Word Prompts: Seeds, Fire, and Juice

Not feeling very creative today, she here goes with the writing exercise to push me in the right direction.

 

“Mom, I’m going to go do my homework now.” Justine, our youngest, tried to bluff her way from the front door to her room without the traditional after school briefing that my wife insisted on. Every one of our three kids had been forced to suffer through the daily inquisition. Justine was no exception.

Roni arched her eyebrow and smiled. “You want this one or should I take it?”

I sipped my juice. “Go ahead.” 

Ralphie and Grace, the oldest and middle child respectively sat a the breakfast bar and tucked into their snack. Celery and peanut butter, with a side of oj for good nutritional measure. Yesterday I’d made carrots and sunflower seeds. They didn’t like it nearly as much.

“She failed her spelling test.” Ralphie smiled knowingly and devoured another piece of celery. He enjoyed being the oldest child far too much.

“It’s not her fault,” Grace defended her baby sister. “You remember how Ms. Honeycutt is, she gets all preachy, going on and on about brimstone and hell fire. Next thing you know, you’ve got five minutes of class left and she drops the assignment you were supposed to do in class, along with the homework on you. It totally sucks.” Grace never passed on an opportunity to complain about the fact that as the daughter of two lesbians she shouldn’t be required to attend Catholic school.

Word count: 249

Time: 11 minutes

It Gets Away

The week is gone and I don’t even remember it starting. Yes, there were days, and I was aware of their individual passing, but I had no idea they were going to gang up on me and fly by without so much as a hello-goodbye. With that in mind, here’s a little update. Sorry if it feels more like a drive-by than a few shared moments among friends.

I have to find a new title for my current mss, Under My Skin. There is another book already on the Bold Strokes line up that is very similar (Under Her Skin). Major bummer since the title inspired the story for me, not the other way around. Now I’m struggling to find the right substitute, but so far everything I can think of sounds like the second choice to me. I’ll keep y’all posted on that.

Under My Skin (I’m refusing to give up the name until I have something better) is intended for the Matinee line. That’ll be my second book in that sub-category (Split the Aces was the first). One of the main stipulations for Matinees is target word count of 50,000. I’m currently at 34,000 and not at all convinced I can wrap the story up in 16,000 words. I may end up submitting it ultimately for a different line. Or Shelley will have to get out her editing scissors and trim the crap out of it. 

Chaps is scheduled for release December 2009. I got the file back from Stacia earlier this week and now I’m working through copy edits. Seriously folks, editors are complete goddesses. They deserve to be worshipped.

I mentioned in my previous blog that Tara and I bought a treadmill and an elliptical machine. I put the treadmill together last night and Tara, bless her, rearranged the furniture so that all of the machines can be plugged in without the use of an extension cord. Today I did the elliptical and it kicked my ass. I concede defeat for the moment, but vow to conquer it soon.

Tara and I have different parenting styles. It makes me happy to watch my children play and I will clap if they do something wonderful, but I don’t really play with them. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll make the occasional monster noise and chase them half way down the hall, but that’s about it. Tara, on the other hand, engages fully in play time. She rolls around on the floor, plays tag, talks to imaginary friends, and sips imaginary tea. If there’s a game to be played, she’s playing it right along with our children.

I tried to remember a time when my parents played with me. I mean really played. I cannot think of a single time. There was this one time when my dad sat in the swing, cigarette held high above my head so I wouldn’t get burned, and we all raced around the back yard to get to him. That’s my one and only playing memory. I couldn’t have been much more than 3 at that point, so what happened to all the subsequent playing? Did my mom not feel like playing after my dad died? Is my memory faulty and I just don’t remember? Did I learn my hands off parenting style from their example?

What about the rest of you? Do you play with your kids or watch from a safe distance?

Okay, back to Chaps. Those edits won’t approve themselves.

Word Prompts: Lascivious, Putrid, and Machiavellian

Lynn was brazen with her lust. Her favorite past time, it seemed, was seeing exactly how red she could make my cheeks. It wasn’t enough for her to remove my clothes, she had to strip all my defenses, leaving me open for whatever she offered at the moment.

She was decadent and lush, like honeysuckle in the late summer sun, her scent drifting over me. Her smile was deviant and mischievous, daring me to do something naughty. But she was never naughty, no, she was lascivious, for it was all about excesses in her world.

Her intentions were telegraphed, never Machiavellian. She announced what she wanted as though it were gospel. “Shug,” she’d drawl in that slow, southern accent that melted me every time, “I want you naked. Now.” 

And when she left, I died, putrid and rotting inside, but forced to smile my way through the day. I wanted to chase after her, promise her forever, or even ten more minutes. Whatever she wanted. I wrote, begged, pleaded, let me come.

She did not reply.

Word Prompts: Chili, Sun, and Magenta

“Mom!” My oldest and loudest yelled, “She’s watching it again.”

“Yes, Jason, leave her alone.” I tried to keep the homicidal intentions from reaching my voice, but if I had to listen to another 13-year-old rant about the evils of Blue’s Clues, the vein in the middle of my head was going to pop.

“But, Mom,” Jason drew out the word mom to a painfully long whine. I hated the title at times like that. “He talks to a salt and pepper shaker. And his best friend’s name is Magenta. Magenta, Mom. That’s just not normal.”

“You do remember that you watched it when you were her age, right?” For some reason, Jason’s memory was a giant hole of all kinds of details from his early childhood. I hoped his sister proved less frustrating in her teens.

Jason looked at me with disgust. “I’m going to my room.” A second later I heard a door slam and the Red Hot Chili Peppers started playing at a decibel that would cause the neighbors to complain. I couldn’t understand why he even listened to that. It was music from my generation for christ’s sake.

My wife wrapped her arms around me from behind and whispered in my ear, “Come sit on the deck with me. The sun is out. We can pretend we’re in Paris.” 

To hell with my neighbors, they could buy earplugs. I sat on the deck, sipping martinis, and pretending we were 19 again, spending the summer living out of our backpacks as we toured Italy, France, and Spain.

Word Prompts: Electricity, Trundle Bed, and Purple

“Company’s coming.” May voice was far too cheerful. Luc was suspicious. 

“Who?”

May looked out the window and spoke very quickly. “Vivian and Corrine.” 

Luc held back her response. According to their therapist, yelling was not good for their relationship. She counted to 100 and then said as calmly as possible, “They are sleeping in the trundle bed.”

“Of course.” May offered a tentative smile.

“I don’t like when they visit.”

“I know.”

“You should have asked me first.” Luc had moved from yelling to pouting. She wondered what their therapist would say about that.

“I know.”

“Last time they were here, they overloaded the circuits and we were without electricity for two hours.” There had been nothing to do but sit in the dark and try to make small talk.

“What would you have me do, Luc? She’s my sister.”

“I know.” Luc offered May’s stock answer.

May reached for Luc’s hand. “You really are a saint.”

“And what’s up with her hair?” Luc asked.

“She said it’s different now.” 

“No more purple?” Luc resented the fact that Viv looked good no matter what, even with ridiculous hair color.

“No more purple.”

 

Word count: 192

Total time: 14 minutes

Word Prompts: Payment, crayon, and litter

When I was six years old, my school supply list was long and expensive. My father’s disposition was grumpy and his wallet was empty. Rather than show up my first day of kindergarten empty handed, I pocketed a box of crayons and other assorted items at the local Kmart.

I’d never received the lesson that stealing was bad, except in the abstract via Disney cartoons. It never occurred to me that I should be frightened, and when I exited through the same doors I entered through 15 minutes prior, pockets loaded to bear, I felt exhilarated. 

Twenty-five years later, at the set-in-my-ways age of 31, someone took the time to tell me petty theft was wrong. That row of cash registers at the front of any store? Not there to be used if you happen to have a flush wallet that day. No, they expect payment every time.

The one upside of being sentenced to litter-patrol is the clear view on a sunny day, and the cute little thing working next to me who manages to make reflective orange sexy. I’m going to fix dinner for her tomorrow night. I may even pay for all the ingredients. Now that I’ve met the long arm of the law, I don’t want a reintroduction to interfere with my fun.

 

Word count: 216

Total time: 10 minutes

Word Prompts: Masticate, Quaff, and Burrow

“Whatcha doing?” Dillon settled next to Tam on the couch, and scooped a handful of popcorn out of the bowl in Tam’s lap.

“Stupid, bleedin’ crossword.” Tam chewed furiously, the popcorn on the receiving end of the frustration caused by the puzzle.

Dillon burrowed in close. Snuggling with Tam was her all time favorite thing. “Let me help.”

“Okay, nine letter word meaning to chew. Starts with m.”

“Masticate. Next.” 

Dillon’s smile wilted under Tam’s scowl. “How did you know that?”

“Miss Congeniality.” Dillon loved the Sandra Bullock movie, and the uptight Brittish guy’s puffed up vocabulary made her laugh every time.

“What about a five letter word meaning to drink deeply. Starts with a.”

“Quaff.”

“No way. A quaff means hairstyle.”

“Honey,” Dillon kissed Tam’s cheek. Damn she loved this woman. “You’re thinking of coif.”

Tam threw down the paper. “I’m done with this damn thing.”

 

Word count: 148

Total time: 10 minutes.

Word Prompts: Innocence, Freedom and Love

Note: The word freedom always makes me think of Janis Joplin. Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. My apologies ahead of time if this turns into a hippie love fest.

 

“But I didn’t do it.” Ricki claimed her innocence and waved it around like a banner. She wasn’t going to let a little thing like the truth interfere with her theatrical self-defense.

Robin crossed her arms and put on her most severe mommy face. “I suppose someone else, the dog maybe, smeared chocolate frosting all over your face?”

“Yes! Rosco did it.” Ricki didn’t blanch even the tiniest bit at blaming the family pet for destroying their after dinner dessert.

Robin was about to dive into the conversation again. How could she make her five year old see logic? It was forever a source of frustration for her. Before she could get the words out, her wife wrapped a strong arm around her shoulder.

“Wait in your room, Ricki.” Mia sounded calm. Always the counter balance to Robin’s torrent of emotion. “We’ll be in soon.”

Ricki claimed her freedom with a giggle as she ran from the room.

“I blame you.” It was a long standing joke between the two whenever their offspring acted less than angelic. “It’s a good thing I love you or I’d be running away, too.”

Word count: 223

Time: 15 minutes

Word Prompts: Chihuahua, Chocolate, and Coins

“Come on, Tor, you’ll like her.” Angel pushed her friend to say yes.

“No.” Last time she agreed to a blind date arranged by Angel, she ate dinner at Taco Bell. Even without the added pressure of a first date, Tor was not a fan of making a run for the border. First off, she hated chihuahuas. Especially if they talked and encouraged her to eat bad Mexican food.

“You’ll like her, I swear.”

“You swore last time.”

“It’s true this time. She’s a doctor.”

Tor arched an eyebrow and waited. Angel was famous for exaggerating. 

“Okay, she’s in med school, but she’s going to be a doctor.”

Still Tor didn’t respond. Knowing Angel there was more.

“Okay, she’s still working on her B.S., but she’s going to go to med school.”

Chocolate. Talking with Angel made Tor need chocolate. She rummaged through her pantry and found one small Hershey’s kiss. It would have to do.

“No, Angel.” She popped the kiss in her mouth. “I’m not going.”

“How about we flip a coin?” Angel pulled a quarter out of her pocket, a hopeful smile on her face.

Is that seriously what Angel thought her love life had come to? She wasn’t that pathetic yet. “We could flip an entire roll of coins. It won’t change my answer.”

Angel’s smile fell and she stuffed the quarter back in her pocket. “Fine.”

 

Word count: 232

Time: 14 minutes

Word Prompts: Clover, trek, and array

It was worth the trip, Von decided. Better even than her cousin promised. Of course, that her over-exuberant cousin wasn’t able to come and had sent his very nice to look at from behind roommate, CeCe, certainly didn’t hurt matters one bit.

“You sure you don’t need to rest a while longer?” CeCe had the cutest little crease between her eyebrows when she asked the question. If CeCe were Von’s girlfriend, she would’ve reached over and soothed the worry line with her thumb.

Von stood and brushed remnants of clover from her clothes. The field made for a lush resting place, but her nervous fidgeting had turned her small section into green confetti. “I’m sure, let’s go.” Truth be told, Von hadn’t needed the rest in the first place. She’d just wanted a few minutes to chat with CeCe. She wasn’t ready for that to end, but she didn’t want the other woman to think she was out of shape either. Hard to play at butch if your would-be paramour thinks you can’t handle it.

CeCe climbed on her Gary Fisher mountain bike and smiled–a flash of challenge mixed with joy–briefly at Von. And then she was off, leaving Von to struggle into her pedals and give chase. Her own Trek 8000 was almost 20-years old. Von loved her bike, cherished the lightweight frame, the sturdy American made construction. She’d considered upgrading to a newer model, but when she learned that Trek had moved production overseas, she chose to only upgrade her array of components and stick with her original bike. It was a good bike, but compared to the $5,700.00 Superfly 100 CeCe was pedaling, Von might as well been on a Schwin, complete with bell and basket attached to the handle bars.

Von flew down the short hill, and pedaled like the devil to catch up with a giggling CeCe on the next incline. She definitely wasn’t going to win the race that day, but the consolation prize made it all okay. After all, CeCe looked damned good from behind.

Word count: 339

Time: 21 minutes