Some of the greatest things ever created comes from the stage. I have thought about this prompt all day, and keep coming back to my favorite stage shows. Here is a small sample of things that have played all day in my head:
So, it occurred to me just now that I have never written anything for this great prompt and I am now going to rectify that (read: I am arguing with a WIP because the kids want fantasy-ish, a character demands he is an alien, and so far the father hasn’t told me what he was even looking far–gah!)
The SoCS prompt is to sit and stare at the computer screen, and let your fingers do the talking without giving much thought or planning into where it is going. But, you need to use the word “ma” in your writing.
Well, there you have the reason for this post and the rules. I am starting at 6:40 pm and will note the time when I finish. Let’s see what my brain wants to come up with tonight, because right now it is no help to me.
Ma and Pa Kettle were arguing over Pa betting on the ponies down at the racetrack again. Mary sat on the couch and laughed as Ma hit Pa with a rag again. She loved to sit and watch old movies; it gave just the inspiration a writer needs if they are going to actually create anything. A commercial popped on the screen and Mary sighed as she hit the mute button on the remote.
“Damn, commercials.” She wiped potato chip crumbs off her Rainbow Brite pajamas onto the floor and stared at the blinking cursor on her laptop. It loved teasing her, poking her consciousness mockingly. Writers block was bad enough, but three month writers block was a death sentence. “Start with one sentence.”
Her fingers moved over the keys and nothing came out. Sentences have words. “Just write some damn words already. Any words. Please. Just three little words.”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and envisioned sitting in the middle of a lake in a rowboat, just like the one her grandfather had. They used to go fishing every summer; right up until his death six years ago. She heard the distinct clicking of her well-used laptop keys and opened her eyes.
“Marigold, Margarine, Marriage.”
Mary looked perplexed. Why did she write those words? She glanced at the tv. Ma and Pa were running around the track trying to catch a drunk horse. That’s when she saw her plants. “Oh, yeah. Marigolds.”
She looked back at the screen. “I’m sure I have margarine in the refrigerator, but marriage? Yeah right. Pretty sure I would need to have a boyfriend first.”
Mary slipped on her fuzzy pink bunny slippers and shuffled into the kitchen. The tail on her cat clock wagged back and forth as it ticked off the seconds. One o’clock in the afternoon and she had not even dressed for the day.
“Boyfriend?” she scoffed. “Pretty sure you have to leave the house to find one of them.”
Every time she looked at the refrigerator, with its french doors and slide out freezer, it hurt. She bought that refrigerator when she first bought the house three years ago. She had hoped that moving to a new town would encourage her to get out more, but it didn’t. There was nothing wrong with the town, she just never had a reason to go out. No one called or visited. Hell, she was convinced that no one knew she even existed.
Inside the refrigerator was a half pint of milk, outdated eggs, apple juice, and a can of refrigerated buttermilk biscuits. “Seriously! I don’t have margarine? or butter?” She shuffled and looked toward the back of the empty refrigerator as if more food was secretly hiding in the back. She sighed. “Guess I got to get dressed now.”
It was a ten minute drive down the mountain to the mercantile.
She knew everyone by name even though they never said hers. A few minutes of walking around looking at food helped improve her mood. She grabbed some meat for dinner, fresh gallon of milk, a tub of margarine, and went to the produce section to pick up some potatoes.
There were a few customers mulling around the section as if it were a black friday sale. As she reached between two women who were busy chatting over their children’s bathroom successes and failures, her hand collided with another hand.
“Excuse me,” a man said.
The two moms were perturbed their conversation had been disrupted and huffed off toward the meat market.
Mary smiled at the gentleman who holding out a potato for her. He smiled at Mary. Suddenly she was thinking thoughts she had never thought before. With the unmentionable thoughts, came words and stories. Her mind was flooded with images of him, her, the cabin, and him. Oh, man, were her thoughts filled with him.
“Hi,” Mary said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Um, I’m new here, would you mind telling me where I can find the jars of jam?”
Images of her pantry filled with homemade jam shoved all other thoughts to the side. Without thinking, she blurted out, “My house.”
Both of them blushed and chuckled.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “I have no idea where that came from. Um, aisle 3. Just over there.”
The man looked at the aisle, then back at Mary. “Thanks. What’s your name?”
She blushed even more, and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Mary. What’s yours?”
“Well, if you need anything, Matthew, you can also come by my place. It’s just up the mountain road a bit.”
And come he did. A year later the two were married.
Finished at 7:12. There was no time limit on the prompt, so I paused for a drink. This was fun. Now if only my characters would do this for me.
Time for fun again! If you haven’t played this before, grab your closest book, turn to page eighty-two, and scroll down to line two. Use that line as inspiration for a post. You can use it as it is written (like I do) or use it simply as inspiration. Most important thing is to have fun!
…sound of the wind blowing through the branches of the …Daniel Z. Lieberman, Tales from the Palace of the Fairy King (2014)
Ivy listened to the sound of the wind blowing through the branches of the willow tree and smiled. She loved watching the willow dance in the breeze. It reminded her of youth. She closed her eyes and envisioned being on stage, dancing the ballet. Her head swayed to the music as her hands gracefully twisted and turned. The roar of the crowd and a standing ovation brought a tear to her eye. She opened her eyes and watched the willow carry on the performance.
“Ready to go back in, Mrs. Lacy?” the aide asked, as she released the brake on the old woman’s wheelchair. “We wouldn’t you to catch cold being out here in the wind.”
The Train Ticket
Ashley loved history, books, fashion, and trains more than anything else in life. In fact, nothing made her happier than reading a book set in the Victorian age or roaring twenties that took place on a train. Not the modern electric trains or diesel trains that ran across the country today. She loved steam engines and the fantasy they carried with them.
These fantasies are what brought her to the derelict Franklin Depot thirty-five miles away from home in the middle of nowhere. There used to be a town here. Her history teacher loved to tell stories of the old mining town in its glory days filled with life. Now all that was left was the depot and a few lines of track.
As she walked up and down the depot, the morning sun was just peering over the tree tops and illuminated the station in gold. She smiled at the depot and closed her eyes.
“This must have been beautiful,” she said.
Suddenly a loud whoosh and whistle from behind her startled her. She grabbed her chest and turned around. There, behind her was a grand steam engine. Puffs of steam and the huffing of pistons engulfed her.
“Is this your ticket, Ashley?” a man in a conductor’s uniform asked. He smiled and held out a ticket.
Ashley wanted to say “no”…to scream…to run away…to say “yes”…to get on the train…to travel the world by train. She looked at the conductor and …
To Be Continued
To tell us what Ashley did next, I am tagging a fantastic writer: Tales from the Mind of Kristian.
- Copy the story as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)
- Add somehow to the story in which ever style and length you choose
- Be sure to pingback or comment on the original post please. Please use the tag THWFTS.
- Tag only 1 person to continue the story
- Have fun!