Saturday, July 23, 2011

Updates and Info from the long lost Fishbowl blog!

It is July. The end of July, even. So I shouldn't be telling you just now that the theme for July was Memento Mori, should I? I should have posted info from the last two meetings already. I should have posted writing prompts and assignments for July.

Sorry, friends. I turn into a pumpkin in the summer time.

Instead I will post writing prompts from the July 20th meeting, give you the theme for August, and (hopefully) get those creative juices flowing with an assignment.

David was in charge of the writing prompt on Wednesday, and here's what he brought us: "The bright Light, the tunnel, the floating up and seeing one's own body...ya da ya da ya da....How could we have been so wrong? about all of it. Would it have mattered? If I had only known....."

Red Scare
by David
...that the world is really ruled by the lady bugs. Crimson armored terrors enslaving all lower life forms. The second circle insects obey without question, carrying out their orders with brutal efficiency. Silent. Secret. Deadly work. The people lived in the light for so long and then the darkness.
The red darkness that blotted out the sun. The swarming pestilence that devoured the food, They had even converted all their mighty machines to run off fuel from crops. Easy targets. Naive prey. It took a mere decade. Total annihilation. The age of information and technology set as the red sun rose in the morning.

by Jack
 I'm drawing a complete blank. And perhaps that's it. A complete blank. At the end of it all. It's what you see just outside your field of view. Nothing. Even if there is a hereafter of some sort, why would I understand it any better than I do the here and now. I see an afterlife of angsty, confounded angels and spirits, no more content, no more blessed or damned than they were in the world they left. Do angels have therapists? Wellbutrin? Do they sleep well or do they lay awake, get up from their clouds to go lay on the sofa in their celestial living rooms until daybreak?

 by Angela
"Dude!" The hand on my shoulder, my foot slipping on the curb. "It's your turn now!"
 "My turn?"
 " 's over. No need to cross now."
 Oddly, the morning fog seemed to obscure the street I needed to cross.
 "Dude!" the stranger repeated. "Go back, not ahead. There's nothing there for you now," he indicated with his head.
 "I've got to get to the bank..." I began.
 "No you don't. Not anymore."
 "What? There's been a financial disaster?" I joked -- ok, half-joked.
 "No need for money here."
 "I wish!"
 "Dude. That part is over. This is the next part."
 Despite the fog, light began to dawn. "What, I'm dead then?"
"Dude, what is death?"
 I chuckled. "You forgot your own line," I quipped. "It's 'What is truth?'"
 "Right. anyway, there's no street here, dud, no light, and no need to cross anything."
 "So what do I do?"
 "Go back," he said.
 "Wait... don't I get to go toward the light?? Did I screw up that bad?"
 He grinned and now I saw the glint of a gold tooth and the shake of his dreadlocks. "You're one of us now. The darkness and the light are both alike."

 by Me
 If I had only known it wasn't about the CGI effects, the floating Peter Pan  moment. They were there to be sure. The most important thing -- the sound.
 I could hear my mother's voice. She was crying and singing at the same time. I felt I had abandoned her. Betrayed her. I could hear the words of the song "You are my Sunshine." Was it memory? Was it now? I could hear the sound of cars rushing past, but it wasn't cars after a moment. The sound resolved itself into the sound of flights of wings. Thousands rushing in my ears, but her voice underneath it all pulled on me, pulled me down. Carried me away. And the betrayal vibrated down my fingers into my eyes and throat. As they vibrated there, they burned away, and my greatest failing burned away also. The wings rushed through me and I was good.

Good job, everybody. Gold stars for everyone!
For the month of August, we have a CINQUENTA CHALLENGE (imagine awesome reverb here)! Here's the idea: Write a cinquenta (50 word short story) using at least 17 of these 39 words. Why 17, you ask? Because Angela said so. Why are there 39 words to choose from? Because each of the attendees at the last meeting gave a list of 10 words, but David and I both had the same word on our lists.

Any form of these words is acceptable: lunar, spin, hostile, irrefutable, point, mix, backhoe, torque, potent, transmission, candy, banish, paintbrush, greyhound, goofball, snowflake, grunge, inflammable, drench, Oreos, book, trade, human(ity), red, desecrate, time, exhaust, carry, clothe, light, montage, sample, bosun, cheese, undone, wire, linen, buoyant, pantomime.
You can send your cinquentas to me, or bring them to the next meeting. Have fun! Oh! And extra points if you weren't at the meeting but can guess which word appeared on two word lists.

See you soon!