Writing Prompts and Illicit Substances

Writing Prompts first, my freaky darlings, then we can get on to the second half of that title.
Karen was in charge of prompts for the month of May, and she came up with a great one for the last LFWG meeting. Each of us picked an object in the room and wrote about its future.

This was Susan's first time at LFWG, so her work gets to go first.

Continuations

by Susan

Battered and threadbare, the bag hangs in the closet. Doors open and close, coats come and go, time stretches, days fade in and speed by. Then the bag is pulled out, knocked against walls and bodies, stuffed with books and electronics, and tossed over a shoulder.

The Last Cakeball

by Ginny

The last cakeball, surprisingly enough, was left in the tin after the celebration. Angela was sure everyone would eat them all, and would have , herself, but they were extremely rich, and she could only enjoy one without them starting to cloy.

So there it sat among crumbs. The lid was closed and the box taken back home to the refrigerator, in the hopes that someone would enjoy it later. But no one did.

A week went by, and the variance of temperature in the refrigerator allowed the chocolate to flow and flatten out, leaving exposed cake base.

The Pen in My Hand

by Karen

What a limited future. This pen is one of the few objects in my life that will not outlast me. I suspect much of the grocery store food items have a longer shelf life than any of us do.

How odd to see our belongings outlive us - by centuries even. To think of this pen gives me some sense of satisfaction, of closure, I will not hand it down to a grandchild. It will not show up in future photos or in a museum display. It will not see flying cars or jet packs or the end of the world.

I will throw it away - next week, next month, sometime, soon. I will, barring act of God, not pass it on to live long after me.

Ballz

by Angela

There's one mint Oreo ball left, so Jessica pops it into a baggie and puts it in her purse. For long hours, nothing happens. Then Jessica hops into her van and drives to choir practice. She has a tray of confections, and she takes the mint Oreo ball out of the baggie and places it among its cousins. Very possibly one of the tenors (Zach? David? Christopher? - Ephrem would, but he's not there because his stepdaughter has a concert...) picks it up and eats it. His praise is lukewarm, so Jessica tells him that she didn't make that one, but nobody believes her.

Now, on to the illicit substances. Because Ginny had recently gotten a contact for her book, we had a little celebration in the Fishbowl. (Food is not allowed in the Fishbowl. We did a bad, bad thing.) Angela brought mint Oreo balls, and I brought Knock-You-Naked Brownies. Yum was had by all!
For June, David was given the task of deciding on the theme and writing prompts. The theme is FLOWERS.

Next meeting of LFWG is on June 1st at Noon. If I have gotten my voice back by then, I'll debut the 'song' we worked on last time.
Love, Peace, and Taco Grease!
Jessica

Reject-a-Hit

Howdy, folks! Yesterday we had a meeting, and if you weren't there, you missed some fun. Karen is in charge of writing prompts for the month of May, and she brought a great one courtesy of Writer's Digest.
"Ever read a book that's all over the bestseller charts and walk away from it unimpressed, wishing someone would've rejected it from the get-go? Or maybe you read about an author who was rejected 47 times before actually getting his or her bestseller published and think, I wonder what those rejection letters said? Well, here's your chance to have a little fun..."
Here are LFWG's responses to this prompt.

By David

Dear Ms. Crocker,

After many attempts to replicate the highly technical but rather bland works in your submission, we regret to inform you that we cannot publish your book. It made our stomachs curdle on many occasions. We found the language inaccessible and sometimes down right esoteric. The food was of the lowest caliber - peasant food, really. We wouldn't feel comfortable serving anything from your book to our dogs or cats. We hope that you will choose to stay out of the kitchen. Maybe you could take up sewing or macrame. Just promise the world you will take your red checked apron off.

By me

Dear C.S. Lewis-

Found your book about the wardrobe to be a bit over the heads of readers. What we are currently looking for is bravery stories, real boys' material, and all that sword and talking animal nonsense combines the worst of Winnie the Pooh and Snow White.

Sincerely,

Some Editor

Dear C.S. Lewis-

I told you to cut the sisters from that book. Too much girly - family stuff. And the white witch/Edmond business is a bit racy  if you ask me. Let's concentrate more on the fighting, but set it in England and more modern, please.

Sincerely,

Your Agent

By Angela

Parsons Publishing

Ferrara

Dear Mr. Boccaccio:

We thank you for submitting your work The Decameron to our house. However, it does not meet our needs at this time.

The frame story is no longer the prevailing style nowadays, and a single contiguous novel is far closer to the tastes of our readers than a collection of unrelated stories. Furthermore, several of your tales seem to be critical of the Church. Our publishing house is not interested in provoking the ire of the College of Cardinals at this time.

However, we encourage you to continue writing, and possibly consider sending some of your short stories to our periodical "Sex and the Plague."

Angela Borgia, editor

By Karen

Dear Sir/Madam-

We regret to inform you that the novel you submitted Harry Porter, etc. did not fit with our publishing needs at this time. Unfortunately, we feel your work would not appeal to a wide enough audience. Since we produce mass market books, your efforts would not fit our wide spread distribution needs. For instance, would girls be interested in the story of a boy wizard? We think not. This project just wouldn't catch on or prove very popular.

In addition, fantasy books just don't sell these days. Fantasy has become out-dated.

Perhaps if you changed your focus, included a female protagonist with a dead parent and added some strong female role models you could try again.

If you would like to try your hand at Reject-a-Hit, and see it here on the blog, send it to jrb123172@gmail.com. If you'd like to submit one (400 words max) to Writer's Digest, email it to wdsubmissions @fwmedia.com and put Inkwell: Reject a hit in the subject line.

The rest of the meeting was spent working on projects by Karen (Civil War, anyone?) and Angela (Climactic scene in her novel). David read another of his children's story books, and I brought coloring books. It was a fun a productive meeting, and I hope to see you all next time, May 18th.
Jessica

Road to Russia...

is the name of the piece by Barrage that we used for our writing prompt on Wednesday. For some reason, I can't find a link to it anywhere. Let's see if these writing samples give you a feel for the music.

by Angela

The girl put the headscarf down on her forehead to obscure her eyes. In the unfamiliar trousers she felt uncomfortable, different, but she stove to act nonchalant.

The marketplace was teeming with livestock and people. She crushed herself between two fat merchants and slipped several oranges into her scrip before anyone noticed.

"Boy!" someone shouted, but she was off, dodging between men and slaves, thrusting her tiny form into cracks in the crowd as a mouse. Someone might follow...

She dashed into the next street, the Nimandra Rua, where shirtless men sparred with blunt wooden swords, past the men's chorus shouting on the corner, and through a small, dark doorway in the wall.

"I have food!" she announced.

by David

The music again. No please not the music. Strident. Chilling. How have things come to this. I can't even think back far enough to life before. Before they came. Before I ended up here.

And yet the violin plays on... The bell no longer tolls. The piper no longer plays but the violin calls...

by Karen

(First makes me think of "Fiddler on the Roof," frantic and rapid violin - also of movie "Young Sherlock Holmes" music)

Most of all I think of a Civil War battlefield, of men of foot charging in the face of near-certain death, of men dashing at one another, so close their musket tips almost touch, of men rushing onto one another's sabers.

When the tempo increases, the battle grows more and more fierce, me falling badly wounded, men dying face down in muddy ditches, men dropping in lines, still in formation.

Horses being spurred forward, being shot out from under them, horses piled by the dozens on the battlefield - easier to shoot the men riding them, horses screaming their pain.

At the most frantic moment, the battle ends, so many dead they won't even be counted, only put into a mass grave by the hundreds.

by me

Playing with fire. She knew she was, but didn't care. The warnings were, to be honest, a spur. Getting out of the house was the trickiest part, but she remembered the one squeaky stair and skipped it. Her heart raced in the freezing moonlight. She could hear the voices carrying in the night, and felt her house looming behind her as she set off down the forest path.

She stopped just inside the ring of light cast by the dancing fire and looked at the white faces and bare chests around her.

Could you begin to hear the music in your head? Karen is in charge of writing prompts next month, and I can't wait to see what she comes up with.
In other news, the theme for May is night time. In the next day or two, I'll be posting April's last Cinquentas, if you'd like to submit one, I'll post it as long as I get it by tomorrow. For May, I'll publish haiku, so start sending them to me!
Thanks, and have a great weekend, everyone!
Jessica

Another Cinquenta!

Here's one from our friend Ginny:
The Thlothians

The Thlothians are personable enough, and their language was easy to learn. They have three fingers on each hand and it looks peculiar to me. On their spacecraft they looked appropriate enough, but when they helped me with my ship, I realized why they have problems: they can’t hold pliers.

Just a reminder: The next meeting of LFWG is this Wednesday at the Beaumont Branch. I hope to see you all there. Body parts are still the theme for April, and please be thinking about themes for next month. Thanks!

Are they Still Updates if they are Over a Week Old?

I had to (sadly) miss the last LFWG meeting, my daughter was in rehearsals for a musical. I missed a fun writing prompt, a new person showed up, AND the theme for the month is body parts.

Angela played a piece of music by Karl Jenkins, and everyone wrote. I'm so sad I missed this. Since Angela is the only one who wanted her piece shared on the blog (YAY Angela!), here it is:

Thunderstorms. That's the problem with the Summer Solstice - you can't trust the weather. Kenaty remembered last year, just scattered showers sending the younger apprentices running for cover, but this year the lightning forked and thunder cracked, and water poured from the low, heavy, dark sky.

Only "experienced Technicians were allowed to fly, of course, in a storm. Kenaty slipped quietly close to the Senior House-Wizards and overheard their discussion - call off the races entirely? Postpone them til the morrow - but even Kenaty knew that was silly. So they decided to fly in a thunderstorm, restricting the list to experienced Technicians. And Kenaty, less than a year out from his Secondary Examination, not yet sixteen, drew his grey cloak close, covering his crisp, black curls with the hood. "Kenatis Technician," he spoke, assuming the court accents he had practiced, "of Boverim" - the opposite side of the Kingdom from his homeland. "Twelve years as Senior to Baron-mumble."

Soon after the starter's shout his carpet was already soaked, but he kept is steady, not flinching at the flashing and booming all around him...

Also this month, I opened the blog to submissions of Cinquentas, or 50 word fiction. This submission is from David (the new person I mentioned at the top of this post). He gets extra points for writing on the theme of the month!

Holding On to Tiny Hands

Abigail began to tire:  her energy depleted, the children gone.   The sun had not been seen since the firestorm.  The winter winds tore at flesh.  Daniel spurred her on.  They were down to their last bottle of water and it was almost gone…and only five finger-sized pieces of meat remained.

Here's my cinquenta.

 

Forgettable, but something wandered from her eyes and poked me hard in the chest. It's amazing what you will give when someone wants nothing from you at all. You can gaze back, wanting, and know that cold finger was not meant for you, but already it is far too late.

I'm still taking submissions for this month. Cinquentas only, if you please. The next meeting of LFWG is April 20th at noon. See you there!

Submit!

Okay, writers, get ready to rumble! This blog is NOW accepting submissions for April!
Ever written a 50 word short story? LFWG calls these tiny flash fiction pieces Cinquentas. They are both fun and challenging to write. Send one to jrb123172@gmail.com by April 6th and I'll post it. Send me more than one if you want to, but I can't guarantee I'll post everything you send me. You do not have to be a member of LFWG to submit.

Has it been a week? Geez.

Sorry. That's all I can say. It's been a week since the last meeting, and I haven't posted a thing. Shame on me. Okay! Now that that's done, here are some updates.

The theme for April is: body parts. As in: The first thing I noticed about him was... Or, The severed finger lay in the little box... or anything else body part related. I'm looking forward to this one.

We did another fun five-minute writing prompt, and since there were so few members in attendance, my daughter Hannah sat in for the prompt. She's fourteen, and has written 8 novels to my 2. Prolific is an understatement. The actual prompt was the Subscriber's cover of Harper's Bazaar for March 2011. 
(see the second image on the page)

by Hannah
I got my boyfriend a job modeling. He said he wanted to see what I did. I modeled the most ugly clothes ever, but hey. It pays. They snapped picture after picture of him in that panda suit, and me in that shapeless dress and purple glasses. Then it was time to go home. "John." I said, tugging off the panda head. Blood poured from it as his severed head fell out of the panda's. The panda head grinned at me. I could feel blood running down my face before I knew no more.

by me (Jessica)
Purple visioned. Purple sighted. Fuzzy handed. He stays and I'm still going to go. My egg is too heavy for this chain, my hair too heavy for this dress. His hand is too tight. It's his panda year. He's his own yin and yang. Lucky.
Here we go again. "Walk. Too pose-y! Don't think. Just naturalle." God, I hate Michael. I hate China. "What eez this girl?" he says.
She is a girl with a damn panda.

by Angela
"Oh, come on. I really need to pick up some powder..."
"I tell you, not with me. Not dressed like this!"
"Cammie, everyone knows it's Homecoming!"
"No."
"Take off the costume, then."
"Janice, I'm only wearing a tank top and shorts underneath! I'll freeze! and besides, it takes forever to put back on."
"Take off the head part, then."
"What, and have EVERYBODY at Wal-Mart know I'm the Central High Mascot?? Not on your life. Not when my best friend is a major Homecoming Queen candidate. Go in yourself."
"Cammie, I'm wearing my Homecoming gown. I'd look like an idiot walking through Wal-Mart dressed like this! And the creepy guy in Cosmetics already ogles me whenever I buy makeup."
"You'll look like an idiot? What about me? Oh, OK, fine, I'll go in with you. But you'll have to lead me. I can't see out of both eyes with this damn panda head on."

After that, I read a piece I wrote several months ago called Candy Cane, in which bugs (our March theme) play an important role. It was a fun if lightly attended meeting, and I hope to see lots of you next time!