Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Lightning Sketch - Luxury Bathing


I've never been good at writing dialogue, and I can't say that today's sketch is any better but it's an attempt to improve on an important area of writing - the interaction of two people in real time.

Luxury Bathing

“Why do you do that?”
“Do What?”
“Not answer me. I’ve just asked you a question, like twice.”
“Honey, I’m really busy and tired. Can’t it wait?”
“It always waits. How long does it have to wait now?”
She just sighs, rolls her eyes and gives no answer. He, needing something to happen, anything to happen, walks out.
She slips inches further in to the warming suds, covering her up to her chin, leaving only her toes and knees breaking the surface of the water as tiny islands in a small sea. The steam gently rises from the surface of the water filling the room and covering the walls with misty droplets of warm water. She breathes and sighs even more causing the minor sea with the tiny islands to rise and fall with every inhale and exhale.
She cries silently to herself, the tears running rivers to the sea of warmth and comfort.

Minutes pass. Stress and sadness evaporate into the self-contained soapy sea. More minutes pass.
He walks in with empty hands and words of apology and comfort.
“I don’t want to hear it right now. Can’t I just finish my bath, please?”
He leaves, and before doing so, places a gift at the foot of her bath.

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Lightning Sketch - Jam and Toast

It's Tuesday. Time for another Lightning Sketch from the great writing group at The Overlook Hotel. Today's concept is:

Jam and Toast

The sun radiates through the windows of the new kitchen, tracing pathways of golden light on the new hardwood floors. The pristine curves of the brushed steel doors on the mint refrigerator reflect a happy softness of the light and shadows, the cabinets and cupboards, and the custom sculpted light fixtures.  And two feet behind the kitchen island, the kitchen feels a vibe out of sync with its own domestic harmony. An intruder has entered but the kitchen has no voice. There are no pans hanging on swinging hooks that it can shake - no spices precariously placed on haughtily thin racks that it can will to fall and create a clamor from such – and no oven to turn on that would trigger the smoke alarm were it ever installed.
On the floor, behind the island, Maury writhes from the last synaptic firings of muscle memory even after the body has died, and from a slow, rhythmic jolt, smearing his face and gore upon the recently happy floors. Attached to his waist are two menacing creatures, with eyes expressionless and void, covered in bloodied fur. These were the family’s exotic pets, mutated by airborne pathogens, and were named Jam and Toast.

After Thoughts...

I couldn't pass up turning something so conceptually innocent as Jam & Toast into a ghastly monster scene inspired from a life of B-Movie watching. Too much fun. The trouble with writing, is that it has to be entertaining, at least I hope it is. Were it not for this limitation, I probably would have written about how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Lightning Sketch - Monday's Minutes

Ever feel this way about work? I know I have, mostly.

Monday's Minutes

It was 4 o’clock. Everyone hates 4 o’clock. It’s that time when the hours smear slowly from one second to the next, where the clock stares blankly at ill lit walls and the fluorescent sky - just 8 feet above - wears down on us like a pit boss. ‘More work!’ it says! And in so saying he laughs the spittle right from his slobberous mouth.


Soon, we think. Soon. It will be 5p and we’ll be able to get out. We all have homes and families and loved ones. We have hobbies and reveries, events and larger than life screenings. We work hard, y’know? We work to provide a life beyond work, to provide school for our beautiful children, to make a better life for those that depend on us.


I can’t think. I have just one more report to go. Jesse in the cube over, has 2 hours of work to complete and email by 5p.


So close now. Just one more cup of coffee. Damnit! Who doesn’t put a new pot on?


… The despair we felt at the random direction of time’s slippage through space and our own senses drove us all to the point of frenzy, and we became a melting pot of disenfranchised rage. In four minutes it will be Monday and the weekend will be gone.

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Lightning Sketch - Indigo Wendigo


This was a fun lightning sketch, because I got to write about color and monsters. Fantastic.
Today's Lightning Sketch topic is...

Indigo Wendigo

Blood. Like so much fell congealment curdled to the color of despair, floats a sky of blood.

Wild. An amazed and unbound form pours itself through the air as a glass of absynthe might empty into the sky above, so the wendigo's legs and arms silently float through the very forest - finding purchase at the even the slightest touch and surface. It's up and down are one as it walks with legs on the nadir of the fallen leaves and the zenith of the canopy above.

The eyes of the wendigo see you. Quick, escape! Back pedal, shuffle, zig and zig! There is no surviving the wendigo's indigo bite. If even the slightest break of your skin comes from its razor lined mouth, the wendigo's indigo bite will be the very death of the life you have now... and will lose if you cannot run fast enough.

Good, you have your feet beneath you. Run faster! The very soul of the devil himself sees your now and your future. Stop thinking; just run!

You just felt it, a little bite.

And now you see it, an indigo moon floating above in a sky of blood.

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Lightning Sketch - Completing the Collection

This is a submission for an online writers group. The purpose of the assignment is to write about a phrase for ten minutes, and then submit the writing. You can find the group at Stack Exchange.
The phrase to write about: 'Completing the Collection'

It's raining today, drops falling from above like a gift of silvered mana, soaking our roots, our gardens, our feet and our thirst. It's been years now since the rain has fallen so, and my word is it ever so beautiful.

After years of drought, we near about squeezed the water out of the desert rocks just to get a few more drops of life in our bodies. Half the town died in the first 30 days. The other ninety-five percent passed passed two months later. That's when the sun grew larger - causing the blue sky to ripple, burn and bleach to that pale, dirty haze. Our soil cracked and we knew why old Henry come take our skies,  our water, life and plants. He come from the sky. He come at night on the backs of a strong wind, whipping up the trees and grass letting the soil sit exposed. Then, the following day, he came on the back of the sun, and burned us out of our homes and health. He did this for three days, and not a one of us questioned why.

But now we done what we can't take back. We called out beyond the reach of old Henry. We brought the Lighting to old Henry, the Lightning and the Rain, and though we fought back to win a few more months or years, soon old Henry gonna come back and take the whole town.