The 26th of May was such a hot day with near record temperatures in the upper 90s that Nellie and Emma snuck away to dip their feet in the cool pond about a half mile from home. On the way to the pond they hurried through Farmer McMurphy's fields, and stopped to pick a few ripe, juicy strawberries to snack on.
They arrived at the pool hot and dusty and quickly threw off their shoes and plunged their feet under into the green water. Nellie kicked her feet and splashed Emma who shrieked with mixed indignation and joy. There was a rustle in the trees overhead and then a quiet hoot from an owl as he sleepily stared down at them from above. He shifted from one foot to the other and then closed his eyes, dismissing the girls below.
"Oh, I wish we had a radio," Nellie sighed. We could listen to the "Top 5 at Five" and dance. Next time we have to bring papa's portable radio."
Emma agreed that dancing in the cool pond might be fun, and then they sat in silence for a few minutes. Listening to the birds and the wind, they might have fallen asleep, but the sound of thunder roused them and they quickly put on their shoes and hurried toward the safety of home as the dark and menacing storm clouds thickened behind them.
Saturday, July 30, 2016
Friday, July 29, 2016
Finish the story to discover Marie Sue's plan and also find out if she was successful.
At the Bingo Hall, the moment Delia Bergonia jumped up out of her seat and shouted, "Postage stamp!" the three hall monitors, with Marie Sue Pestler in the lead, scurried toward her. Marie Sue desperately wanted to call out and confirm the numbers in Delia's winning shape. But, as had been the case for the last three episodes of Reality Bingo, Jessie Ellen Mortinsen beat her to it. This was the last time Marie Sue was going to let Jessie Ellen smile in front of the camera and flaunt her cleavage to the millions of addicted viewers; she had a plan. Marie Sue was 99.999% certain she knew how to get Jessie Ellen eliminated from the show.
Jessie Ellen nudged Marie Sue with her elbow, trying to get ahead of her and reach Delia first. Marie Sue was waiting for this strategy. It had worked for Jessie Ellen in the past, but Marie Sue was ready.
"Ow," Marie Sue grimaced and grabbed her side in pain. "Jessie Ellen! You hit me!"
Jessie Ellen barely paused and looked back, "I did not, Marie Sue! Bless your heart, but you are making that up."
Marie Sue clutched her side harder and flinched. She stopped walking toward Delia. She bit the inside of her lip and thought hard about the saddest time in her life when her sweet baby kitty, Bernie, had been hit by a car in front of her house. Her eyes welled up and tears streamed down her face. She had loved that little fluffball!
The director nudged the cameraman, who swung the camera away from Jessie Ellen to zoom in on Marie Sue as she shook with silent sobs.
Marie Sue's friend, Bobby Jo, who had been playing Bingo nearby, jumped up and hurried to Marie Sue.
"Oh, honey," Bobby Jo said. "What's happened to you?"
Marie Sue's lips quivered as she spoke,"Jessie Ellen hit me, trying to get to Delia first. She got me right in the kidneys with her elbow." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cameraman zoom in on her face.
Bobby Jo was incensed. She motioned to the director and indignantly explained the situation, "Is this what Reality Bingo is all about? Encouraging rude behavior in your monitors? Is this the Jerry Springer Show?"
Several of the Bingo players, especially Marie Sue's friends, booed.
Marie Sue desperately tried not to smile. It was all going so well and according to plan. Jessie Ellen was going to get thrown off the show for poor sportsmanship, and Marie Sue was going to get her moment to shine in front of the camera! This was going to be her big break!
The director shrugged to Bobby Jo, "Drama sells. Keep crying, baby, and you might actually see some air time on the show."
He walked away with the cameraman leaving Marie Sue crying real tears on Bobby Jo's shoulder, not crocodile ones.
Jessie Ellen nudged Marie Sue with her elbow, trying to get ahead of her and reach Delia first. Marie Sue was waiting for this strategy. It had worked for Jessie Ellen in the past, but Marie Sue was ready.
"Ow," Marie Sue grimaced and grabbed her side in pain. "Jessie Ellen! You hit me!"
Jessie Ellen barely paused and looked back, "I did not, Marie Sue! Bless your heart, but you are making that up."
Marie Sue clutched her side harder and flinched. She stopped walking toward Delia. She bit the inside of her lip and thought hard about the saddest time in her life when her sweet baby kitty, Bernie, had been hit by a car in front of her house. Her eyes welled up and tears streamed down her face. She had loved that little fluffball!
The director nudged the cameraman, who swung the camera away from Jessie Ellen to zoom in on Marie Sue as she shook with silent sobs.
Marie Sue's friend, Bobby Jo, who had been playing Bingo nearby, jumped up and hurried to Marie Sue.
"Oh, honey," Bobby Jo said. "What's happened to you?"
Marie Sue's lips quivered as she spoke,"Jessie Ellen hit me, trying to get to Delia first. She got me right in the kidneys with her elbow." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cameraman zoom in on her face.
Bobby Jo was incensed. She motioned to the director and indignantly explained the situation, "Is this what Reality Bingo is all about? Encouraging rude behavior in your monitors? Is this the Jerry Springer Show?"
Several of the Bingo players, especially Marie Sue's friends, booed.
Marie Sue desperately tried not to smile. It was all going so well and according to plan. Jessie Ellen was going to get thrown off the show for poor sportsmanship, and Marie Sue was going to get her moment to shine in front of the camera! This was going to be her big break!
The director shrugged to Bobby Jo, "Drama sells. Keep crying, baby, and you might actually see some air time on the show."
He walked away with the cameraman leaving Marie Sue crying real tears on Bobby Jo's shoulder, not crocodile ones.
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Write about fried chicken. Set a timer for 6 minutes and then stop writing when it goes off.
3:18 PM
Fried chicken tastes so sweet
So much better than chicken feet
The crispy, crunchy coating
Reminds me of going boating
Picnic baskets and salty air
Eat a leg at the county fair
Eleven herbs and spices
Is the envy of all the mices
My grammar may fault and stammer
But fried chicken is full of glamour
Eaten at the poshest table
Even in a barn yard stable
Greasy, juices run down my chin
As I take a big bite in
Who wouldn't want to eat it?
No other food can beat it.
Cold or hot, it doesn't matter
Yes, it might make you a bit fatter
But it
3:24 PM
Fried chicken tastes so sweet
So much better than chicken feet
The crispy, crunchy coating
Reminds me of going boating
Picnic baskets and salty air
Eat a leg at the county fair
Eleven herbs and spices
Is the envy of all the mices
My grammar may fault and stammer
But fried chicken is full of glamour
Eaten at the poshest table
Even in a barn yard stable
Greasy, juices run down my chin
As I take a big bite in
Who wouldn't want to eat it?
No other food can beat it.
Cold or hot, it doesn't matter
Yes, it might make you a bit fatter
But it
3:24 PM
Start with the word "dizzy" and write whatever words or phrases come to you. Continue this stream of consciousness until you fill a whole page.
Dizzy, merry-go-round, flying horses, Oak Bluffs, Martha's Vineyard, vacation, lagoon pond, finding shells on the beach, Latin names, skipping rocks, watching Elvis movies in black and white on the front porch, Gidget, Beach Blanket Bingo, cool breezes, safety and adventure, inlet, fog, row boat
Delaney, Malcolm, "bed beard", funny lizard, cellphones, sitting next to me, reading over my shoulder, giggles, Salmonella Sisters
Dizzy, spinning, lost, confusion, falling in love, hope, vacation, away from home, adventure, joy, stress, blue jays calling, Penny stretching on the floor, rolling back and forth on her back, gurgling and purring, playing with her mouse
"Better than it's been in years", "Whatcha want Candy?" "What do you want eat, buddy? I could you cut up an apple." "Sweet Baby, Benson."
Having a Pepsi, want one too?
Eleven o'clock, the morning is almost finished, what do I have to do today? Laundry, go to the bank. pack, water the plants, organize the kids; but they aren't really kids any more, twenty-two, fifteen, almost grown up, time flies and I'm almost fifty
How much longer on this stream of consciousness? Didn't think this would be very hard, but it's weird, wanting to writing in sentences, with correct grammar, hard to ignore capitalization and punctuation rules, too many commas
This seems like enough. Right? It's time to stop.
Delaney, Malcolm, "bed beard", funny lizard, cellphones, sitting next to me, reading over my shoulder, giggles, Salmonella Sisters
Starting again:
Dizzy, spinning, lost, confusion, falling in love, hope, vacation, away from home, adventure, joy, stress, blue jays calling, Penny stretching on the floor, rolling back and forth on her back, gurgling and purring, playing with her mouse
"Better than it's been in years", "Whatcha want Candy?" "What do you want eat, buddy? I could you cut up an apple." "Sweet Baby, Benson."
Having a Pepsi, want one too?
Eleven o'clock, the morning is almost finished, what do I have to do today? Laundry, go to the bank. pack, water the plants, organize the kids; but they aren't really kids any more, twenty-two, fifteen, almost grown up, time flies and I'm almost fifty
How much longer on this stream of consciousness? Didn't think this would be very hard, but it's weird, wanting to writing in sentences, with correct grammar, hard to ignore capitalization and punctuation rules, too many commas
This seems like enough. Right? It's time to stop.
Monday, July 25, 2016
Write a cyberpunk, near future story narrated by a half human, half computer who is still in school. His lessons at the moment are focused on when and how to choose emotion over logic.
"No, no, no, Jared 7763! Let go of the logical choice and let your emotions take over. Look at this cute puppy. Don't you want to take him home with you? He could be your best friend," my teacher coaxed me to hold the squirming bundle close to the electric circuitry board in my chest.
It's important to know that I am a cyborg. I have the body of a teen-aged human male and the brain, eyes, and heart of a computer. I am in the last month of school before I can begin my job serving and protecting the public. If someone had asked me last month, I would have said it finishing school would have been simple, but that was before they gave me emotions.
Logic is simple, clean, and free from distractions while emotions are utterly complicated, ever changing, and occasionally debilitating. My teacher keeps pushing, trying to bring my emotions to the surface while I continue to try to suppress them.
Looking down at the brown and white spotted mini-mongrel, I repeated to myself that this feeling of warmth running through me was illogical. More than likely this canine creature was about bite me.
The creature in question lifted it's head and looked soulfully through his brown eyes into my cold, glassy eyes and urinated all over my chest.
I placed the dog on the floor as sparks flew and the smell of my overheating motherboard filled the air as the dog barked madly at me.
"Oh, dear," my teacher said rather insincerely. "How is that making you feel Jared 7763?"
"I need to temporarily shut down my processors and analyze my systems for damage," these were the obvious steps to preventing a massive system shutdown. I began doing a self check of my systems while I removed my shirt and began to rinse it in one of the sinks along the wall of the classroom. The dog followed me, nipping at my shoelaces.
"True, that, definitely should be done, but how does it make you feel? What are you emotions telling you? Are you angry, frustrated, embarrassed?" She tilted her head to one side, smiling at me, hoping for a breakthrough I guess.
Calmly and evenly I said, "You know, I think I am feeling a bit of irritation toward this situation, but mostly I feel that the logical step is to clean up and find a new shirt."
She sighed, "Well, I guess that is some progress. You may head home now, Jared 7763."
I put on my damp shirt and turned toward the door, when she stopped me, "Don't forget to take the dog with you. He is your homework for tonight. Take care of him and give him a name."
I'm not sure what happened. One minute I had all my emotions tucked neatly away and the next they were making me lash out.
"You've got to be kidding me!" I shouted and my eyes literally turned red as my weapon system responded to my heated emotion. I closed my eyes and reached for control and pushed my emotions back into the slot reserved in my hard drive for them. Couldn't she see that emotions made me dangerous and weak?
Apparently not...
"Great job! Explore these emotions and others throughout the evening and report back tomorrow. Don't forget to name him. It's very important," she handed me a red dog leash and she slipped out of the door.
I pointed my laser weapon at the dog and booted it up, but I knew that was not what she meant by exploring my emotions, so I powered down and clipped the leash to the canine's collar and left the school building.
The puppy followed obediently through the building, stopping occasionally to smell a computer console or other item When he started to lift his leg, I quickly pulled its leash to prevent the urination from happening again until we got outside.
Once outside, after he had done his duty, we traveled south toward my dwelling.
"Oh, what an adorable puppy!" A young woman coming towards me exclaimed as she knelt down letting the dog lick her hands and face. "What's his name?"
"He doesn't have one," I replied.
She frowned at me, "Well, he needs a name. How will you train him or call him if he doesn't have a name?"
"If it would please you, you can name him," I said.
"Oh, I couldn't do that. He's your dog, so you need to name him. Just observe him and name him something that suits his personality. Good luck," she gave the dog one more pat and suddenly I realized she was wishing the dog luck, not me.
We arrived at my loft, really just two rooms a small kitchen/living area and bedroom. The dog followed me around the rooms, its brown eyes watching, hoping for a pat or a treat. I observed him as he sniffed everything, sat on the furniture, and ate half of my beef chips for dinner, but no name came to me.
I began to feel twitchy, and I realized I was annoyed that I would not be able to complete my homework. Perhaps they would fail me for this, and I would be decommissioned before I even had the chance to serve the public. The twitchiness grew, and I realized I was angry. I began to pace the room, and my hands curled into fists. I threw myself down on the bed and pounded the mattress in rage. I wanted to destroy something. This is why emotions were bad; they were uncontrollable and devastating. I closed my eyes and reached back, making a fist to pound through the wall when something wet touched my hand.
Startled, I opened my eyes, and there was the dog licking my hand and practically smiling at me with his tongue hanging out. He nudged my hand, and he jumped up next to me on the bed. Turning in a full circle, he lay down next to me, so he could look at my face and lick my arm at the same time. Suddenly I could feel my anger drain away. I awkwardly patted the dog on the head.
This engaged another part of his body as his tail began to wag and thump on the bed. He quivered with joy as I patted him again on the head. I ran a search of my database running through and discarding thousands of possible names in a millisecond.
"Beattie," I said, and the dog yipped. Wagging furiously and smiling. "Beattie comes from the Latin language and meaning bringer of joy." I leaned back, closed my eyes, all the while petting my dog...and smiling.
It's important to know that I am a cyborg. I have the body of a teen-aged human male and the brain, eyes, and heart of a computer. I am in the last month of school before I can begin my job serving and protecting the public. If someone had asked me last month, I would have said it finishing school would have been simple, but that was before they gave me emotions.
Logic is simple, clean, and free from distractions while emotions are utterly complicated, ever changing, and occasionally debilitating. My teacher keeps pushing, trying to bring my emotions to the surface while I continue to try to suppress them.
Looking down at the brown and white spotted mini-mongrel, I repeated to myself that this feeling of warmth running through me was illogical. More than likely this canine creature was about bite me.
The creature in question lifted it's head and looked soulfully through his brown eyes into my cold, glassy eyes and urinated all over my chest.
I placed the dog on the floor as sparks flew and the smell of my overheating motherboard filled the air as the dog barked madly at me.
"Oh, dear," my teacher said rather insincerely. "How is that making you feel Jared 7763?"
"I need to temporarily shut down my processors and analyze my systems for damage," these were the obvious steps to preventing a massive system shutdown. I began doing a self check of my systems while I removed my shirt and began to rinse it in one of the sinks along the wall of the classroom. The dog followed me, nipping at my shoelaces.
"True, that, definitely should be done, but how does it make you feel? What are you emotions telling you? Are you angry, frustrated, embarrassed?" She tilted her head to one side, smiling at me, hoping for a breakthrough I guess.
Calmly and evenly I said, "You know, I think I am feeling a bit of irritation toward this situation, but mostly I feel that the logical step is to clean up and find a new shirt."
She sighed, "Well, I guess that is some progress. You may head home now, Jared 7763."
I put on my damp shirt and turned toward the door, when she stopped me, "Don't forget to take the dog with you. He is your homework for tonight. Take care of him and give him a name."
I'm not sure what happened. One minute I had all my emotions tucked neatly away and the next they were making me lash out.
"You've got to be kidding me!" I shouted and my eyes literally turned red as my weapon system responded to my heated emotion. I closed my eyes and reached for control and pushed my emotions back into the slot reserved in my hard drive for them. Couldn't she see that emotions made me dangerous and weak?
Apparently not...
"Great job! Explore these emotions and others throughout the evening and report back tomorrow. Don't forget to name him. It's very important," she handed me a red dog leash and she slipped out of the door.
I pointed my laser weapon at the dog and booted it up, but I knew that was not what she meant by exploring my emotions, so I powered down and clipped the leash to the canine's collar and left the school building.
The puppy followed obediently through the building, stopping occasionally to smell a computer console or other item When he started to lift his leg, I quickly pulled its leash to prevent the urination from happening again until we got outside.
Once outside, after he had done his duty, we traveled south toward my dwelling.
"Oh, what an adorable puppy!" A young woman coming towards me exclaimed as she knelt down letting the dog lick her hands and face. "What's his name?"
"He doesn't have one," I replied.
She frowned at me, "Well, he needs a name. How will you train him or call him if he doesn't have a name?"
"If it would please you, you can name him," I said.
"Oh, I couldn't do that. He's your dog, so you need to name him. Just observe him and name him something that suits his personality. Good luck," she gave the dog one more pat and suddenly I realized she was wishing the dog luck, not me.
We arrived at my loft, really just two rooms a small kitchen/living area and bedroom. The dog followed me around the rooms, its brown eyes watching, hoping for a pat or a treat. I observed him as he sniffed everything, sat on the furniture, and ate half of my beef chips for dinner, but no name came to me.
I began to feel twitchy, and I realized I was annoyed that I would not be able to complete my homework. Perhaps they would fail me for this, and I would be decommissioned before I even had the chance to serve the public. The twitchiness grew, and I realized I was angry. I began to pace the room, and my hands curled into fists. I threw myself down on the bed and pounded the mattress in rage. I wanted to destroy something. This is why emotions were bad; they were uncontrollable and devastating. I closed my eyes and reached back, making a fist to pound through the wall when something wet touched my hand.
Startled, I opened my eyes, and there was the dog licking my hand and practically smiling at me with his tongue hanging out. He nudged my hand, and he jumped up next to me on the bed. Turning in a full circle, he lay down next to me, so he could look at my face and lick my arm at the same time. Suddenly I could feel my anger drain away. I awkwardly patted the dog on the head.
This engaged another part of his body as his tail began to wag and thump on the bed. He quivered with joy as I patted him again on the head. I ran a search of my database running through and discarding thousands of possible names in a millisecond.
"Beattie," I said, and the dog yipped. Wagging furiously and smiling. "Beattie comes from the Latin language and meaning bringer of joy." I leaned back, closed my eyes, all the while petting my dog...and smiling.
Sunday, July 24, 2016
Write a story with a trap door that is not a mystery or suspense story. Instead, make a sweet, old fashioned love story.
How dd I get into this? I wondered as I sat in a cold, pitch dark, cramped, box of a room. This isn't how I saw my evening going.
Earlier I had been so excited about my evening's plans. My friends Josie, Kelly and I were going out on the town. Our plans were to head out to the casino in nearby Dover, Delaware, have some dinner, play the slots, and see a show. I'd been hoping for the Chippendale Dancers, but the only show that night was the Amazing Oscar.
As the lights went down and the driving beat of the music began to thrum through the theater, Oscar made his entrance, and all I could think was WOW! He was tall, at least feet, with dark hair, and the prerequisite hipster beard and mustache. He was rocking his tuxedo and obviously worked out because his muscles rippled beneath his clothes. He had a big smile and an easy laugh as he launched into his first card trick, working the crowd and asking for volunteers.
I began daydreaming about the kids Oscar and I could have together. They were tiny perfect children who looked just like Oscar. I was smiling to myself, completely oblivious to what was going on on stage when Josie gasped.
"He's coming this way!"
Tearing myself out from my daydream, I looked up and there was Oscar, standing in the aisle next to our seats and holding out his hand.
"Hi! I need some assistance on the stage. What's your name?" His blue eyes twinkled knowingly at me as if he knew what I had been dreaming about.
"Naomi," I whispered, putting my hand in his large, warm palm.
"Naomi," he said as he led me up the stairs to the stage, "Thanks for helping me out with my next trick. Welcome Naomi to the stage everyone."
I heard applause, but it sounded way off in the distance over the pounding of my heartbeat.. I could faintly hear Josie and Kelly hooting and calling their encouragement to me.
"I'm going to make Naomi disappear, ladies and gentlemen, but don't worry, I'll bring her back...eventually," Oscar laughed. "Naomi. please step into this wardrobe which my assistants have brought onto the stage."
The wardrobe was red and black, rolled on wheels, and had two doors which Oscar opened. He spun the wardrobe around several times, knocking on the thin wooden walls and the top and bottom. When he stopped spinning the wardrobe, he helped me step in and then closed the doors.
He spun me around, and I could hear Oscar talking, spinning his magic tales across the audience in his deep voice. He opened one door, and I waved cheekily to the audience. Then Oscar closed the door and the wardrobe stopped moving. He tapped the box once and a trapdoor opened in the bottom of the wardrobe. He tapped the box again and another trapdoor opened in the stage floor.
Knowing what I had to do, I shimmed through the openings and into the cold, dark room under the stage. The trapdoors slid shut.
I could hear Oscar talking, but his voice was muffled through the floor of the stage. I heard the gasp of the crowd when he opened the wardrobe and I wasn't there. I could hear the wheels of the wardrobe rolling. He must have opened the wardrobe again because Oscar made a joke about losing me that I couldn't really hear, but the laughter from the audience was loud..
The wheels were rolling again and then they stopped over my head. Both trapdoors popped open, and I climbed up into the wardrobe. Minutes later the stage lights were blinding me as Oscar opened the doors and offered me his hand, helping me out of the wardrobe as the audience applauded.
I gave a little bow and started to pull away from Oscar to retreat from the stage, but his hand held mine tightly.
"Let's try one more magic trick, shall we? I'm going to ask Naomi out on a date after the show tonight. If there is any real magic in the theater tonight, she'll say yes," Oscar grinned at me.
"Do you ask all your volunteers out on dates after the show?" I asked while trying not to scream yes, yes, yes.
Oscar grinned even bigger, "I must call fifteen people per show up onto the stage, and you are the very first one I have asked on a date. Come on audience, help me out. If you think Naomi should go on a date with me, let me hear it."
The audience cheered and applauded, and I could hear Kelly and Josie yelling the loudest.
"I think the audience has spoken. Naomi?"
"Sure, Oscar. I mean you brought me back after making me disappear, so I guess I owe you anyway." I tried to sound sassy, and I smiled right into his eyes even though my heart was pounding and my palms were clammy..
"You heard it ladies and gentlemen! She said yes! Let's get this show going, so I can take Naomi out," he twirled me around once and then let me go near the stairs leading back into the audience.
I floated back to my seat to watch the rest of the show and daydream about Amazing Oscar.
Earlier I had been so excited about my evening's plans. My friends Josie, Kelly and I were going out on the town. Our plans were to head out to the casino in nearby Dover, Delaware, have some dinner, play the slots, and see a show. I'd been hoping for the Chippendale Dancers, but the only show that night was the Amazing Oscar.
As the lights went down and the driving beat of the music began to thrum through the theater, Oscar made his entrance, and all I could think was WOW! He was tall, at least feet, with dark hair, and the prerequisite hipster beard and mustache. He was rocking his tuxedo and obviously worked out because his muscles rippled beneath his clothes. He had a big smile and an easy laugh as he launched into his first card trick, working the crowd and asking for volunteers.
I began daydreaming about the kids Oscar and I could have together. They were tiny perfect children who looked just like Oscar. I was smiling to myself, completely oblivious to what was going on on stage when Josie gasped.
"He's coming this way!"
Tearing myself out from my daydream, I looked up and there was Oscar, standing in the aisle next to our seats and holding out his hand.
"Hi! I need some assistance on the stage. What's your name?" His blue eyes twinkled knowingly at me as if he knew what I had been dreaming about.
"Naomi," I whispered, putting my hand in his large, warm palm.
"Naomi," he said as he led me up the stairs to the stage, "Thanks for helping me out with my next trick. Welcome Naomi to the stage everyone."
I heard applause, but it sounded way off in the distance over the pounding of my heartbeat.. I could faintly hear Josie and Kelly hooting and calling their encouragement to me.
"I'm going to make Naomi disappear, ladies and gentlemen, but don't worry, I'll bring her back...eventually," Oscar laughed. "Naomi. please step into this wardrobe which my assistants have brought onto the stage."
The wardrobe was red and black, rolled on wheels, and had two doors which Oscar opened. He spun the wardrobe around several times, knocking on the thin wooden walls and the top and bottom. When he stopped spinning the wardrobe, he helped me step in and then closed the doors.
He spun me around, and I could hear Oscar talking, spinning his magic tales across the audience in his deep voice. He opened one door, and I waved cheekily to the audience. Then Oscar closed the door and the wardrobe stopped moving. He tapped the box once and a trapdoor opened in the bottom of the wardrobe. He tapped the box again and another trapdoor opened in the stage floor.
Knowing what I had to do, I shimmed through the openings and into the cold, dark room under the stage. The trapdoors slid shut.
I could hear Oscar talking, but his voice was muffled through the floor of the stage. I heard the gasp of the crowd when he opened the wardrobe and I wasn't there. I could hear the wheels of the wardrobe rolling. He must have opened the wardrobe again because Oscar made a joke about losing me that I couldn't really hear, but the laughter from the audience was loud..
The wheels were rolling again and then they stopped over my head. Both trapdoors popped open, and I climbed up into the wardrobe. Minutes later the stage lights were blinding me as Oscar opened the doors and offered me his hand, helping me out of the wardrobe as the audience applauded.
I gave a little bow and started to pull away from Oscar to retreat from the stage, but his hand held mine tightly.
"Let's try one more magic trick, shall we? I'm going to ask Naomi out on a date after the show tonight. If there is any real magic in the theater tonight, she'll say yes," Oscar grinned at me.
"Do you ask all your volunteers out on dates after the show?" I asked while trying not to scream yes, yes, yes.
Oscar grinned even bigger, "I must call fifteen people per show up onto the stage, and you are the very first one I have asked on a date. Come on audience, help me out. If you think Naomi should go on a date with me, let me hear it."
The audience cheered and applauded, and I could hear Kelly and Josie yelling the loudest.
"I think the audience has spoken. Naomi?"
"Sure, Oscar. I mean you brought me back after making me disappear, so I guess I owe you anyway." I tried to sound sassy, and I smiled right into his eyes even though my heart was pounding and my palms were clammy..
"You heard it ladies and gentlemen! She said yes! Let's get this show going, so I can take Naomi out," he twirled me around once and then let me go near the stairs leading back into the audience.
I floated back to my seat to watch the rest of the show and daydream about Amazing Oscar.
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Your story opens with two people standing on an oriental carpet.
"I can't believe he did it again! I have reached my limit," Donna's voice rose to a high pitched screech as she pointed down with exasperation to the oriental carpet under our feet.
"I'm certain I have no idea what you are talking about, dear," I said as I settled into my favorite chair near the fireplace. I had been nursing a cold and a stuffy head all day, and I really did not feel like playing twenty questions with Donna. The bookshelves rose up from floor to ceiling behind me, tempting me to reach out an dive into one of the well worn travel books or novels to escape.
"Don't you dare!" Donna was now pointing directly at me knowingly.
"What would you like for me to do?" I blew my nose and waited patiently. Maybe if she gave me honey-do list, she would leave me to do it--or not--in peace.
"I want you to do something about this!" She pointed again to the carpeting which looked fine to me. I got up and walked toward where she was pointing and squinted down through my thick bifocal lenses at the rose and brown floral pattern.
"Would you like me to buy you a new rug, dear? I thought this one went well with the wallpaper and furniture, but if you would like different one, we can go out tomorrow when I am well and--"
"No, no, no!" Donna screeched louder than before. "I love this carpet. It's him! He did it again, and it needs to stop!"
Biting back the first thing that popped into my head which didn't seem very flattering and had something to do with her being totally daft, I paused, and once again looked down at the carpet. Random thoughts flew through my head -- Did carpet's have gender? Was this carpet a "he"? How did "he" ever find a "she" to make baby carpets? Were baby carpets welcome mats until they grew up to be big, floor sized carpets?
I chuckled.
This was the wrong response because Donna screamed again. She threw up her hands and yelled, "This is your problem! He's your responsibility, not mine. Fix this because if this," she points emphatically, "happens again, you will have to choose between me or him!"
Donna, always one to make a dramatic exit whenever possible, stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
I stood there for a few seconds, staring at the carpet, wondering, pondering. Finally, I gave up, shrugged, and went back to my chair. Reaching out for the book closest to my left hand. I stroked the spine of the Fodor's Guide to China and pulled it free of the shelf and settled in to read.
Just then Charlemagne, the big, grey tom cat who I had owned for more years than I had been married to Donna, hefted his girth into my lap. He kneaded and circled, purring and rubbing his head on my book and then my chin. I petted him absently as I flipped through the pages past China's Zhangye's beautiful Rainbow Mountains. I rubbed his head and thought about the rocky pillars in Zhangjiajie. I stroked his back as I looked at pictures of Anhui's Yellow Mountains.
"Hmm," I thought, "yellow..."
"What did you do to the carpet, Charlie?" I sighed rhetorically, as I left my daydreams behind and went to get the carpet cleaner.
"I'm certain I have no idea what you are talking about, dear," I said as I settled into my favorite chair near the fireplace. I had been nursing a cold and a stuffy head all day, and I really did not feel like playing twenty questions with Donna. The bookshelves rose up from floor to ceiling behind me, tempting me to reach out an dive into one of the well worn travel books or novels to escape.
"Don't you dare!" Donna was now pointing directly at me knowingly.
"What would you like for me to do?" I blew my nose and waited patiently. Maybe if she gave me honey-do list, she would leave me to do it--or not--in peace.
"I want you to do something about this!" She pointed again to the carpeting which looked fine to me. I got up and walked toward where she was pointing and squinted down through my thick bifocal lenses at the rose and brown floral pattern.
"Would you like me to buy you a new rug, dear? I thought this one went well with the wallpaper and furniture, but if you would like different one, we can go out tomorrow when I am well and--"
"No, no, no!" Donna screeched louder than before. "I love this carpet. It's him! He did it again, and it needs to stop!"
Biting back the first thing that popped into my head which didn't seem very flattering and had something to do with her being totally daft, I paused, and once again looked down at the carpet. Random thoughts flew through my head -- Did carpet's have gender? Was this carpet a "he"? How did "he" ever find a "she" to make baby carpets? Were baby carpets welcome mats until they grew up to be big, floor sized carpets?
I chuckled.
This was the wrong response because Donna screamed again. She threw up her hands and yelled, "This is your problem! He's your responsibility, not mine. Fix this because if this," she points emphatically, "happens again, you will have to choose between me or him!"
Donna, always one to make a dramatic exit whenever possible, stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
I stood there for a few seconds, staring at the carpet, wondering, pondering. Finally, I gave up, shrugged, and went back to my chair. Reaching out for the book closest to my left hand. I stroked the spine of the Fodor's Guide to China and pulled it free of the shelf and settled in to read.
Just then Charlemagne, the big, grey tom cat who I had owned for more years than I had been married to Donna, hefted his girth into my lap. He kneaded and circled, purring and rubbing his head on my book and then my chin. I petted him absently as I flipped through the pages past China's Zhangye's beautiful Rainbow Mountains. I rubbed his head and thought about the rocky pillars in Zhangjiajie. I stroked his back as I looked at pictures of Anhui's Yellow Mountains.
"Hmm," I thought, "yellow..."
"What did you do to the carpet, Charlie?" I sighed rhetorically, as I left my daydreams behind and went to get the carpet cleaner.
An Explanation
Last Christmas, my mother-in-law, Mary Lou, gave me Bonnie Neubauer's book 303 Writing Prompts: Ideas to Get You Started. She probably gave it to me to use with my students at Virginia Beach Middle School where I have been teaching English to 12 - 14 year old children for 27 years. At the time, I glanced through it, dogeared some pages and left it on the bottom shelf of my bedside table.
It was still there, and very dusty, when this morning, I was cleaning the house and found it. I looked at it and inspiration struck.
You see, I've always wanted to blog. Earlier this summer, I extolled my desire to blog about something to my husband, Jim, and my two daughters, Megan and Delaney, in the car one day. They all chuckled in that knowing way which says, "sure you do," a little sarcastically.
"But what would you blog about?" one of my daughters said, and my answer was basically that I had no idea.
We bantered ideas around -- What I made for dinner each night? Boring.
Ideas for teaching English to students who don't want to be there? Belck! Gardening tips? Ha, ha! This last one was a joke, since I don't really garden. (Mostly I plant, and the squirrels eat everything.) After about 5 more minutes of increasingly ridiculous idea generation for my blog, the topic was dropped. No ideas -- no blog.
But when I saw the book, I thought, this is it. This is my blog. I will write all 303 writing prompts over the course of the year. As Bonnie Neubaurer says, " Some trials will be more successful than others, but it is only through doing them that you will improve and learn about your own unique writing style, and voice."
I'm ready to improve and learn, Bonnie. Let's do this!
It was still there, and very dusty, when this morning, I was cleaning the house and found it. I looked at it and inspiration struck.
You see, I've always wanted to blog. Earlier this summer, I extolled my desire to blog about something to my husband, Jim, and my two daughters, Megan and Delaney, in the car one day. They all chuckled in that knowing way which says, "sure you do," a little sarcastically.
"But what would you blog about?" one of my daughters said, and my answer was basically that I had no idea.
We bantered ideas around -- What I made for dinner each night? Boring.
Ideas for teaching English to students who don't want to be there? Belck! Gardening tips? Ha, ha! This last one was a joke, since I don't really garden. (Mostly I plant, and the squirrels eat everything.) After about 5 more minutes of increasingly ridiculous idea generation for my blog, the topic was dropped. No ideas -- no blog.
But when I saw the book, I thought, this is it. This is my blog. I will write all 303 writing prompts over the course of the year. As Bonnie Neubaurer says, " Some trials will be more successful than others, but it is only through doing them that you will improve and learn about your own unique writing style, and voice."
I'm ready to improve and learn, Bonnie. Let's do this!
An Explanation
Last Christmas, my mother-in-law, Mary Lou, gave me Bonnie Neubauer's book 303 Writing Prompts: Ideas to Get You Started. She probably gave it to me to use with my students at Virginia Beach Middle School where I have been teaching English to 12 - 14 year old children for 27 years. At the time, I glanced through it, dogeared some pages and left it on the bottom shelf of my bedside table.
It was still there, and very dusty, when this morning, I was cleaning the house and found it. I looked at it and inspiration struck.
You see, I've always wanted to blog. Earlier this summer, I extolled my desire to blog about something to my husband, Jim, and my two daughters, Megan and Delaney, in the car one day. They all chuckled in that knowing way which says, "sure you do," a little sarcastically.
"But what would you blog about?" one of my daughters said, and my answer was basically that I had no idea.
We bantered ideas around -- What I made for dinner each night? Boring.
Ideas for teaching English to students who don't want to be there? Belck! Gardening tips? Ha, ha! This last one was a joke, since I don't really garden. (Mostly I plant, and the squirrels eat everything.) After about 5 more minutes of increasingly ridiculous idea generation for my blog, the topic was dropped. No ideas -- no blog.
But when I saw the book, I thought, this is it. This is my blog. I will write all 303 writing prompts over the course of the year. As Bonnie Neubaurer says, " Some trials will be more successful than others, but it is only through doing them that you will improve and learn about your own unique writing style, and voice."
I'm ready to improve and learn, Bonnie. Let's do this!
It was still there, and very dusty, when this morning, I was cleaning the house and found it. I looked at it and inspiration struck.
You see, I've always wanted to blog. Earlier this summer, I extolled my desire to blog about something to my husband, Jim, and my two daughters, Megan and Delaney, in the car one day. They all chuckled in that knowing way which says, "sure you do," a little sarcastically.
"But what would you blog about?" one of my daughters said, and my answer was basically that I had no idea.
We bantered ideas around -- What I made for dinner each night? Boring.
Ideas for teaching English to students who don't want to be there? Belck! Gardening tips? Ha, ha! This last one was a joke, since I don't really garden. (Mostly I plant, and the squirrels eat everything.) After about 5 more minutes of increasingly ridiculous idea generation for my blog, the topic was dropped. No ideas -- no blog.
But when I saw the book, I thought, this is it. This is my blog. I will write all 303 writing prompts over the course of the year. As Bonnie Neubaurer says, " Some trials will be more successful than others, but it is only through doing them that you will improve and learn about your own unique writing style, and voice."
I'm ready to improve and learn, Bonnie. Let's do this!
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