Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Another from the toolbox

The cool thing about the toolbox is that it prompts you to write stories that you never would have otherwise dreamed of writing. For examples, check out my sister's The Exotic Dancer. Bit of steamy writing there. Or her newest addition, The Other Woman. Mom's put together some rather intriguing short stories too, but hasn't got up the nerve to post them yet. What if someone thinks I'm writing about myself?... She's right I guess. That would end up being quite the scandal. Stephen wrote one too that's just plain hilarious. Not sure yet if he'll be posting. This time I took three sticks, allowing about 10 minutes in between of writing. Of course the sentences you pick, never seem to have anything to do with each other. Forced writing? Certainly. Humorous results? You decide.

My sentences:
FS. He swore on his mother's grave, but then he swore on just about everything.
NS. Margaret had a habit of spitting, and it was getting on his nerves.
NS. "If you don't take chances," said the man in the striped pajamas. "You might as well not be alive."

Trouble with Tony
He swore on his mother's grave, but then he swore on just about everything.

"It doesn't matter," his friend was saying. "Your word is useless to."

"C'mon, Jacob. 300 bucks. I'll make it up to you. I'll pay back every penny. I swear on my father's grave."

Jacob scowled at him. "Your father isn't even dead. For that matter, neither is your mother. You can't swear on the grave of someone who isn't even dead."

"They will be," Kyle muttered under his breath.

"What do you need the money for anyway?"

"Just trying to pay off a loan."

"Bad interest?"

"You could say that."

Jacob eyed Kyle suspiciously. "Who do you owe?"

There was no sence hiding it from Jacob. He had just opened his mouth to answer when the little bell above the door dinged. They both turned to look. Kyle grimaced inwardly as Margaret sauntered in. Her too big jeans were muddy where they draped over her tennis shoes. Her t-shirt looked like it had been slept in. She waved as she joined them.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

At least she had the decency to admit she might be interrupting. She cleared her throat and spat, nearly missing the trash. She had a habit of spitting and it was getting on Kyle's nerves.

"I was just telling Jacob about a little conversation I had with Toni Spinelzi the other day."

Jacob's eyes grew wide. Margaret's jaw dropped.

"Are you in trouble?" Her eyes searched him. "Do you need money?"

"No, no," he said hastily. Margaret was the last person he would borrow money from.

"Toni's bad news. My cousin lost three fingers in a business deal with Toni." Her eyes flew to his prematurely supposing the worst. He quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets. Margaret grabbed a napkin from the nearest table and spread it out on the counter between them.

"We're going to need a plan if you don't want to end up with a horse between your sheets."

"It wasn't a whole horse," Jacob interjected. "It was just the head."   

Margaret ignored the comment. "Toni lives over by the Northside Condos. I'll wait over here." She was scribbling furiously on the napkin. "And one of you will sneak to his house and slash his tires."

"What?! No!" Kyle lunged for her napkin, balling it in his fist. "We're not slashing any tires or I'm gonna owe him more money."

Margaret looked unaffected. She had already reached for another napkin. "Toni takes his meals at the Wellington Diner. One of the cooks there owes me a favor. If I can get him to slip..."

"What? Poison?" Kyle looked over his shoulder, suddenly sure their conversation was being heard.

Margaret wasn't out of ideas. "I've got a friend, really big guy. Maybe I could get him to talk to Toni."

"This isn't working. It's completely outrageous. You are outrageous."

"If you don't take chances," Margaret said with conviction. "You might as well not be alive"

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

Just Gotta Touch

I picked up a new game. It's called the Writer's Toolbox. With a series of writing prompts and an egg timer, it lends itself to a lot of activities. This particular one has you pick a fist sentence at random. Write for 3 minutes. Draw another sentence. Three minutes. Another sentence. You get the idea. Click here for my sister's story. This is my result.

Just Gotta Touch 

There I was just standing there when what I wanted to do was forbidden. My arms tingles. Anticipation? I was filled with a longing and as the seconds ticked, I scarcely trusted myself. I seriously doubted I would be able to restrain myself. The crowds moved behind me oblivious to the battle that played out in my mind.

In front of me, long and sleek, was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I wanted to touch it. The sign above the cage warned people of the danger. Perhaps that's why the urge was so strong. Perhaps it was because it was forbidden. Perhaps it was the thrill of the danger, but I sincerely felt it was because so few can boast that they have actually petted a tiger. I wasted to be among the few. There was something so rare and exotic about it. There was something about the tiger that looked like just a giant pussy cat.

I slowly reached my hand between the bars holding my breath, my fingers trembling slightly. It was like placing the top block of a precariously stacked pyramid. It was like lighting a candle in a tornado. It was like skating on thin ice. So basic, so easy, so outrageously impossible.

The tiger wasn't the only danger. The zoo security riding around in zebra striped golf carts could have me thrown from the premises for violating a clearly marked warning sign. I was just building up the final ounces of  needed courage when a head popped up behind the tiger.--A second tiger! Now I would have to choose. Oh dear. Well, they were both the same, I decided.

Inches from the orange and black fur, I felt a strong hand grip my shoulder. I spun around now face to face with an orange and black striped shirt. The stranger wearing the shirt didn't say a word. He didn't need to. His left shirt stopped abruptly, armless.

These were the sentences I had to work with:
FS. There I was just standing there when what I wanted to do was forbidden
NS. He was walking on thin ice, that's all I'm saying
NS. Well it was all the same, I decided