NaNoBlog

My results for 29 are in longhand. Sorry. Exercises thirty and thirty one? To fill out character sheets and try to get a plot ouline based on exercise 29 and your sheets. I'm not posting them because, well, the novel won't actually be on the web. From now on, this is a writing about writing blog. But I will update each day with a word count and such. Good luck one and all!

Exercise 29: Okay, time to start plotting. This article gives some excellent instructions about free-writing your way into a plot outline. For this exercise, take one character (your protagonist), and do the ten free-writes. I am going to let myself go for five minutes on them, which will mean more overall time spent, but then this is a novel we're planning here. Spending a bit more than thirty minutes collecting thoughts about the plot seems entirely reasonable. This exercise is only the ten free-writes and not the follow up work. We'll mess around with that later.

My results for #28:

The snow had been falling for two days. It fell in fat, lazy clumps, too thick to be called flakes, really. Tonight the town was quiet. Everyone was inside with hot cocoa by their fires. Everyone except Nan. Nan stood alone on the corner of Elm and Holly, just under a street lamp, and watched the snow falling. She stood with her hands in her pockets, the hood of her parka thrown back so the breeze ruffled her hair. Everything was silent. It was so hushed that you could feel the quiet. Nan thought she might be able to hear each flake settling softly onto the others as it touched the ground.

There was something sacred about times like this. There were no tracks in the snow, no tire marks in the road. Everything was pristine and white and soft. Tomorrow would be another snow day for the kids. Most of the businesses would probably stay closed, too. Everyone in town had enough supplies to last a while in a storm. They might run the ploughs just for show, but no one would really move. What was the fun of living in a town with cold winters if you couldn't take a few days off to relax and spend time with your family? Of course, Nan didn't have a family, but that was beside the point. She wasn't really a part of this town after all. If everything went as planned she'd be leaving it before dawn. Which is why she was out here on the corner of Elm and Holly, waiting under the street lamp.

Nan sighed and shuffled her feet. Her boots kicked up clouds of fine powder. It was cold enough not to be slush, but Nan was dressed for cold, so all she had to do was enjoy it... and wait. She'd signed up over the internet. There was a money-back guarantee if it didn't work. And she'd know by midnight if it didn't.

The deal had cost her all of her savings. Quite a nest egg, really. She'd been saving for a house and had enough for a down payment. She'd hoped to find a nice old place. A Victorian or something. Then she'd seen the program. It offered complete comprehensive training, which she would undergo once she arrived at her destination, and guaranteed placement in society after the training was complete. She'd be able to keep in contact with the others in her training group if she wished, and she would have the option of acting as a mentor in the future. Future, she thought, was a funny name for it. In the past? In her future in the past? Best not to think about it. She wouldn't be allowed anything from here once she arrived. They'd outfit her and give her a sufficient amount of money and supplies to get started. She have training in a profession of her choice, with the option of being a middle-class widow, in search of a new mate. They had people in place to over see things. People who had gone to live there as volunteers and even as part-timers, who came back to their real time on holiday breaks. Nan was ready for the change. She could opt out any time in the first year free of charge, but she knew she wouldn't. She was going to stay. (562 words)

In which the author takes a moment to babble about scattered, relatively NaNo-related subjects

I am reading this amazing book by Betsy Lerner right now. If you haven't read it and are a writer (published or no), you should really think about picking it up.

Several things have conspired to make me choose an idea for the NaNovel, and so, even though I spend at least fifty percent of the time thinking it's no good, I'm sticking with it (which is good since the official start time is in just a couple of days). I'll probably let you see a little more about it in the next couple of days, whether you want to know or not. My last few exercises for the month are dying to be rather plot-outlining geared.

Tricia seems to be writing the words that echo in my head when she talks about wanting to find a job soon while also wanting not to find one until the end of November. It's nice to know that other people are in my situation right now. Also, check out her photoblog. It's delightful.

Exercise 28: Write five hundred words or more with snow as a theme or key word.

My results for number 27:

Alchemist in a tower with a refrigerator and no electricity. Can he invent an outlet and wires and such? how did he get the fridge, you may wonder. Well, it's like this: The Nazis succeeded in inventing a time machine, sort of. It had flaws. They tried to send an officer forward in time, but the mission apparently failed. Instead they sent an object back in time. The object was the fridge. It came from 1999, which was the year they tried to send the officer to. Instead the fridge, which was in the same spot (exactly) where the officer stood in 1942, went back to 1342. Why 1342? Well as it turns out, the alchemist, who was a rampant black mage of the most despicable order, had just performed a ritual which called for divine help and prosperity. It was a ritual which hinged on proper alignment of stars and events, so the Nazis had no idea that their actions, which they felt driven by an unseen hand to perform, were actually serving a higher purpose. Or at least, a different purpose. Evil serving evil might not be higher, after all. He was hoping for gold. Instead he got cold. Well, theoretically, if the fridge had worked in 1342 he would have had cold. Oh who are we kidding? He was in Europe in winter in 1342, he was definitely already cold. So the alchemist and the strange box square off warily. There is mutual eyeing, or so the alchemist thinks... then he grows to realize that the box is not sentient. It is big and on its side. It is warm to the touch, but that probably has something to do with the lightning blot that zapped it into the tower. It has a door. Dare he open it? He dares. This box has come to him through divine intervention. He has asked for prosperity. Perhaps this is a box of gold. Inside there are strange objects. He doesn't recognize them. There are boxes and vials and strange jars made of a material that has not been invented yet. There is a head of lettuce. He recognizes lettuce. But it is shielded by a strange and wondrous thing. Something transparent and flexible, but thinner than the thinnest sheep's bladder. What can it be? Is it safe to touch? The alchemist has much to do in the way of experiments. He sends for an assistant. Why should he risk death? He shouldn't. He won't. He has taken many precautions to become invincible, but he knows not what these foreign things might hide. There could be magic more powerful than his. The alchemist puzzles over things. There is a jar of something yellow. He will have to see what it is. A glass vial has broken and spilled its contents over the inside of the box. The liquid is thin and brown. It smells of salt. Perhaps these ingredients are the components to a special potion. He wonders if he has stumbled across the ingredients for the elixir of life. He will find out. He will test it all carefully. This gift from the gods will not be lost on him. His assistant arrives. Finally. If the assistant lives through the experiments, the alchemist will punish him for his tardiness. He will be an example for others. The alchemist loves making examples. He enjoys the process as well as the result. And the blood is useful for spellwork when he remembers to collect it. (584 words)

Exercise 27: Stream of consciousness, yo. The point is to write continuously and not stop or worry if it makes sense. Just get the words out. Ten minutes or until you reach five hundred words.

My Results for Exercise 26:

I knew she was lying through her teeth. It's really obvious when she lies because she starts shaking and she won't ooka t you. "Where's my stuff?" I asked for the second time.

She started shuffling her feet and wringing her hands. "M-m-mon has it. It's... in the car."

"You're lying," I said. She didn't answer. Sometimes I hate having a little sister. Especially when she steals my stuff and then lies about it. We both didn't say anything for the next few minutes. I just stared at her while she kept her eyes aywhere but on me.

The thing aboiut my sister is that you can't really get very mad at her, because mostly the crap she pulls isn't intentional. She's been seeing a psychiatrist since she was nine when she first was arrested for shoplifting. She has a huge problem, and she doesn't know how to control it. It's not even like she needs the stuff she takes. Once I found a plastic bag full f dentures in her locker at school. She'd stolen them from the nursing home where our grandfather lives. She didn't want to keep them, but she also didn't know how to give them back without getting in trouble. What can you do with a kid like that?

I have sympathy for my sister. I really do. I mean f drugs and therapy don't fix this problem, she probably won't ever be able to have a normal job and life. That said, I WANTED MY FUCKING STUFF BACK. It wasn't just random things she took this time. I let it slide when it's just a sweater or some cds, but this was important. I need my backpack and schoolbooks. For one I need to be able to do homewok and all that because I'm a responsible student and blah blah blah, but there was definitely another reason. A more delicate reason. If my backpack was out wandering around in public I needed to know. It had two things in it that I didn't want anyone seeing. One was my journal, for obvious reasons. I mean who wants other people reading their private journal? And the second thing... Well, I kind of had a secret pet that no one knew about. (time. 376 words)

Exercise 26: Write for ten minutes starting with, I knew she was lying...

My results for #25:

Some Thoughts on Frogs
by Jamie Whitaker

Frogs are green most of the time, but sometimes they can be other colors. There are many different kinds of frogs. Some frogs are tree frogs and bullfrogs. In France they eat frogs.

Frogs are amphibians. That means they can live in water or on land. Baby frogs are called tadpoles. Tadpoles live in the water. Tadpoles have tails, but grown-up frogs have legs.

Frogs eat flies. They catch flies with their tongues. Frogs have round eyes. They look like bubbles in the frog heads. Frogs make croaking sounds. They say, "Ribbit."

Frogs live in ponds and other places. They can live in swiming pools like happened to my friend Stephanie last year when she went away on vacation. They came back and there was a pool full of frogs. Some Frogs like tree frogs live in trees.

Frogs are not very nice to touch. They are slimy. Frogs are hard to hold onto because they jump. They are slippery and smooth, not like toads. Toads have lots of lumps on them.

Some famous frogs are Kermit the Frog and Keropi from Hello Kitty. Mr. Toad is not a famous frog because he is a toad. There are also songs about frogs. One song is the song about the speckled frogs who sit on the log and jump into the pool. It is realistic because some frogs have speckles and live in pools. Another song is "Froggy Went a Courtin'". It isn't realistic because frogs don't really go on dates or marry mice. That is all I know about frogs. I liked learning about bears better.

Exercise #25: Write an essay by a grade school aged child entitled "Some Thoughts on Frogs".

My results for #24:

The Apartment was pretty dark, even with all of the candles we'd managed to find in Tara's bedroom. Will and Melinda were glued to each other, but no one else said a word about it because it was so cold. I think rules about not touching your ex don't apply in a blizzard. All of us half wished we could huddle into a big ball with them, but we just sat there rubbing our hands together and shivering in our layers of wool and polar fleece.

The trick was not to fall asleep. We had to stay awake until daybreak, when we might be able to try to find our way to someplace warm. I think it was Alan who suggested we tell stories. Tara tried to make it all creepy, but we couldn't really work up the desire to be scared by the man with the hook story. Real life was being a bit too scary on its own at the time. We didn't have any food except for some chicken bouillon cubes and a bottle of vanilla extract. There was no running water, no electricity and no phone. Outside, the sky was a flurry of heavy white flakes. At least it wasn't as cold as it could have been.

I don't know quite how it got around to bizarre personal experiences, but somehow things like that always tend to come up in these situations, don't they? Alan had already told us about his old neighbor who had a thing for training cats to behave like dogs. Apparently had them chewing on those awful rawhide "bones" you can buy at pet stores and everything. Will followed it with story about a dog he knew who thought it was actually a cat. it had been raised with kittens and didn't realize it wasn't one of them. Tara was the one who asked if anyone had any real ghost stories. Most of us rolled our eyes and laughed. Tara was the resident occult lover, and we liked to jab at her for it, but it was a trait that did come in handy at times. I mean, if she hadn't been so fascinated with uncovering the truth behind pagan rituals, we might never have had any candles that night. Anyway, like I said, we all laughed... except Melinda.

"Actually, I do have a story," said Melinda. We were all pretty surprised because Melinda is so straight-laced and normal. I think that made her statement all the more intriguing. We all listened in silence as Melinda took a big breath and began her tale.

"We were at my uncle's house in Virginia. It was summer and I think my father must have been out of town on business. It was just my mother and my sister and me. My uncle was nice enough, but he didn't really pay us any attention. He was a carpenter and he had a big thing for some rich people who'd just moved into the area, so he was off all day everyday. My mother was sick and stayed in bed mostly. Sometimes she'd come out and sit in the sun with us, but mostly she just wanted to stay in and sleep or read.

"My sister and I were expected to go off and amuse ourselves. I really loved the area where my uncle lived. It was in the mountains and full of great walking trails where you never ran across anyone. My sister and I used to pack bags of juice boxes and sandwiches and stay out all day. Sometimes we'd pick wildflowers, and I always wondered what their names were, but you know, I never did learn them. Anyway, one day we went off into the hills and came to place we'd never been before.I swear to you, i don't even think the trail existed before that day. It was lined with trees that arched over it and made a sort of living tunnel. When we got through to the other side of it, we found a beautiful meadow surrounded by trees and mountains, with a stream running through it and everything. One of the mountains that faced us had a cave in it, and my sister, who'd just finished reading Tom Sawyer wanted to explore it. I think I was a little scared to, because I've always been a little claustrophobic, but she said she was going with or without me, and I didn't want to be lost and alone, so I went in with her. And this is where things got really weird." Melinda had moved away from Will as she was speaking. Her eyes looked far away, as if she was actually re-living her story. It was very unlike her. I'd never known her to go in for stories and such. Usually sharing magazine tips about weight loss or make-up was as close to telling stories as Melinda got. She seemed dead serious about this, too. No one else said a word. I think we hardly dared to breathe while we waited to hear what happened next.

Melinda brushed a hand through her hair and went on. "So we go into this cave, right? And my sister is going on about how we need to go farther in, except that then she realizes she doesn't have any string with her and how are we going to get out now, right? Anyway, I don't think we could have gone very far at all, because we could still sort of see and we didn't have flashlights or anything. I was ready to make a break for the entrance and the daylight, but my sister was trying to figure out what she could do to get through the cave in the dark. And that's when the weirdness started. The first thing that happened was that this little man appeared. And I mean little. Like he was a dwarf or something. He had a long white beard and he was all wrinkly and scruffy looking. I have never in my whole life seen such a man or even heard of one except in fairy tales. I swear he reminded my of Rumplestiltskin or something.

"Anyway he comes out and he starts yelling at us. He's like, ' I know you girls! You're the ones who made me get killed!' We had no idea what he was talking about, especially since he appeared to be alive and all, but he kept on shouting. I think we both sort of stood there, frozen for a minute before I came to my senses and pulled my sister out of the cave. I was really certain we oughtta head for home at that point, and I think my sister actually might have agreed with me for once, but the guy was following us. We were just a little ways into the meadow when we realized that things were much worse than we had thought. I swear I am not lying about this, and I have never told anyone about this before. But you can ask my sister and she'll tell you it's true. In front of us, there was a ghost... of a bear! I'm totally serious. We were really just like oh shit, because there was a crazy little man chasing us from behind and then this huge ghost-bear directly ahead of us. You could tell it was a ghost, because you could see through it. It was still brown and stuff, but we could see like trees and things through the bear. We just stopped dead in our tracks and stood there terrified. i mean really, I know you probably have no idea, but seeing a fucking ghost bear is really terrifying.

"So we're like stuck there and the bear is just standing in front of us, growling, and we know the little man is going to catch us any second and do I don't know what to us. It was like that one little second went on for hours. It was the scariest second of my life. Honest to God. Anyway what finally happened, I still don't understand. The little man was like, 'Oh no! Not you again!' And the bear started stepping closer. And even though he was all see-through, every step he took made the ground shake. God I think I almost peed my pants. And then he actually spoke.

"This see-through ghost bear started to talk! And he was like, 'I told you never to touch these girls again, old man! I have killed you once and I will kill you a thousand times if I need to. Let these girls pass in peace.' I still have no idea what he meant by it, or how he knew who we were. He must have mistaken us for someone else. Although I really have no idea what other two girls might be friends with a ghost bear. But whatever.

"Anyway, so the man listens to the bear and he goes away into his cave and stuff, grumbling all the way about treasure. I have no idea what that was all about, because I certainly never saw any treasure. At the time, i just wanted to be away from there. So then the ghost bear tells us to go home to our cottage and tend to our mother and he says, 'I am sworn to protect you, but you know I am not really meant to be here as a bear, for i am busy in my life as a golden prince. Please try to stay away from that bothersome dwarf in the future, okay?' We agreed, of course, because what else were we going to do? And we ran home to my uncle's place and told my mother all about it and she sort of smiled and said we had big imaginations for little girls and you know we have never ever spoken about it again to anyone, not even each other. I have no idea what it means or if it was even real. It seems like it can't have been, but I swear it happened. I remember it so clearly. Anyway, that's the most bizarre thing that's ever happened to me. If we ever get out of this stupid storm, non of you had better ever bring it up or make fun of me, because I will never speak to you again if you do."

After that no one said anything for a long time. We just sort of tried not to look at each other and wondered what the hell to talk about. I think we finally got onto the worst action movies we'd ever seen, which was safer. I've never been able to forget Melinda's story, though. It's just so... well, I don't think she made it up. I really don't. (1,791 words)

Exercise 24: Write a scene wherein one character tells a tall tale to the others. Incorporate elements from a fairy tale, but have the story take place in modern day and have the character tell it as if he or she personally experienced it.

My results for #23:

The warehouse was full of boxes. Stacks upon stacks of them. They were white and rectangular, and each one was labeled with a number. The boxes were six inches tall by eight inches wide by ten inches deep. They were stacked one on top of another with each box touching the boxes on either side of it so that they looked like white bricks. The warehouse held hundreds of thousands of them.

The warehouse was full of white light. The lights were fluorescent, but extremely bright. In addition, the warehouse was only operational during full daylight hours, so that if the door was opened, sunlight would pour in and reflect on all the white within.. The floor was made of cement. It had been poured and smoothed by experts who made it as slick and shiny as a mirror. Of everything in the warehouse, though the most striking whiteness was in the walls. The walls of the warehouse had been painted white with Adamson's Super Spray Paint. The workers had used one hundred and twelve cans of the stuff to do the job because the boss believed that if a job was worth doing, it was worth doing right. The boss had very strange notions about which jobs were worth doing.

The workers were to keep the boxes pristine. Each worker was equipped with a special white duster. The dusters had wooden handles and soft flannel tips, all in purest white. The workers carried them around in the belts of their white worksuits, and ran them over each stack at least once each day, if not more. Sometimes a new box was added. This happened about two or three times a day. When it did, the number was used as a filing code. The workers would take the box and place it in the stack which held the two numbers nearest above and below the new one, then they would re-arrange all of the other boxes so that the stacks were of uniformly perfect height and so on.

It was tedious work, but the workers didn't complain because they were well-paid. Most of them had been there for more than ten years. In that time they had al seen some workers come and go quite fast. The reason for this was simple: the work was tedious but precise. The boss required discretion and silence. Workers did not talk to one another during shifts, and they did not look into anything. Their job was to keep things clean and orderly. It was not to be curious, loud, or innovative. The boss was very clear about his.

If the workers did notice anything (and they all did, though they never dared speak of it), it was the peculiar numbering scheme. The boxes all had number, but none of the numbers were even. Even farther than that, none of the numbers contained any even digits at all unless one counted zeros. In fact, the strings were all made of zeros and prime numbers; endless combinations of 0, 1, 3, 5, and 7. No one knew the reason for this. Though many had their own secret theories about the number patterns, it is safe to say that none hit upon the real reason. It was quite beyond their wildest fantasies.

Exercise 23: Describe (or write a scene that takes place in) a warehouse. Old or new, clean or dirty, abandoned or um bandoned... these all all up to you.

My results for #22:

Tie a goldfish round your neck, make him holler, "What the heck!?" those with longer, swishier tails are recommended for this trick. We call it Poisson Mode. Sometimes I think I'd like to attend a party with all the dead people, with all the famous people that I never knew. I think it would be interesting, enlightening fun. But then I think no, it would just be depressing or scary or both. There are good eggs and there are bad eggs. You can tell it's a bad egg if it sort of explodes and overflows with nasty green goo when you try to hardboil it. This happened to my father once at Easter time. They say you shouldn't smell clean laundry. It can make you sick because it has all sorts of stuff in it. I guess it isn't actually clean. Sometimes I worry that I am a walking disease. We collected pretty stones on the beach a while ago. They are brown and blue and green and red and white and grey and black. I don't think people realize how much variety there is to the outward appearance of stones. Maybe they do. Maybe it's just me. There's a place called the container store. I wonder what it contains. I know it's really for bins and buckets and drawers and boxes, but wouldn't it be neat if it was for magically binding beasts? You can apply online to work there. They say they give top notch training. In subduing demons? Static cell phone monkey blip. Imagine a world of trampoline ground where everyone could bounce everywhere. what would hi-tech transport be like? Staplers are really pretty exciting inventions. Sometimes you just wish you could get all your friends together to eat cake. And maybe exchange presents. That's why every third Tuesday of the month is present and cake day. I wish I observed it more often. Because I pretty much never do. Alcohol cotton swab ship deck patio wood floor tile e-mail forward. My friend used to have socks that said e-mail now on them. Who comes up with these ideas? If I could design an eighties outfit I would make it as crazy as possible with a hot pink off the shoulder shirt and fifty billion gel bracelets and bangles and charm bracelets, too. With something made of fishnet and lots of lace and maybe some crimped hair and a big floppy bow and glitter and hair spray that gives you color streaks and lots of ridiculous eye-shadow and some high top sneakers with silver laces. Maybe the whole sneaker would be silver. And a jean skirt. And something involving splatter paint. And those socks that you scrunch down. or maybe legwarmers. And I'd wear it to a futuristic halloween party where everyone arrived in sky-cars or using the moving sidewalk that of course takes you everywhere you want to go. But we'd all go retro and eat real food instead of pills. And robots would serve us drinks and there would be exciting futuristic music and dacing with blacklights and glow sticks and someone would have a hula hoop. I don't even know why. but it would glow in the dark, that's for sure... and we'd all be friends and no one would be unpopular and everyone would be happy. (time. 552 words.)

Exercise 22: Stream of consciousness steam off-letting fun. Just write whatever comes to mind at all, ta, for fifteen minutes. Today has been too gloomy to follow rules. In light of the frivolous nature of this assignment, I'll be posting mine directly to the blog when the timer dings.

My results for #21:
In my dream...

In my dream I know people are dying because it smells like cotton candy and the air is pink. I know that whenever the air is pink it's because people have died and their bodies have given off fumes. The pink isn't from the bodies, it's from the government. The government made air purifying mist so that people wouldn't catch the disease from the dead bodies. I don't know whose idea it was to make it smell like cotton candy. It's too sweet for death. I don't like it. I can smell it even through my mask.

I'm in an abandoned city with a team. I was with a team. I don't know where the rest of them went. We're here to find something, or was it someone? I am getting very tired. I think we've been searching for more than 24 hours straight at this point. Whatever we have to find is important. They don't want us to stop until we find it. I can't remember what it is anymore, but I know that I should know if I am getting close because my pack will begin to pulse. My pack is not very big. Just about six inches by six inches. It's strapped to my abdomen with a special harness and the part that will pulse is pressed against my skin.

My suit is made of a new material called Zevron. It doesn't let any toxins in and it will bond to things if it is programmed to. It is bonded to the pack around the edges of the hole where the pack touches my skin. I can't take the suit off myself. I have to wait for the official government staff to help me back at the base. When they do, they will take me into one of the white cubicles and seal it off. Then they will aim a laser at the Zevron and melt a split down my back so that I will be able to peel it off. Zevron molds to your skin and once it's on you forget it's there. It keeps out extreme heat and cold.

I can see the bodies now. There are a lot of them. Maybe fifteen. All lying on the ground. Two of them are in business suits, one with a hand still clutching a briefcase. The disease kills very quickly. Within five minutes. These people may not have even known what it was. There are some children. They say it is always the hardest to look at children, but I don't know about that. It's pretty awful to look at anyone. After a while it doesn't seem real. Like you are in a simulation or something instead. I feel like that now. I try to hang onto that feeling because I know if I let myself think of how things really are I will collapse. I will not be able to keep going. Perhaps I will try to rip off my mask so that I can get the disease and it will be over. I won't be able to, though, even if I try. The mask is also bonded to the Zevron.

I try to focus on what I am looking for. I think it has something to do with a flower or a baby or a gem. I can't remember. I might not actually have ever known. The average usable life-span of a government agent is three years. I have been doing this for four. I have outlived my government life-span by a year. I should be in the psych ward with my old peers from first level task force. Everyone goes crazy eventually. I wonder if this is my time. I wonder if they will put me away when I return. If I return.

But of course I will return. i have no choice. even if I stay here and cry and shake and refuse to move, they will locate me and fish me back out. They will put me in the psych ward because that's what they always do. It is what is done. I think I am losing it, though. I am beginning to wonder if they are ever going to get us out of here. I am beginning to think maybe they already got the rest of the team out and I am considered MIA. I think it could happen. If the tracking device failed. Perhaps they lost me. I am no longer a blip on the tracking system. What if I have to make myself a life in this wasteland city where there are no more people. What will I eat? How will I do it? I won't be able to take off the suit. I will die of starvation. I begin to consider where one might find a laser in civilian territory. A doctor's office? I should try to find one. Maybe. Maybe I should just keep searching for the thing. It's a gem. I'm pretty sure. a special gem. I don't know why I thought it was a baby or a flower. I think I must associate all of those things with brightness. I wonder how close I will have to get before my pack begins to pulse. (time. 867 words.)

Exercise #21: Today's exercise is another one from Cacoethes Scribendi. This time it's all about writing a dream sequence. See this page for details.

My results for number 20:

Rose-- When she was born, she was pink and perfect. Her parents marveled over her little fingers and toes. They gave her a tea set for her fifth birthday, and tried to teach her to sew. She didn't take to it. Rose always wanted to be in the sun, even as a little girl.

Orchid-- Orchid came from Florida. The men all found her dark and mysterious. She was the only woman who I ever thought looked attractive with her hair in cornrows. I wished that she was a lesbian, but she wasn't. We still hung out after work.

Tractor-- Tractor's parents always wanted to live on a farm, but they were afraid to leave the city with its job security. When they had a child, they named him after the symbol of their ideal. They thought about calling him John Deere Wilkins, but they thought Tractor sounded more unique. Sometimes the other kids made fun of his name, but Tractor never minded. He was a hard worker and always looked ahead.

Stone-- Stone was ften accused of being cold and unfeeling. He didn't really mind where he was or what he was doing, and he wasn't very emotional. This always upset his mother. Lana was the first girl who ever understood him at all. She swore to her friends that he warmed up if you held onto him long enough.

Ant-- Ant's real name was Anthony, but no one called him that. He was small, but strong. He didn't play sports in school, but later he made a decent living in construction. Hauling concrete came naturally to him. Sometimes he thought about joining the army.

Mirror-- She had a dozen nicknames because everyone called her something different. She didn't have one group of friends. She fit in everywhere. She learned early that mimicking other people's body anguage would set them at ease. Once a boy asked her who she was, really, and she replied, "Who do you think I am?"

Shell-- Shell was a nurturer. She was always gathering weak friends to protect. In the Springtime she harvested wounded birds and kept them from the cat until they healed. She wasn't soft and pretty, but she was beautiful nonetheless. Her parents sometimes worrid that she'd let boys take advantage of her kind nature when she got old enough to date.

Moccasin-- Moccasin was soft, but tough. No one ever heard him coming. When he was eighteen the army asked him to train as an intelligence expert, but Moccasin said no. He didn't want to be stuck in foreign cities finding out things for someone else his whole life. He became a trail guide instead.

Braid-- Braid was strong and efficient. She put things in their place and got them out of the way. Her room was never a mess. She led the dance squad in high school, but she never really got into all the makeup and things that the other girls liked. She just enjoyed being part of an intricate pattern.

Clay-- His mother called him Clay because she liked the idea of something that came from the Earth. When he was in grade school she worried that she'd named him too well. He always came home covered in dirt. He was a very biddable child, but he grew up to be set in his ways. At least she taught him to clean up his own mess early on.

Exercise 20: Create ten characters named after flowers or other objects. Write five sentences about each character and make each character's appearance or personality traits match his or her name.

My results for number 19:

The black coat was really beginning to itch in this heat. Mary wished she hadn't worn it. She couldn't possibly take it off, though. Why had she worn a suit? Cecily wasn't wearing a suit. Cecily was flouncing around in a pale yellow sheath and sandals with ridiculously high heels.

They were at the crosswalk now, waiting for the light to change, and a man had just pulled up in a Camaro beside them. She could see him eyeing Cecily, though the object of his desire apeared to be oblivious. Mary brushed back her hair. It was a nervous habit left over from childhood. She knew the man wasn't looking at her -men didn't look at her- but being next to Cecily made her terribly self conscious. She hoped that she wouldn't sweat through her suit. It was very expensive to dry clean and she really couldn't afford it. The light changed. Finally. Cecily realized it first and was halfway across before Mary started. Cecily's long legs moved in perfectly smooth strides. Mary had to run to catch up.

"Oh there you are. I wondered if you were coming or if you were lost forever in a daydream where you'd beeen whisked away in that Camaro." Mary didn't know what to say, so she hurried forward and held open the door to the Smoothie Hut.

Inside it was blessedly cool. Mary found herself sighing in relief. "Poor thing," said Cecily as she perused the menu, "you must be dying in that funeral garb. What possessed you to wear that to the annual conference?"

Mary blushed and mumbled something about hearing it was a formal thing, then she hid her face in the menu. The smoothies all had preposterous names like "Bananaberry Blast" and "Hot Tropic" that Mary couldn't imagine saying with a straight face. She was pretty sure she wanted something with either blueberry or peach in it, and she was scanning the menu for contenders when the clerk cleared his throat and tapped his fingers on the counter. How had she gotten to be first in line already?

"Um, okay, I'd like something with um... pineapple, please," she said. Pineapple? Oh no! She meant peach! She couldn't say anything now, though. It was too late. She brushed her finger through her hair again and tried not to look nervous.

"You want Luscious Luau, Hot Tropic, or Pineaplunge?" The clerk sounded bored and world-weary.

"I uh, I guess I'll have the first one," Mary said.

"Luscious Luau?"

Mary blushed, "Yes. Please."

"One Lush," the clerk yelled. "That's three twenty-five." Mary fumbled in her purse to find the correct change, eventually giving up and handing him a five. He handed her her change without even looking at her and motioned her aside before calling, "Next in line, please."

Mary stood off to the side, flustered and wondering where exactly he should pick up her smoothie. Would they want to see her receipt? She'd already put it away, so she'd have to dig it out again. God, her purse was a mess. She looked over at the register. Cecily was ordering and the clerk was smiling at her.

"Give me a Bubbalooberry," Cecily said. She stretched ou the third syllable so that it came out as "loooo," and then she winked at the boy when she finished. "Where do you guys come up with these wild names? I mean they're completely camp." The clerk smiled and shook his head. He was dazzled by her. Everyone was. Cecily had exact chage ready and she shifted aside after she was finished ordering, but stayed up again the counter, chatting away. By the time her smoothie was ready before Mary's (not that Mary was upset, but it did seem unfair), the entire smoothie team knew what she was in town for, and one of them had invited her to a party. Mary tried not to feel bitter. She loved Cecily. Of course she did, everyone did. You couldn't not love Cecily, because she was genuinely nice. That was the worst bit. mary couldn't even feel bitter in peace. Oh well, maybe Cecily wuld take her out to the party tonight. Maybe this time she'd know what to wear and what to say. Maybe. Probably not, though.

Due to a technical glitch (which should be resolved in a day or two, I'm not able to change the contents on my exercise page. It's stuck at number 17. I'm still doing stuff daily, though, and posting it here the day after as usual. So, without further ado, Exercise 19, yo: Write a scene starring two characters. One of the characters is cool. The other wants to be cool or thinks (s)he is cool, but actually isn't. Try to make the distinction clear without having either character say he or she is cool, or that the other is (or isn't). The characters can be any type, race, age, religion, gender, species. No limits.

My results for number 18:

We are everywhere. You don't really think about us. You prefer not to even acknowledge our existence, but we're there. We feed on your rubbish, your cast off pieces of Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the bits of processed cheese that melt into your McDonald's wrappers. We aren't picky about where our food has been or what it might have touched. The fiction is that we only appear in big cities like New York or Chicago, where we lurk in alleys and skulk about in the dark. The truth is we live all over this country. We live all over the world. Some places are better than others, it 's true (there are places where food is so scarce that people try to eat us).

I knew a guy who had a cousin in Africa. He got over there by means of freight ship; said he was gonna make it big. The poor kid came back a year later and he was the skinniest thing you ever saw. My old pal Pinko thought he was actually a mouse. That's how skinny this kid was. People go on and on about malnutrition and the crap that goes into American food, but I'd take it any day of the week over having to fight tooth and claw over a piece of millet.

We're not all mean-tempered, either. That's another common misconception. I mean sure, we're defensive because we have to be, but at heart, we're pretty sociable. Honest. It's just that all people ever see are the red eyes and the tail, the tail's a big one. Then they freak because we don't look fluffy like squirrels or some such nonsense. Mind you, I've seen some mean-ass squirrels in my day. Anyway, we're around and we're fairly harmless. We look out for each other.

And that shit about rabies? Mostly lies that the government spreads to make people afraid of us. We're honest rats who work hard scavenging and don't pose a threat to humanity. Okay, yes, occasionally a rat or other rodent (hey, it could just as easily be a squirrel, you know. Their fluffy tails and acorn-gathering way don't magically make them immune to disease) comes down with it, and all of us morn. We don't want it to happen to us, and we're sad for the loss of our friend, but at that point, the friend is dead to us. It's like all those zombie movies you people like to watch. Rabid animals are like zombies. Monsters in the shells of our compatriots. It's really a very sad business.

It's true that some of us are not very nice. I mean you get the occasional bad seed; the junkie, or the psychologically imbalanced kid. But you know, we're not the only ones that have these problems. People get caught up in that stuff all the time, but for some reason it's okay to try to kill rats en masse just because we're rats. You try to do that to people, and suddenly it's considered genocide and the United Nations is breathing down your neck and waiting to kill you or at least lock you away. Now I ask you, is this fair?

You know what else you don't see? Money-grubbing, power-hungry rats. We kick it with our friends and if one of us spies a likely trash heap, do we try to hide it? No. We call out, "Hey guys, good eatin' over here!" and we share. Because rats know that there's enough to go around and that if you share with others, they'll be a lot more likely to share with you. I don't see why you people don't get that. But really, I don't understand a lot about people. Why throw away good food? I mean hell, I'm glad you do it, 'cause more for me, right? But it really makes no sense.

I think if people stopped and payed a attention, they'd be able to learn a thing or two from rat culture. I'm just sayin'. (668 words)

Exercise 18: Write a passage (500 words or more) from an animal's point of view.

My Results for #17:
KILLER GOLDFISH SWALLOWS MAN WHOLE!

John Morton of Salem Oregon was viciously murdered --by his pet goldfish! Morton had been missing for about a week before Salem autorities broke down his door and found nothing but part of his left foot, still in a brown leather penny loafer. "Those were his favorite shoes," said Morton's longtime friend Al Williams. "He wore them everywhere, so I guess it's fitting that he died in them."

Salem's forensics team had a tough time resolving the case, but the evidence was clear. Morton's pet goldfish, Sammy, had gotten a wee bit too hungry for his owner's good. "We think what happened is that Sammy acted hungry so that the victim would feed him, and when the victim's hand was near the water's surface, the fish attacked and pulled him in," said Greg Davis of the Salem Police Department. Davis added that they had to call in an animal control expert to remove the perp from the premises. "It wasn't pretty. That tank was full of blood and bone fragments. I never knew a little goldfish could be so vicious."

Morton's friends and family were less shocked at the horrible crime. Morton's ex-wife, Miranda told us, "That fish had a mean streak a mile wide. I'd probably still be married to John if the fish hadn't come between us. John never saw it, though, and now it's too late." Annabelle Morton, John's mother, voiced similar feelings.

"Johnny never believed me when I told him that Sammy was a monster. I knew it from the way he'd stare at me when I visited. Johnny used to laugh at me for refusing to get within ten feet of the tank, but I knew better. Poor Johnny. I guess he's with God now."

So what will become of the fish? The federal government plans to keep him and study him in hopes of building a new killer weapon. Enemies of the United States, beware! As for Morton, "We've got his foot and his shoe," said williams. "We plan to give it a proper burial. I think that's what John would have wanted."

Aside from memorial service plans, Morton's loved ones are also planning on hosting a special information session to help other people recognize killer pets before disaster strikes. "It's too late for John," said his ex-wife, "But maybe we can help other people. Maybe we can even save a marriage or two."

If you're wondering how you can save yourself or a loved one from the same fate, Annabelle Morton has some tips for you:
*Look at the eyes. If they are red or devoid of emotion, your pet may be a killer.
*If you turn your back on your pet and he or she insists on having your attention, your pet may be a killer.
*Most importantly, if you feed the pet and he or she doesn't eat, but always seems hungry, call a professional now! You pet is almost certainly a killer!

Exercise 17: Write a Weekly World News style article on the subject of your choice.

My results for Exercises 14, 15, and 16:

Exercise 14
Weeping Willow: A willow tree is lithe and slender. It has many branches which are thin and supple and covered in leaves. The leaves are long and slender and bright to medium dark green in color. The trunk of the willow tree can grow quite thick. It is covered with thick brown bark that has a coarse texture. If left to its own devices, the willow's leaf-covered branches will extend all the way to the ground. Since the branches are thin and supple, they sway in a breeze (and thrash about in a strong wind). Weeping willows grow well in moist soil. They are often surrouned by lush greenery.

Silver Dollar Eucalyptus: This tree is often very tall, with sturdy trunk and branches. Its leaves are flat, round, grey-green discs (hence "silver dollar") that grow in clusters on the branches and brush against each other when the wind blows. The Silver Dollar Eucalyptus is not a good tree for climbing because the trunk is smooth and the branches are high up. The trunk is whitish in color and covered with smooth, thin, reddish brown bark that peels off easily. Silver Dollar Eucalyptus trees grow well in dry climates. It is fairly unusual to see them surrounded by vibrant greens.

Jack Pine: The Jack Pine is a conifer and an evergreen. Its natural shape is a cone, formed by multiple branches jutting out in all directions from the trunk. The branches are covered with long, thin "needles" that exude a fresh smell. Pine needles are dark green, but may be yellow, brown or red when they are dead. The Jack Pine also produces pine cones, which are brown and carry seeds. Pine cones come in a variety of sizes, but are on average, roughly the size of a man's fist. These trees often grow in the mountains, but can also thrive in other environments.

Exercise 15
Beth opened the door to her room and sighed. It was good to be back. Everything was just as he had left it. Golden light was pouring in through the window and casting a cheerful glow on her unmade bed. She stepped over a stray blue sneaker and a pair of jeans so that she could set her Hello Kitty duffel bag on top of the oak dresser. She'd unpack later. For now she would just revel in being home after two whole weeks away. Her eyes swept over the blue and white striped walls and her desktop full of papers and pictures in frames. Her favorite was the one of her and Lindsey that was taken last September at the beach. They'd had so much fun that day! In the picture, Beth and Lindsey were pointing at the sand castle they'd spent two and a half hours perfecting. Ryan had managed to catch their sand castle on film right before Jeremy had fallen on top of it while trying to catch a frisbee. Beth couldn't wait to call Lindsey and catch up with her. Maybe they could go out tonight. She'd have to convince her parents that she wasn't too tired to go out, but that was doable. She flopped onto the the bed and picked up the portable phone from its charger on her nightstand.

*****
Deborah sighed as she entered the room. It was a mess as usual. Beth had said she would clean it before her two week camping trip in the Rockies, but of course she'd "run out of time" and hadn't even so much as made her bed. Deborah surveyed the room in dismay. She couldn't have the carpet cleaned in here with clothes laying all over the floor. She picked up a shoe and a pair of jeans before she came to her senses. The girl was going to have to learn. She would just wait to have the carpets cleaned until Beth got back and cleaned this mess up herself. A deep clean was in order here. The floor needed to be cleared of clothes and vacuumed, the surfaces all needed dusting and everything needed to be organized. For heaven's sake, how could Beth find anything in that mess of papers on her desk? Deborah was going to have to make her a checklist of tasks. Let's see, floor, bed (oughtta make her change the sheets and wash the dirty ones), desk, dresser drawers, closet... Deborah didn't even want to think aobut the closet. Last time she's hazarded a peek it had been full of jumbled boxes, winter sweaters, and roller skates. She didn't need to look again to know it needed to be rearranged. She'd better go get a pad of paper and a pen, this sort of thing needed to be catalogued. With mind set and teeth gritted, Deborah dropped the jeans and shoe exactly where she had found them and marched out of the room.

Exercise 16
She ran through the cereal aisle at top speed, just missing an elderly woman who was examining a box of Fruit and Fiber. At the end she made a sharp right and plunged into the soup section. She loaded her basket with cans, grabbing the first ones in reach, and careened onward. He wasn't far behind, but at least now she had weapons. She skidded to a halt at the end of aisle five and tried to look both ways without attracting attention. She couldn't see him, but that didn't mean he wasn't there. She decided to take her chances and headed to the right. She was pretty sure there was an exit in the back behind Meats and Poultry if she could make it that far undetected. Her heart was pounding, but she was so full of adrenaline that she couldn't even feel it. She streaked past Frozen Foods (aisle 7) and Heath and Beauty (aisle 8), and was about to make a break for it up Snacks and Soda (aisle 9) when she saw him munching on tortilla chips right in her path. He played it cool, dropping the bag of chips and pulling out his tazer in one fluid movement. She launched a soup can at him and bolted for Bread. Bread was at the end of the store and had lots to tables full of cakes and cookies in it. If she could make it that far, she might have a chance of working her way through it using the tables as cover. She could hear his boots aainst the linoleum. She didn't have much time. Then she saw the bargain table and knew her luck had changed. On special this week were oranges. A whole mountain of them. She bashed her basket against it as she passed and dislodged a good number of them. She half wanted to stop and see if he fell, but she knew that sort of thinking was folly. Now she was in Breads, weaving her way through the table maze and coming up on Meats and Poultry. She couldn't hear him coming anymore, which she hoped was good. She made a right at the end of the aisle, preparing to dash to the door into the stock area. So far so good. She could see the door and pushed herself a little harder to get there, when suddenly she was hit. She fell face first and shuddered with the jolt of electricity. She'd been so close to freedom. She could hear him coming up on her now, felt his hands putting the cuffs on her wrists. "By order of the intergalactic police council, I have come to take you back to X-Terra 19. You are charged with illegal time-travel and failure to comply with an officer. You have the right to remain silent." She couldn't move, but she could hear shuffling behind her. "Pick her up boys, we've got the time-pod in the storage room. Miles and Orliss are staying behind to resolve things here and will meet us back at headquarters." With that, she was hauled up and jostled forward. "Be gentle with her, boys. The captain's not going to be pleased about us having to arrest his daughter. We'd better at least make sure she gets home without any damage." All she could think as that she was definitely going to be grounded for this. Damn.

So, a surprise trip to Southern California prevented me from being near a computer to post exercises for the 14th and 15th of October. Never fear. I am back and ready to mend this situation. Here are instructions for Exercises 14, 15, and 16 --AT THE SAME TIME!

Exercise 14: Name three types of trees and describe the shape of their leaves, the size and texture of their trunks and branches, thier heighth and width, their flowers (if they blossom), fruits (if they bear fruit), etc. Try to give a complete physical description so that a reader who was unfamiliar with this type of tree could visualize it if he or she stumbled across your prose.

Exercise 15: Describe a room from the perspective of a character who is very happy. When you are finished, decribe the same room from the perspective of a character who is very unhappy (example: a hospital room in the maternity ward described from the point of view of a new father and of a would-be father whose child was stillborn. Write yours about something else, though).

Exercise 16: Write an action sequence that takes place in a grocery store. Don't use any adverbs. Do use dialogue.

My results for number 13:

Excerpt from a letter to Dr. Hanz M. Klein of Dresden, Germany. The letter was found in his desk at Dresden's Academy of Progressive Science after his death eight months ago. The whole text is in the custody of the International Alien Relations Fund. Copies are available by mail order for a donation to the fund.

It was purplish blue and emanated light. It was like nothing you've ever seen. I'm not even sure if human minds can comprehend them. They're made of fifth dimension material. I say this one was purplish blue, but you can't really see them with your eyes.They are both warm and cool at the same time. This one was cooler than most of them, generally speaking. It found me when I had lost my way, stranded and helpless in a far galaxy.

I was supposed to be on a normal scouting trip, but the M-gage blew and I had to abort. The pods we have are equipped with emergency features that think faster than any of us can, so before I knew it I'd been ejected and dropped into the nearest breatheable atmosphere. The pod also ejects an intense sedative into you before the drop so you won't panic and do somethng harmful. The good thing about this is that you have a pleasant fall and the parachute is smart enough to take care of your so you don't get bumped and bruised. The not so nice thing is that you awaken a few minutes later in a strange place with no idea where you are. It's rare for a hostile to come around, but not unheard of. The odds are about 130 to one in favor of friendly or neutral species. I had a friend who got creamed by a hostile in the J-956 sector a while back. Lucky for him he managed to survive and get back home where central set him up with a quick heal and some material comp. Of course, he still did lose that leg, but he's got the other three, so it isn't all bad. He can still walk and all. It's rough losing a limb, though. Or at least I imagine it is.

Anyway, I was talking about my little adventure. You wanted to know about the creature I met, Professor, and I'm going to do my best to lay it out for you in terms comprehensible to humans. It's not easy, though. I explained about the color thing. Not all of them are this tone. They usually have some blue in them, but they can be purplish or greenish as well. This one was very light sort of lavender and periwinkle, although these are not adequate words. You do not have a sufficient supply of descriptive words, I'm sorry to say. I do not know anything about how they reproduce or if they have genders. Perhaps this has something to do with color and warmth, but perhaps not. The one that found me transported me to a free zone of departure and helped me to contact Central to get out. The planet is a fairly advanced one and though it is not home to a terribly diverse number of species, it has well-developed communication systems.

The creatures communicate with each other through vibrations. It is like music or speech, but not audible (though the whole planet does have a sort of hum to it), they also create their own energy source. They absorb starlight in the night hours and then their vibrations generate enough energy to run any technical gadgets on the planet. They are a moneyless society, because they have no need for trade. They are quite friendly, but they do not have a lot to offer other species, nor to take from them (They don't eat, they don't need raw materials or finished goods from outside sources). Historically, attacks on the planet have failed due to the vibrational energies which are a strong protective force as well. One interesting thing was the fact they they did seem to exhibit an interest or kinship with your Earth elephants of old. I don't know when the last elephant lived, but I seem to recall reading that they died out about five hundred Earth years ago. I have not had the chance to explore this elephant connection in detail, but I have reason to believe the creatures of this planet could possibly create a new elephant, given time. I would of course be happy to report further findings in the future...

To read more, send a donation to The IARF, and specify item #34755B. (763 words)

Right. I wrote 483 new words in the story for last Friday's exercise. it isn't finished yet, but I do plan to post the thing in it's entirety once it is. I think I will make a separate page just for it. I don't imagine it wil be terribly long. It's only around 2,200 words at present, but I still think it deserves a page to itself. Anyway you can expect to see an update about it when I am ready to put it up. In the meantime, here's exercise number 13 for you: Describe an alien or mythical creature of your own creation. Explain what it looks like, how it eats, communicates, lives, etc. Make this around 400 or more words. Be creative!

My results for #12:

The smell of cinnamon lingered in the air. Jody could only think that it wasn't fair. None of it was fair. Her grandmother had been baking cookies only twenty minutes ago, and now she was shriveled and grey on a stretcher. The paramedics were talking to each other in loud, fast voices that were full of medical terms. Jody didn't understand anything, it was as though she was hearing the words underwater. She wanted to scream, or to run, but she couldn't make herself move. She didn't know if her granmother would be okay, and she had no idea what to do. She was the only one home. Her parents were both out Christmas shopping and didn't plan to come back until after dinner. Grandma had come over to keep Jody company while they were gone. The Paramedics had asked if she wanted to call them, but she didn't know how she could. She didn't know where exactly they were, and they didnt have a cell phone. She looked around the kitchen. Everything was familiar and foreign all at once. The table with its cheerful placemats seemed to be mocking her. She was twelve years old and just this morning she'd told her mother that she was grown up enough to be able to take care of herself. Right now all she could think was that she would take it back if only Grandma would be okay. The Paramedics were carrying the stretcher outside now. They said she could come with them to the hospital. Jody had always been afraid of hospitals, but it seemed like a better idea than being home alone. Maybe when they got there Grandma would wake up and everything would be okay. She would say it was just a joke or something. Jody knew it wasn't, though. This was real. She began to walk toward the hallway and the front door, following the stretcher. Her movements were stiff and jerky. "Listen," said one of the women, "Jody? Your name's Jody, right?" Jody nodded. "Well, Jody, you're doing a very good job of being calm in a hard situation. We're going to take care of things as best we can. I need you to think for a minute, though. If there's no way to reach your parents, is there anyone else we can call? Anyone who can come down to the hospital and wait with you?" Jody couldn't think of anyone. Her older brother was away at college and her Aunt Maria lived five hours away. Then it hit her. She could have them call Grandma's bridge partner, Edna. Edna was a nice old lady. She always wore funny hats and dresses from thrift shops, and she carried chocolates in her purse at all times "in case of emergency." Jody noticed that emergencies happened a lot in Edna's life, judging by the amount of chocolate she ate. Edna would come and make everything better. She'd say, "Alice, honey, you just have to wake up. We've got a game!" and Grandma would listen to her. (Time. 508 words)

Exercise 12: Another ten minute writing prompt. This time we're starting with The smell of cinnamon still lingered in the air...

My results for #11:

She lay her small head
On the softest down pillow
And slept for twelve years

He could only watch
In the witch's looking glass
He could not touch her

As the years slipped by
He saw the witch growing weak
And formed hopeful plans


The prince searched through each bowl and each vessel,
He looked under every bridge trestle,
And sought out a potion
To win the devotion
Of the maiden with whom he would nestle.

Due to a splitting migraine, I'm calling off the completion of the story for today. And I'm making exercise 11 really easy. Three haiku and a limerick. To spice things up, I have chosen four random words from the fridge magnet poetry set (picked with my eyes closed). Use one word in each of your poems. And the winners are: pillow, watch, weak, and bowl.

My results for Exercise 10 (part one):

The village Madueke lived in was dusty. More often than not there wasn't enough food to go around. The gods had not been kind recently. The crops were failing again. He knew many of the villagers were casting blame on each other, but he didn't have time to think about it. He had a job to do. In this dark time, he had more than enough to worry about without leaving his work.

The last three bodies had all come to him in the night. They were found in the twilight, slashed and marked with the traces of sorcery. He did not know who was responsible for this bad magic, but it made his heart ache and his hands tremble as he took them into his hut and dressed the wounds. A young girl, an old man, and a woman in her childbearing prime. The worst was that the old man, Akin, had been a great warrior many years ago. The village was mourning his loss with their drums, and would not stop for three days and three nights.

It was mid-day, but the sun was hidden by clouds. Madueke stopped his work and put his hand over his heart talisman. This talisman was all he had left of his one wife, Enwelumokwu. She had been a good wife, and she had had strong magic, but she was not strong enough to fight the illness that took her.

Every day, with every body that Madueke dressed for burial, he remembered his Enwelumokwu. He had dressed her body, also, though he had wanted to throw everything away and run into the distant mountains like a wild man. He had spent many nights asking the gods why they would take her from him so early. Before they had even had a chance to have children together. Madueke believed he would be sad about this loss for the rest of his life, but he knew that he could not be irresponsible. He could not shirk his duty, for who would dress the wounds of the dead if not Madueke? Who would prepare their bodies for final rest so that their souls might fly free in peace?

It was unfortunate that he did not have a son to whom he might pass on the sacred secrets of his trade, but he knew that sooner or later there would be an apprentice. He knew that he did not have to try to lay with a new woman just for the sake of begetting a child. Some of the villagers would talk disapprovingly of him, he knew, but in their hearts, they understood, for they had seen his with Enwelumokwu, and they knew that he had been a part of something God had chosen for him. They would not try to force him into another union. Now that Akin was no longer with the living, Madueke was probably the most holy man in the village. He would trade all of this status for a chance to be with Enwelumokwu again, even for one day.

The talisman was made of leather and herbs and Enwelumokwu's own lifeblood. She had given it to him on the eve of their marriage and a physical reminder of her love vow. She had given it to him when they were finally alone. She hadn't told anyone else about it beforehand, but had gathered the ingredients and performed the rituals in secret. When she put it around his neck, she told him words that he would always cherish, though remembering them now was sometimes painful. "You need never fear that I am not with you, for you will always have my magic, the blood of my own heart which beats for you. If you are troubled and I appear to be gone, hold this close to your own heart, and you will know that I stay always with you."

Madueke was troubled now. He was more troubled than he had ever been in his life. To lose three villagers at once to a killer who was vicous and used bad magic was a horrible thing. He was frightened for his people. He was frightened for their hearts and souls. Madueke held his talisman against his breast and stroked it with three long fingers. His touch was all tenderness, and as he did this, he could see his beloved in his head so clearly that it hurt him as much as it comforted him. "Enwelumokwu," he said, "I am troubled. I am alone in darkness and I need you, but you are not here. I touch your talisman and I see you inside me, but you are not here to help me. I miss you with everything that I am. I wish you could help me with your strong magic. I wish you could show me how to heal our village. How to help our people. Enwelumokwu, our people suffer. They are starving and dangerous, and now it is possible that we have a dark sorcerer among us. I do not know what to do. I do not know how to save us." As he spoke, the talisman grew warmer, and if he had opened his eyes, Madueke might have seen that it was glowing faintly. He stayed in the same pose for a few minutes, eyes closed, thinking, remembering, wishing. Eventually he sighed and rubbed his hands together. He should not waste time when he had so much work to do.

He prepared the little girl first. He body was so small, she was only four or five years old. He knew she was Lotanna, the daughter of Azubuike, who made clay pots for water and food, and clay masks for secial rituals. The woman, Nwamaka, was her mother. Madueke supposed here was a place to start making connections.

Nwamaka was one of Abuike's three wives. She was beautiful, and had come to the village from a different place. Her cousin, Oguejiofor had married a woman from this village, and had sent Nwamaka in return. When she arrived, many of the men wanted to be with her, but Nwamaka stayed ith a group of widows until a proper man wooed her. She was cooperative and quiet. She understood her role as an outsider in this village. She did what was expected of her, helped with community work, and bore a child after only one year of marriage. No one seemed to have anything against her, but Madueke knew that the famine may have changed that. There were some who would blame her for the wilting crops and the lack of game. Madueke wondered if anyone would hate her enough to kill her and her innocent child. It was possible, but was about Akin? Madueke did not understand this crime. He frowned as he prepared ointments and powders to preserve and decorate the bodies. There must be an answer. He would search until he found it.

When it was evening again, Madueke walked away from the village and down to the creek. He could still hear the drums here, but they were less of an intrusion on his thoughts. He puzzled over things, with three dead bodies fresh in hid mind. He was not any closer to finding an answer. As the moon began to rise, he saw a glimmering in the distance beyond the fields across the creek. Madueke rubbed his eyes as he tried to focus. He couldn't make out what it was, but it seemed to be coming closer. He knew that it was magic, and that he should perhaps be afraid, but he was too tired. He had been worried and scared without reprieve for more than two days. He had only slept for three hours during this time. He knew there was a dark sorcerer out ther, but he felt that if the end as near for him, it would be more of a relief than anything. Perhaps he then would be with his beloved again.

No sooner had madueke thought this than he saw Enwelumokwu walking toward him. He could scarce believe his eyes. "Is the time for me come, then?" he asked. "Am I no longer alive?" Enwelumokwu did not answer, but kept coming closer. She did not stop until she was facing him directly across the creek. Then she spoke.

"Beloved, Madueke, you have called me, and so I have come. You are not alone. I am always with you." In the night she shimmered with bluish light. Madueke longed to touch her firm flesh and pull her close.

"Come to me, please," He said. "Come close to me. I miss you."

"I cannot come closer, my beloved. I must stay here. if you try to touch me, I will vanish. This illusion is not really me. I am inside you, and I am with God. When it is your time, you will see, but now, if you wish to speak with me here, you must not come closer."

Madueke's cheeks were wet with tears. "But why do you come, if you cannot be with me?" he asked.

"Because you are troubled. If you tell me your troubles, perhaps I can help. You may tell me everything and then you may ask me three questions. I will not be able to answer more. I am sorry for this, my heart, but it is the way that God has chosen."

Madueke felt sorrow in his heart, fresh again as the day she had died, when he had taken her lifeless form in his arms and wept. He pushed it aside and told her the story of the famine and of he distrust among his people. He said the words without emotion, because he could not allow any of his feelings to be free. He ended with the bodies and the marks of sorcery, and when he as finished, he waited for her to speak.

Enwelumokwu stood in the moonlight with her hair blowing behind her head. She was the most beautiful thing Madueke had ever seen. Even more beautiful than she had been in life. Her eyes were full of the universe now. He could see that she understood many truths and was far holier than he was. "I know what has happened," she said. "I can answer three questions. Please ask carefully. When I have finished answering, I shall return to where I belong, but I shall never leave you."

Watch for exciting conclusion in a later entry!

Exercise 10. Myarrr. Breaking out the big guns and aiming for a whole story churned out at haphazard pace. I don't know how long it'll take (or how long it'll be). All I know is that I'm getting the key elements from the Instant Muse Story Starter. Join me, if you like in writing a story like this:

My main character/protagonist is a male. My main character is an undertaker. An archetype present in my story is Pirate. A key object or symbol in my story is a toy gun. My story will be set in an African village. My story is about faith.

Off to Africa!

My results for number 9:

Ten Orange Objects:
1. Cat
It sat curled up on a window in the middle of the afternoon. It was large and lazy and softer than peaches. The girl loved it more than she loved her own brother.
2. Poppy
They grew in bunches by the side of the road, and even in people's front yards. They were sweet and fragile like warm little dancers that people were afraid to touch.
3. Shorts
She bought the shorts on clearance at the end of September. She thought they made her skin look yellow, but the heat out here was just too much for her. She couldn't stand to keep driving through the desert in Jeans.
4. M&M
In the entire package, there was only one orange one. Matthew was very upset about this. He didn't think it was fair dividing them by colors, but he was the youngest so he didn't have a say.
5. Car
Martha thought the little orange bug was cheerful. She liked that it was round and small, but not as much as she liked that it outraged her wealthy parents.
6. Sky
It was picture perfect, so long as you made sure not to look around at ground-level. The clouds were ruby splashes in the orange glow. It was true what they said; that war and smog made for pretty sunsets.
7. Chair
The plastic was about as comfortable as it was pretty. That it was shiny seemed a cruel joke, as though it were masquerading as something clean. She shuddered and tried not to think of all the thousands of other passengers' germs.
8. Eye
About fifty times a day somebody would come up and ask if it was a trick, or where he got the contacts. Most of them backed away when he focused it on them and the iris began to undulate, but some of them didn't. He figured they got what they deserved for being too curious and intrusive (and he got a tasty snack).
9. Fire
It licked the night sky with a hundred small tongues while everyone watched. Firefighters moved in teams and fought for hours. It was the strangest fire they'd ever seen.
10. Traffic Cone
He'd found it all bent in a ditch. It was labeled with black stenciled letters, "Starminster Municipal Property". He wondered how it had gotten here as there was no such town in the state. (398 words)

Exercise #9 is going to be a bit different. It wil involve a few steps. First (step one): Pick a color. Any color will do. Got it? Good. Second (step two): Name the first ten things you can think of that are the color you've chosen (now, if you chose Restaurant Creamer, that may be difficult, but since we are accomodating, we'll let off white or eggshell or even muted pearl objects slip through). Third (step three): Write two or three sentences about each of your objects. Make them distinct somehow. The sentences don't have to be descriptive, but the object must be a main element. Okay, go!

My results for Exercise #8:

The building was at the southern edge of the field. It stood alone and was surrounded by scraggly, waist-high grass. No one had mowed there in ages. The wood had once been red, but the paint was peeling and faded, and now the barn was mainly a drab grey-brown. There were no people around. The farm had been left alone for three years. The day was bright and sunny and drenched with burtterflies. It was a perfect summer day for two young girls to be out with their net. They never kept the butterflies for more than a moment. They just wanted to look at them closely. They'd been out all morning, and they had a picnic basket full of sandwhiches and fruit. They were twelve and thirteen years old, and cousins. They didn't like to talk to each other at school because they belonged to different groups, but in the summer they were fast friends. Perhaps it was something about the day, the way the light fell so effortlessly, or the mischievous charm of the fox they'd seen bounding through the brush. Neither girl could have told you what made them do it, but they had agreed without even speaking that this was the day they would explore the old barn. They danced around it for hours, drawing closer and then to the side and away. It was a tender and delicate process of studied carefree frolicking. They ate their lunch by a stream at the eastern tip of the woods and spent some more time picking wildflowers as they edged closer. "There are better ones over there," said Carrie, the older of the two. She didn't point or make any other sign to indicate where 'there' was.

Tina hesitated. For a moment it looked as if she might head away from the barn, but then she shook her head. "I'm tired of waiting," she said. And then after hours of being without, a few seconds found the girls within. The door had been surprisingly easy to open, and inside the air was fresh and sweet. It surely wasn't normal, but neither girl noted it, for they were too caught up in delight. Inside the building, in heaps here and there, were golden chains of straw. The chains were woven with intricate care in a host of fanciful designs, and the thin beams of light that shone in through the chinks and slats in the wood made everything appear to be magical. "But who could have done it?" They asked one another. Neither of them could respond adequately, and so they set off to explore in earnest. (434 words --I let myself go over time by two and a half minutes because I wanted to see where this was going.)

Exercise #8. Spend ten minutes describing a barn or shed. Try to convey a certain mood in the description.

My Results for #7:

#1
Full Name: Tania Nicole Whitaker
Age: 26
Birthday: March 5, 1977
Current Occupation: Legal Secretary for the high profile New York law firm, Palmer and Associates.
Work History: She's been at Palmer and Associates since she left Columbia University three years ago. Before leaving college, she worked at a printing shop near campus. Her first job, which she held for her junior and senior years of high school was as a dog grooming assistant at The Preening Pooch in her hometown of Millpoint in upstate NY.
Favorite Comfort Foods: Ben and Jerry's Fudge Brownie ice cream, her mother's tuna casserole, York Peppermint Patties.
Love Interest: Currently single and very unhappy about it. She doesn't trust men after her last serious boyfriend, Gerald, burned her by sleeping with her sister. She wishes she could feel comfortable with the idea of casual sex, but she just can't.
Favorite Non-Work-Related Activity: She loves shopping in big department stores. She feels a bit bad about it because it seems shallow, but she loves being able to buy hih end cosmetics and clothing. She limits her purchases to a couple each month, but she likes to scout for deals at least a couple of times a week.
Favorite Animal: She loves the idea of rabbits, but not the reality. She likes dogs well enough, but doens't really want one. She's indeifferent to cats and doesn't like most small rodents. She hates insects and arachnids.
Personal Dwelling Space: her apartment is small, but in a good neighborhood. Safety is very important to her. She's afraid to walk at night, but she doesn't want anyone to know. She keeps her apartment very clean and takes good care of her clothes. She has eveything organized, and she takes pleasure in the act of organizing her personal items.
Random Personal Fantasy: She sometimes likes to imagine herself as a big name fashion designer in Paris. She loves the idea of being able to create beautiful clothes and have a team of underlings to bow to her every whim.

#2
Full Name: Gerald Anthony Kirsch
Age: 31
Birthday: August 12, 1972
Current Occupation: Inside Sales Representative for a corporate event hosting company. He lives to schmooze and reap the benefits, which include free tickets to top events and occasional gourmet girft baskets.
Work History: He's been with Mansfield Event Planners for four years. Prior to that he was working his ass off for comparatively little at an electronics supplier (Hudson Tech, Ltd.). He has an MBA from a lesser business school, which he got through an accelerated evening program while he was working as a filing clerk because his parents wouldn't let him live at home after high school.
Favorite Comfort Foods: Caviar and Ritz Crackers, vodka tonics, cheesecake.
Love Interest: Gerald likes his women pretty and plentiful. Someday he'd like to settle down, but not for a good long while. He doesn't want a serious relationship, but he isn;t afraid to pretend he does if it'll get him some fine booty. Usually it ends when he's bored or when she finds out he's a cad, which he pretends to be hurt about, but doesn't really mind... Unless she's got an overly protective big brother.
Favorite Non-Work-Related Activity: Combing random conferences at major hotels for fresh female companions and free refreshments. He's a master at the art of getting in free. "Oh, I've lost my nametag... " is one of his most convincing lines. Other than that, he likes to Have occasional football watching parties at his place with the guys.
Favorite Animal: The lion, because he thinks of himself as one. King of the jungle, lord of the chicks, eater of meat.
Personal Dwelling Space: Spacious apartment on the upper east side with modern furnishings and lots of gadgets from The Sharper Image. Bigger is better. Newer is better. Flashier is better. He wants to be the envy of all his friends.
Random Personal Fantasy: Throwing the first pitch of the World Series.

#3
Full Name: Mario Cesar Enrique Montalba
Age: 28
.Birthday: December 16, 1974
Current Occupation: Taxi Driver for Manhattan Cab Co.
Work History: He's been at this for three and half years. Before that he was a busser in a pizza place, and before that he worked in his Aunt's restaurant in Mesa, Arizona.
Favorite Comfort Foods: Cheese enchiladas, refried beans, Oreos.
Love Interest: No real one, but he digs the girl across the hall, Lucy. He looks at a lot of other women, too, but doesn't really pursues them. He asks Lucy out every week or so, but she usually tells him off for it. They have an affectionate way of insulting each other. Mario is not really worried about love, and he isn't afraid of rejection. He figures when the time is right, something'll happen.
Favorite Non-Work-Related Activity: Playing Playstation games with his six and ten-year-old cousins at his sister's place. He also enjoys walking in Manhattan and people watching.
Favorite Animal: Mario loves dogs, especially his sister's golden retriever, Sparky. He thinks about getting one of his own, but would feel bad leaving it all alone for long periods.
Personal Dwelling Space: Mario lives in a modest apartment in Queens. He knows most of his neighbors and likes at least half of them. He doesn't do so well with cleaning, but occasionally his sister will take pity and help him do a major deep clean. He lives on Frozen food and pizza when he isn't mooching off her and her husband for home cooked meals.
Random Personal Fantasy: Sometimes Mario imagines himself as a head surgeon like on ER. He likes the idea of saving lives and having peole think of him as a hero, but he doesn't really want to be a doctor. He's happy for the moment where he is, but thinks about eventually starting a business of his own. Perhaps a small market or restaurant. (1,019 words)

My results for Exercise 6:

It was raining, and the woman was holding her briefcase over her head as she ran. Gerald smiled a bit as he thought of how generous he was being by allowing her to catch up to him and offering to share the cab. It was positively chivalrous of him. He checked his watch. 5:45. He had a couple of hours before his dinner meeting. Perhaps if she was agreeable he'd buy the woman a drink somewhere. He couldn't quite see her face because her briefcase was hiding it, but she certainly looked good from the neck down. Her suit was of good quality grey silk and she had complemented it with a very soft rose colored blouse. The colors went well with her pale complexion and the cut of the fabric flattered her slender frame. He liked a woman who knew how to dress. Pity the suit was being soaked in the downpour.

Inside the cab, the driver sighed and cleared his throat. "Look pal, are we goin' or stayin'? This is a no parking zone and I got better things to do than sit around."

"She's almost here. Now shut up or I won't tip you," Gerald said.

The driver pushed a button on the meter and the fare rose by two dollars. "Asshole."

Gerald glared. "What was that, buddy?"

"Nothin'. I don't talk, remember?"

The driver was leering in the rearview mirror. Gerald was about to make a snide remark when the woman reached the cab. She scurried into the backseat and brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. "Thanks for waiting. I need to go to-" at that moment she saw Gerald and her expression changed to cold contempt. "You."

"You," said Gerald. he couldn't believe his luck. Of all the women to hold a cab for, it had to be her.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"You're not even going to thank me for being a good samaritan?"

"Oh, now that's a good one," she said. "Been trying to develop a sense of humor in your quest to be a real human being?"

"Hey now," said Gerald, "You're the one who left me with no place to stay in a foreign country on Christmas day. I'm surprised you haven't won the Miss Sensitive award yet."

The woman was visibly tembling with anger. "You slept with my sister."

"I didn't know she was your sister at the time."

"Oh, so that makes it all okay? You cheat on me and that's okay because you didn't know the other woman was related to me?"

"I wouldn't go that far. Now come on, we weren't exclusive. I mean we'd only been seeing each other for a few weeks."

"We were at my grandmother's home together for the holidays at the time, in case you've forgotten." Her voice was slowly rising.

Gerald was quiet for a second. "Well you're the one who killed my dog."

"That was an accident and you know it! Oh God, why am I even bothering to defend myself to you?"

"Just ran the poor little guy down in cold blood," said Gerald. He turned to the cab driver. "Now does that seem nice to you? Killing an innocent puppy? Would you say that's a humane thing to do?"

"I say that we need to-"

The woman cut the driver off. "Don't talk to me about bloody humane. I can't help it if your dumb dog got loose and happened to run under my back tire as I was leaving. You have no right to talk to me about being humane. Because of you, my sister and I didn't speak for months, and my grandmother had a heart attack during Christmas dinner."

"I wasn't talking to you, sweetheart," said Gerald. "I was talking to the driver. And I think if you examine the last few moments of conversation, you'll see that you interrupted him very rudely without even excusing yourself."

"I'm sorry," she said, looking at the driver in the mirror. "But you can see that he is an incredibly poor excuse for a person, and impossible to deal with, can't you?"

"I can see that-"

"Don't listen to her. It isn't as bad as it sounds, I swear. If she hadn't driven me away with her frigidness, none of this would have happened."

"Gerald," the woman said, but he was too caught up in his speech to hear.

"She was a complete ice queen. Never wanted me to go anywhere."

"Gerald..."

"I mean, I bought her tickets to the Super Bowl and she wasn't even grateful."

"Gerald!"

He looked up, surprised that anyone else had been speaking. "What?"

"Um, darling... You've just interrupted the driver quite spectacularly. Right after reprimanding me for the very same thing. And I don't even like sports, but you never bothered to ask me one way or the other, did you?" He started to reply, but she stopped him. "No, no, let the driver have his say. I mean, it's what you wanted, since you're so courteous, right?" She met the driver's eyes in the mirror. "Now tell me, honestly, what do you think?"

"You want me to be honest?"

"Oh yes," she said, "be very honest." She was practically purring.

"Well, honestly, I think you two are seriously wasting time. You haven't even told me where to go yet and you already owe me twenty dollars." Then he laughed and added, "And the guy's a total asshole, but I thought that before you got in, baby. You'd be much better off with a nice guy like me." (891 words)

Exercise 7 coming atcha. Today we're going to do some character sketches. Take a few characters, we'll say three, and ask yourself the following questions about them (you can have the characters answer in first person if you like, whatever feels right to you).

Full Name:
Age:
Birthday:
Current Occupation:
Work History:
Favorite Comfort Foods:
Love Interest:
Favorite Non-Work-Related Activity:
Favorite Animal:
Personal Dwelling Space:
Random Personal Fantasy:

My results for Exercise #5:

The streets were narrower here. There was less light. The buildings overshadowed all the street life. He was starting to get used to it, but only just. he'd grown up on a farm in the country and he still missed it. Not least for the taste of fresh milk and eggs. His mother had had him collecting eggs since he was old enough to walk. It was the sort of skill that didn't give much weight in the professional or academic world, but did win charming points with certain girls. There were two kinds of girls, he had come to understand; those who wanted sleek shiny executive sugar daddies, and those who wanted to grow old in a cottage in the country. Preferably on the moors. With Heathcliff. Or Mr. Rochester. He wasn't a brooding dark rogue, but he'd learned to play up the "mystery" of simple country life over the past couple of years.

He had just about enough time to get to the library for an hour of studying before he had to get back home and meet Renee, his latest starry-eyed romantic girlfriend. He sometimes wondered what he was playing at with her. She had a dreamy vision of him as a poet who whiled away his childhood pondering the meaning of life under a weeping willow, when in fact he'd really just grown up as any normal country boy might. Running and laughing and doing chores and getting into the occasional fist fight at school. He didn't really connect to any of the girls he'd been with here. He'd thought getting away from the country would usher in a whole new era of finding kindred spirits, but in fact, it turned out that people were pretty much the same no matter where you went. They always wanted to have what they didn't. More money, a bigger house, a more fashionable boyfriend, a shinier car... Or if they had that already they wanted less money, but a closer family, a cozy little home in a quaint village, a garden with fresh vegetables, the list went on. Renee was from a well-to-do city family, so of course she wanted to live the rustic dream. He always felt like he was part of an elaborate sham when he was with her. he wondered why he bothered, and whether having a warm body in bed next to you was really worth all the fuss. It was, though. He knew it really was. He'd gone through two brief periods of single university life, and he hadn't gotten proper sleep in either of them. Plus it was nice to have someone to keep you grounded. Helped you remember to eat at a decent hour and the like. He wondered though. Wondered if this was what the rest of his life would be like. Playing a part to appease a companion who wasn't his ideal just because having someone, anyone, was better than having no one. It just didn't seem right.

He was nearing the end of his short-cut route to the library, and his mind turned to other things, planning ahead. He would look up some more blueprints of Italianate houses for his historic preservation project. The Grummel-Spark house was a good start, but he needed at least three more to compare if he was going to write a successful thesis on the structural stability of them. He'd try to find at least two tonight and maybe another couple tomorrow between eleven and twelve-thirty before he met privately with his advisor. He needed to remember to buy milk before he went home or Renee would complain in the morning. She would want some to put in her tea and her cereal. If he forgot, she'd blame it on his romantic nature, which she would claim was cute, but which wouldn't stop her from bitching. He'd rather not have to put up with any of it just now. he was getting enough for "being distant" these days. He had tried to explain that unlike her, he was in school to work, and learn, and get somewhere in life, but she didn't understand. She probably wouldn't ever understand. He wondered how much longer they'd stick together. He wondered who'd do the leaving. He wondered if she'd be cold and insensitive when the time came, or if she'd play the hysterical woman, ruined by passion. He wondered if he would remember her when he was eighty, or if he'd have forgotten her. he wondered... And then he pushed open the oak door to the library and he stopped wondering about anything except old houses.

On the way home he felt better; less distressed about his life, less fake. He thought about how it would be nice to see her again, about how he would take her in his arms and smell her expensive shampoo when he kissed her hello. He thought about what they would share for dinner and whether they'd go for a walk after or just watch some television all curled up together. He was comfortable and comforted, and he was already setting his books on the hall table before he remembered the milk. (856 words)

Exercise six. We're going to take writing prompt number 81 from CreativeWritingPrompts.com and write a dialogue-heavy scene of 500 (or more) words. And the prompt is:

Take two people who dislike each other and stick them in the backseat of a cab. What happens?

Dear Lord, exercise 5 gave me a tough time. I swear sometimes it just feels like wading through tar. But I did it. I just made myself keep going until I had overshot the target wordcount by quite a ways. I don't think it's my best writing, but at least I got something out. I can do this.

Exercise 5 is in da house, yo. We're going to take a different idea and write about an image this time. I searched high and low (and found an adorable adaptive technologist who is so getting a fan letter from me, but that's not NaNoRelated so I'm not going to go on about it here, but he's such a cute little... Awww. He even plays the French horn... the letter is totally gonna have stickers on it and stuff. Maybe I should make that a writing exercise for you, too. Write a fan letter... Wait no... Off topic. Not a real writing exercise. Ahem, yeah, anyway...) to find this picture. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write 500 words about le photo. You can describe it or write a scene based on it or do what you will, and remember no editing yourself. Just get it out. Screw quality. We're just stretching here, not performing.

Exercise #4: Contrary to popular belief...

Contrary to popular belief, there is NO such thing as a four-eared platypus. I mean honestly, people, where do you come up with these things? There are no purple hippos out there in the wilds of Africa, and there aren't such things as singing alligators. Okay, maybe these aren't popular beliefs, but whatever. For real though, nobody ever sees pink elephants and blue bunny rabbits while drunk. I mean I've certainly never met anyone who did. My sister-in-law sometimes sees little men with sacks on their backs at night (which makes her not the best person to have driving you over a mountain road on a winter evening -- what with all the swerving and screaming...), but that has no relation to whether she's been drinking or not, and it isn't even like she sees animals at all. In fact I don't know of anyone who hallucinates because of alcohol. I mean acid, sure, but booze? No, usually it's just "Ha ha, everything's funny," "boo hoo, everything's sad," or, "I'm fucking gonna kill everything! Rawr!" I prefer not be around the last type really. The others are at times annoying and at other times amusing, but not because of rabbits or pachyderms. At all. Ta. Like this one time I got really drunk with my college roommate, Jenny, and we thought it would be a good idea to throw all sorts of stuff out of the dorm window, which it turned out really wasn't such a good idea (you know pudding dries in really gross ways in the sun?), but it definitely was a reality-based idea. I mean we weren't throwing imaginary animals, you know? Okay we might have actually done a bit of that. But we knew they were imaginary. And we didn't really think we were doing it. It was more a talking about it thing. "Hey, wouldn't it be cool to throw a giraffe down there into a vat of pudding?" That's totally different. And the animals were animals that do exist in this world. I mean giraffes are real. That makes a difference, you know? Jenny might have asked if it would be cool to dye the giraffe purple, now that I think of it... But we both knew there was no giraffe. And if we'd had a real giraffe and dyed it purple, then there would be a real live purple giraffe there that we would have seen and not an imaginary, non-existent, naturally purple giraffe. I don't even know why I am bothering to argue this with you. You probably don't care. It's just that it really pisses me off when my mother or some other sap tells me I shouldn't "overdo" on the margaritas because I might end up seeing pink elephants and blue bunny rabbits. Clearly I won't. I never have before. I never will in the (time) 476 words.