. often vulgar : buttocks —often used in emphatic reference to a specific person <get your ass over here> <saved my ass>
b. often vulgar : anus

3. (adverb/adjective) often vulgar—often used as a postpositive intensive especially with words of derogatory implication <fancy-ass>

Don't worry about the big, three-dollar-word language of 'postpositive intensive'.  Basically, we are asking for something similar to the example.  Think: pansy-ass, fancy-ass, smart-ass, dumb-ass.  This week, your prompt word may be used, as in the above examples, as a suffix.  We aren't hung up on the 'postpositive' aspect of this definition, and you don't need to be either.  (Though it's really not difficult to figure out.)

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


I loved Grams to death.  As a boy of nine, nothing was better than sitting in her kitchen eating her homemade apple pie, warm from the oven, with a giant scoop of vanilla ice cream on it.

As much as I loved Grams, I hated her cellar.  I hated it from the ratty-ass wooden door that was tucked in the corner next to her old wheezy fridge to the dirt floor at the bottom of the creaky steps.

There was something down there.  My mother rolled her eyes.  My dad said to grow up.  Gram just said it was a cellar and the only thing down there was jars, full and empty.

I spent two weeks at Grams my tenth summer.  We ate warm pie and played cards and picked apples.

Picking apples meant canning apples. Which meant getting jars, from the cellar.

Grams could tell I wasn't keen on the idea, but she just shooed me along with the assurance nothing was down there except the jars.

It was the sixth trip that was the "charm", I was feeling cocky by then.  There wasn't anything down here.  I was just a kid last year when I thought that.

Just as I was thumbing my nose at that silly nine year old, I felt a cold hand on my arm.  I spun around to my worst fear. 

A face red as flame with long jagged teeth framing a forked tongue.  I tried to inhale enough breath to form a shriek, but choked on my fear.  The monster gripped my arm tighter and began to pull me closer.

I was going to die in Grams cellar.

I heard a sound like a bell being rung.  The thing let go of my arm, and simply melted away.

And there stood Grams, an iron skillet in her hand.  

"C'mon, boy,"  she said, "I told you, there's nothin' here but jars, and the apples are waitin'."

The Power of Three

Trifextra: Week Eighty-Seven   

Congratulations to this week's winners!  And, on to the weekend challenge, (they said have fun...)

This weekend we're asking for 33 of your own words about a famous trio. The trio could be from literature, from history or from pop culture. Just make it yours and have fun with it. Good luck! - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.a4jcOK9F.dpuf



Those three bright stars,
Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka.
They hold Orion's sword close to hand.

Just imagine, if instead
it were Wynken, Blynken, and Nod 
in charge of keeping those belt loops manned. 

2058

Trifextra: Week Eighty-Six




this weekend's prompt---This weekend's Trifextra comes to us courtesy of MOV, who often emails us with suggestions for site improvement or potential prompts.  Most recently, she told us about Travel and Leisure magazine's "Super Short Travel Stories" competition, thinking that we could recreate the same challenge on our site.  We love the idea, but borrowing it outright feels a bit shady, so we're going to add our own twist to it.  This weekend, we want you to give us a 33-word time travel story.  We don't usually tell you what to title your piece, but we'd love it if you could title it with the year/date that you choose. - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.JfmXSmpp.dpuf

"Why was the Police here, Grandad?  What did they want? What was they looking for?"

"Someone told them we had books, boy.  They came looking for my Gramma's books."

"Books?  What's books, Grandad?"

Exit

It was my plan to link up with last week's 100 Word Song.  But I waited to long.  Sad me.
However.  Since Leeroy gave us an additional 20 words to play with, I altered my original idea to encompass both tracks.  
Cause they said we could break the rules!


It whispered her name.  "Elise."
A soft plea. "Come."
Silver rimmed shadow, pulsing gently.

"Did you get hold of Granny yet?  We need that cash"

"Elise, come."
Chewing her lip, she took a hesitant step.
Silver swirled into shadow with anticipation.  
"Come, Elise.  Nothing to fear."

"I know, I know!  She don't answer her phone."

She stood, undecided.
It waited patiently.
Finally another faltering step.  
"Be free, Elise.  Come."

"Try again!"

She cocked her head, eyebrows furrowed. "Free?"
"Free, come Elise."
She stretched a gnarled hand toward the shadow.  A ribbon of silver caressed her bent fingers.
She grasped the silvery thread, followed with trust.


"I did, some young chick answered.  I musta got the wrong number."

She was free.

The Songs...

You have seven days from NOW, to write 120 words on Wrong Number by The Cure chosen by Melissa aka @realgirlmelissa. Link up to Mr. Linky below then tell a friend or fifty via the medias that are social

And....
 And She Was, by the Talking Heads and chosen by Tar Rah. Use Mr. Linky below then social media out your link and tell a friend or fifty.

Ba-bump

<Trifextra: Week Eighty-Five



What noise was that, my house?
Cat in your cupboard, squirrel in your attic?
Perhaps a rat behind that baseboard.
Or a zombie in the closet.
Is that a chuckle within your walls?

This weekend's challenge intrigued me, and I found some spare minutes....Here's the prompt;

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 an apostrophe. - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.MWCtPU1F.dpuf

impatience

Trifextra: Week Eighty-Three



like standing on glass
the wait to end this chapter
i covet new adventures



I'm sneaking in at the last minute.  I managed to do this prompt.  Probably because it didn't require too many brain cells.  Most of mine are dormant, I think.
Here's our assignment...


HAIKU (noun) : an unrhymed verse form of Japanese origin having three lines containing usually five, seven, and five syllables respectively - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.OFOn7j4K.dpuf

Not Giving Up, Just Moving On...

I am a wizard, my spatula is my wand. I am a grill cook, short-order cook, fry cook.  It's who I am.  It's who I've been for 40 plus years.  

But the magic is fading. Tired feet and aching wrists are taking their toll.  My time is passing.  The time of the short-order cook is nearly over, replaced by the line.  

Three pairs of plastic covered hands to prepare a sterile plate.  

Yet, I'm still the master, with my wand.  

But every time I lay it down to attend to business, the magic seeps away.  The bill paying pen, the complaining phone, the digital bookkeeper...all vying for my hand.  And the wand is idle.  And the joy of performing magic wanes.  

So it is time to move on.  But...

Not today, not yet.   

Not until someone new, with youth and energy, and fresh ideas comes to possess the realm.  Until then, I'll work my magic.  I'll embrace the joy filled moments, when the spatula and hand are one.  When I'm doing what I do best.    

Until the magic is finally gone.




In 1984, my father asked me if I would come to work for him if he bought a restaurant.  I gladly said yes.  I was working for a fast food chain at the time.  I had worked with my father before, for many years.  He taught me the art of the short-order cook.  I loved it.

He passed away in 2004, my daughter and I have spent the last nine years continuing the business.

Things have changed.  She has three small children to raise.  I have other things I'd like to do.  (Like writing)  And the hours have gotten longer instead of shorter.  I'm pushing 60,  it's time to do something different.  I don't know what.  And there's no sure when.  

The business has been listed for sale.  It could be two months, or two years.  We're there until the end.

And until the end...

I am the best damned short-order cook in the area!

First Impression

 
Trifecta: Week Eighty-Six
Write at the Merge Week 29
Master Class Summer Edition #3


Congratulations to the weekend winners!  There were some great writing processes, some I may implement.
I've lost my mind or just gone plain crazy.  I opted to combine three prompts this time.  I hope they work.  I listed the prompts at the end.
I'm revisiting Anne Marie and Liam.  Most of the the stories I write about them are character studies.  This is how I get to know more about them.  So on to the story...

             "Annie, sweetling!  Come meet me friend Rosie!"  Liam kicked the door open as he bellowed.  He dragged his new friend into Anne Marie's kitchen, then proceeded to rifle her pantry.  "D'ya not have anything ta eat, lass?"

Anne Marie leaned against the door frame leading to the parlor.  "There is food, Liam, root vegetables and herbs.  But, oh dear.... likely nothing to your tastes."  She eyed Rosie as Liam continued to search for meat, preferably raw, and perhaps a bit rancid.

"Rosie" stood at the kitchen table looking bored while absently running one long pink fingernail along a crack in the surface.  Unnaturally blond hair danced across broad shoulders clad in the soft black leather of a form fitting leotard.  A low slung belt sported assorted bulging pockets.  The outfit was completed by knee high, shiny, black boots with three inch heels.

Rosie caught Anne Marie's gaze. "Liam says you're a hunter, too.  I guess I expected someone...ya know, taller."

Liam threw an arm around his new partner, "Now, Rosie, doona judge a book, girlie." 

Disengaging Liam's arm, Rosie sauntered toward Anne Marie, "What gear do you prefer, Annie?"

"I prefer Anne Marie.  And I don't pack gear, I use what's at hand."

"Isn't that risky?"

"Not as risky as those boots.  They're barely made for walking, useless for running."

Rosie snorted, "I don't run.  Annie."

Liam stopped rummaging to watch the interchange, "Now lassies..."

One swift move and Rosie lay across the table, the point of a large butcher knife aimed between wide blue eyes.  Anne Marie sniffed, then raised her brows in surprise.  Releasing Rosie, she tossed the knife aside, "Get out, both of you."

Liam rushed Rosie toward the door, "C'mon, girlie...wha....Rossamund!  By the gods, lass, ye've wet yerself!"

Anne Marie sighed.  Nothing worse than an amateur hunter.  Except perhaps a foolish ghoul, trying to make her jealous with his new partner. 

Should she tell him his new playmate, Rossamund, was a boy with a girl's name?


Write at the Merge..."This week, we’re offering a photograph — feel free to use any or all of the items in the photo as part of the prompt."







The Master Class.....


From Trifecta 'Writing Challenge....

CRACK
1a : a loud roll or peal <a crack of thunder>
  b : a sudden sharp noise <the crack of rifle fire>
2: a sharp witty remark : quip
3a : a narrow break : fissure <a crack in the ice>  
  b : a narrow opening <leave the door open a crack><cracks between floorboards> —used figuratively in phrases like fall through the cracks to describe one that has been improperly or inadvertently ignored or left out <a player who fell through the cracks in the college draft> <children slipping through the cracks of available youth services>
4a : a weakness or flaw caused by decay, age, or deficiency :unsoundness
  b : a broken tone of the voice
  c : crackpot
5: moment, instant <the crack of dawn>
- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.LETuMiLK.dpuf

Three Words

Trifextra: Week Seventy-Six



Congratulations to the winners!
This week's challenge made me think.  It's a hard choice, just three words.  The ones I chose probably only make sense to me.

Here's the challenge:
"One of our editors was recently lucky enough to slowly roast on a bouncy, mechanical floor thisclose to nearly 900 other Portlanders for a reading (of the third chapter of his new book, The Ocean at the End of the Lane) and subsequent Q&A by Neil Gaiman.  One of the questions asked of him was, "Can you tell us your writing process in three words?"  He replied, "Glare.  Drink tea." This weekend, we're asking for you to sum up your own process with just three little words.  Give us dry wit, pathos or otherwise.  And remember, we like your blood on the page.  Put it there. - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.3DJLudle.dpuf"


Here's my three:

Let them speak



                             

Fast Food

Master Class Summer Edition #2

SAM asked Lexy to choose any book and give her a 10. Here is the new assignment from the 10th page:
the assignment is to use that line somewhere in the body of our piece. 

Murph looked up at the darkening sky.  Thunder rumbled in the distance, they needed to get a move on.  The incoming storm would be a disaster if they didn't wrap up soon.

The ME was going through the deceased's pockets, looking for ID.  She'd already done liver temp to establish approximate time of death, or TOD.  There hadn't been any visible injury, the autopsy would have to determine the cause.

As he scanned the area in front of him, Murph made a mental catalog of the elements of the scene.  Middle aged male, curled in fetal position on the grass in front of the park bench.  No briefcase, but an empty fast food bag.  The half eaten burger several feet from the body, as though he'd thrown it.  While the team was busy elsewhere, some pigeons had waddled over to inspect it.  "Hey!  Charlie!  Bag that burger before those vermin make off with it!"  He yelled over the latest roll of thunder.

"Got it boss, sorry!"  Charlie hustled to the sandwich with an evidence bag.

Murph moved on, muttering thoughts to himself about the scene, the imminent rainstorm, and the half-assed job his crew was doing.

"Boss?  I think you better come see this."  

He heaved a sigh, then joined Charlie at the body.  "What'm I seein', Charlie?"

Charlie pointed at a pigeon beside the burger, now not only partially eaten by the deceased, but bird pecked as well. 

"It's a pigeon, Charlie," said Murph, as the sky opened and rain began its cleansing.

"Yeah, Boss, I know that," Charlie answered.  "But, Boss, it's a dead pigeon, now."

Moon Drawn

Tightrope – 100 Word Song


I'm ba-ack...with my always slightly different(read twisted) view.  So here are 100 words inspired by Janelle Monae’s Tightrope chosen by Deana aka The Bobina.

It was on the clearest, coldest nights she felt the call.  Her back rigid as she watched the full moon set, only a few more hours before sunrise let her breathe normally again.

She pulled the cloak more tightly around her shoulders, tugged the hood farther over her flame red hair.  Emerald green eyes reflected the pale moonglow.  How easy it would be to just let go.  

Only an ancient binding spell kept her human.  And her will to resist the call.

But, oh how easy it would be.  To step off the thread thin tightrope between beauty and beast.

It's Not Over

Trifecta: Week Eighty-Three   
and
Write at the Merge, Week 26

After my Trifextra offering, I was inspired to create a new character in my ever changing world of Anne Marie McClarren.  So I'm throwing two prompts together this week,  this image from Write on Edge..

and, from Trifecta Writing...

This week's word is:

RUSTY
1: affected by or as if by rust; especially : stiff with or as if with rust
2: inept and slow through lack of practice or old age
3a : of the color rust  

  b : dulled in color or appearance by age and use <rusty old boots>
4: outmoded
5: hoarse, grating

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.31EjgJ5O.dpuf

Damp air touched his face, a soft caress awakening him.  Jean Philippe Michel L'Parre struggled to raise rusty eyelids.  As consciousness returned, so did memory.

She'd been there, in his lair under the lighthouse.  Lying in wait for his return at sunrise.  He remembered the surprise followed by the pain.  Excruciating, burning pain.  It immobilized him as she sealed the entry of his cavern.  His final memory had been of black, dry silence.

His eyes adjusted to the dark as he slowly moved his weakened extremities.  Arms lethargically drew his hands over his body.  When they reached his unmoving chest, he grasped the rotting wood of the stake driven there. 

He twisted the shaft free, the accompanying scream reverberating in the small space meant to be his tomb.  The elder memory of pain blotted out by fresh agony.

He lay still, willing strength to return.  Vengeance growing hotter as the burning wave of pain subsided.  He threw the offensive wood, its clatter echoing more softly than his cry.

Hours passed before he became aware of the sound dripping water.  Then the scuttling of tiny clawed feet.  Here was the creature that had breached the seal, inviting the wood moldering wetness.

Curiosity drove the rat closer.  L'Parre waited patiently as it sniffed and shuffled about his feet. When it moved within his reach, he snatched it with one emaciated hand.  Not bothering to bring it to his fangs, he simply twisted its head off.  He held the body over his open mouth, letting the crimson flow run down his throat.

When the blood no longer ran freely, he used both hands to wring the remaining rusty drops directly into the gaping hole in his chest.  

He tossed the empty body  the same direction as the stake.  Then closed his eyes once more, resting, to let "nature" take its course, while he dreamed of the demise of Mademoiselle McClarren.


   

One More Time

Trifextra: Week Seventy-Three

Congratulations to the winners this week!  I finally got around to a little reading.  Trying to find to time write and read around an eighty hour work week is a challenge all on its own.  I can't imagine how the guest judges manage it, as well as our esteemed editorial staff.  So...
  On to the new prompt.  This weekend we're asking for 33 of your own words inspired by the idiom, third time's the charm.  This familiar phrase may have an indeterminate origin, but its meaning is clear.  Whether or not you include the phrase itself is up to you.  Just make sure to use exactly 33 words.  And, as usual, have fun with it! - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.gxgESHhl.dpuf




"Did ye not stake Michel L'Parre last year, Annie?"

"I did, Liam.  After your attempt didn't take."

"Well, sweetling, sharpen yer iron an' I'll bring the garlic. Third time's the charm, they say"

Clubbed

Trifecta: Week Eighty-Two

Feeling kind of like my character, it's scary to write again after being away from it, even though it really hasn't been that long.  I feel like I'm starting over.  
Silly me....on to the prompt.

CLUB
1a : a heavy usually tapering staff especially of wood wielded as a weapon
 b : a stick or bat used to hit a ball in any of various games
 c : something resembling a club
2a : a playing card marked with a stylized figure of a black clover
  b : plural but sing or plural in constr : the suit comprising cards marked with clubs
3a : an association of persons for some common object usually jointly supported and meeting periodically; also : a group identified by some common characteristic <nations in the nuclear club>  

  b : the meeting place of a club <lunch at the club>  

  c : an association of persons participating in a plan by which they agree to make regular payments or purchases in order to secure some advantage  

  d : nightclub  

  e : an athletic association or team
4: club sandwich

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.LeJb4aOb.dpuf

Jesse had been trying for months to wrangle an invitation to join the local writing club.  She had a folder full of half finished sci-fi novels and short stories featuring fearless women in dangerously alien situations.  

The heroines were always witty, impeccably attired, and braver than their male counterparts.  Except for the witty, well dressed, broad shouldered males that were instantly enamored of the gleaming tresses and seemingly magical shooting skills of Jesse's creations.

An hour into her first meeting, and she wanted to find a closet to hide in.  Preferably with a book of matches handy to burn the pages she'd been so proud of sixty minutes earlier.

The members oohed and aahed, describing their peers' work with words she'd need a dictionary to understand.  The largest word she could come up with to describe her own stories at that moment was abomination.

Jesse mentally rehashed the bit she'd chosen to "wow" her new acquaintances.  Her dream of accolades began to crumble into a nightmare of snide snickers.

She was startled out of her gloom by the sound of her name.

"Jesse!  What did you bring for us tonight?" The evening's hostess, Brenda, asked.

"I... I don't think I'm ready..."

"Oh phooey! Don't be shy, we don't bite."

The woman next to her grabbed her folder and pulled out a page. "She is shy, Brenda, like I was.  I'll start for you, Jesse, then you take over."

Jesse sat rigid with fear as her neighbor began to read.

"Tess Parker held her weapon as though it was an extension of her arm.  Her target, a six-foot worm with legs and teeth swayed aggressively only a few yards in front of her.  She could see the unconscious form of Captain Kirk Bronson lying behind it.  Blood oozing from an ugly gash in his forehead..."

"You write science fiction, Jesse?" 

"Uhh."

"Where do get ideas?"

"Umm."

"Lindsey, keep reading!  I hope Tess blasts that worm into oblivion!"

"I hope that captain is hot!"