To a casual reader, this might seem.. odd. Actually, to ANY reader, I can't imagine it wouldn't be odd. At our last meeting, we played a game to write a story, but we could only write one sentance passing a paper around a table. And you could only read the sentance before yours. Keep that in mind.
Michaela: They said the explosion would kill him.
Devin: But no. It didn't work, it was broken.
Peter: So instead, he decided to make the burritos in his regular oven instead of the special one Mexican one.
A.J.: As he placed the burritos in the oven, the phone rang.
Brandon: "Hi, this is Joe. I work for StationWide insurance, and I was just wondering if you could-" beep. beep. click.
Kayla: Joe stared at the receiver, and his shoulders slumped. This job was a lot harder than he would have thought.
M: First of all, it's women's work, and second of all, it's women's work!
D: Really? There's no way I'm going to try that! I'd never stop puking!
P: So instead, I went on the "Catapult" in lagoon 17 times, ,that way, I'll only puke moderately, and at a cheaper price, too!
AJ: "Maybe I should rethink this plan.."
B: ..Frank thought as the chest attatchement to his bungee chord tightened. "Ready? GO!!"
K: He lurched upward, his neck whipping backward. "Hold on!" he heard someone yell, but he wasn't sure who; although, he really didn't need to be told.
M: Ravenous wolves really CAN motivate the adrenaline in a guy.
D: "Really", he said," I'm not kidding. Last time it happened, he shot up a tree and landed on some hermit's roof. Anyway..."
P: "Wait! I need to hear this story!" He grabbed the jewels off the computer and offered them. "How much will it cost?"
AJ: "Fifteen diamonds and 100,000 yen." the shadowed figure said.
B: Ned made some quick calculations, and nodded yes. He'd go through with it.
K: And the rest is history.
. M: Or IS IT?
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Short Story
"Go kill a cat, or whatever it is boys like to do these days," he said, waving his hand petulantly. I was tired of killing cats and continued to stare up at the bristly black mustache that stuck out ridiculously far from the end of his stubby nose.
He sighed. "Need I give you a good spanking?"
"No, Uncle Alvin," I muttered. I had no idea what I was going to do now that I was to "stay out of the way." Suddenly, I saw his airship.
"Excuse me," I said, edging toward the door.
Uncle stared at me suspiciously for a few moments, and then turned to talk to my mother, his sister. Now that I wasn't under close scrutiny, I made a break for it. I only tripped three times before I made it to the airship.
The airship loomed over me, at least ten feet tall. It had tapered canvas wings that spanned exactly 25 feet in both directions. The wings were attached to a chrome tube, about 10 feet long, with the Royal Crest painted proudly on both sides. My attention focused on the ladder that led to the cockpit. Nervously, I began to climb up, wanting only to see the inside.
The cockpit was long and wide enough to comfortably seat a man of Uncle Alvin's girth, meaning it was very wide. It had a miniature sofa that looked luxuriously soft. I couldn't help myself; I plopped down, sighing contentedly.
Uncle Alvin looked out the window. When he saw me, he leaped up, eyebrows raised to the top of his pudgy forehead, eyes wide. All three of his chins wobbled as he shuffled toward me. I didn't know what else to do, so I pulled one of the polished levers in front of me. The airship roared to life, flapping its wings in a flurry.
Uncle was blown backward by the force of the wings, and I ascended rapidly.
"AAAAAAAAAAAH!" Uncle said.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" I answered.
I was shooting upward now, faster than any bird I knew of. Panicking, I reached for another lever and pulled. It was the accelerator. I ripped forward through the air, wind grazing my ears. After a few moments, I found that if I eased both levers, I would stay at the same level in the air, and would fly at an amiable pace.
The sound of police sirens filled my ears.
"Void," I swore. "Time for some speed..."
I pulled the accelerator and sped off like a lightning fast bird of prey. Except, I was the prey. They were surrounding me now, like vultures. The only way to escape would be to--
I pulled the last lever. Dropping like a stone, I screamed. Almost immediately afterward, I attempted to push the lever back into place. It jammed.
I searched around wildly, not sure what to do. My eyes caught hold of a red button. It was a huge risk, but I pressed it anyway.
Imagine being blind and deaf, in the water, not sure which way is up and which way is down. Now imagine that the water is boiling. That's how I felt as I was ejected hundreds of feet into the air. Sadly, I had forgotten to wear a parachute.
Time shattered in my world, and blackness filled my eyes.
"Void," I muttered. "I'm dead."
He sighed. "Need I give you a good spanking?"
"No, Uncle Alvin," I muttered. I had no idea what I was going to do now that I was to "stay out of the way." Suddenly, I saw his airship.
"Excuse me," I said, edging toward the door.
Uncle stared at me suspiciously for a few moments, and then turned to talk to my mother, his sister. Now that I wasn't under close scrutiny, I made a break for it. I only tripped three times before I made it to the airship.
The airship loomed over me, at least ten feet tall. It had tapered canvas wings that spanned exactly 25 feet in both directions. The wings were attached to a chrome tube, about 10 feet long, with the Royal Crest painted proudly on both sides. My attention focused on the ladder that led to the cockpit. Nervously, I began to climb up, wanting only to see the inside.
The cockpit was long and wide enough to comfortably seat a man of Uncle Alvin's girth, meaning it was very wide. It had a miniature sofa that looked luxuriously soft. I couldn't help myself; I plopped down, sighing contentedly.
Uncle Alvin looked out the window. When he saw me, he leaped up, eyebrows raised to the top of his pudgy forehead, eyes wide. All three of his chins wobbled as he shuffled toward me. I didn't know what else to do, so I pulled one of the polished levers in front of me. The airship roared to life, flapping its wings in a flurry.
Uncle was blown backward by the force of the wings, and I ascended rapidly.
"AAAAAAAAAAAH!" Uncle said.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" I answered.
I was shooting upward now, faster than any bird I knew of. Panicking, I reached for another lever and pulled. It was the accelerator. I ripped forward through the air, wind grazing my ears. After a few moments, I found that if I eased both levers, I would stay at the same level in the air, and would fly at an amiable pace.
The sound of police sirens filled my ears.
"Void," I swore. "Time for some speed..."
I pulled the accelerator and sped off like a lightning fast bird of prey. Except, I was the prey. They were surrounding me now, like vultures. The only way to escape would be to--
I pulled the last lever. Dropping like a stone, I screamed. Almost immediately afterward, I attempted to push the lever back into place. It jammed.
I searched around wildly, not sure what to do. My eyes caught hold of a red button. It was a huge risk, but I pressed it anyway.
Imagine being blind and deaf, in the water, not sure which way is up and which way is down. Now imagine that the water is boiling. That's how I felt as I was ejected hundreds of feet into the air. Sadly, I had forgotten to wear a parachute.
Time shattered in my world, and blackness filled my eyes.
"Void," I muttered. "I'm dead."
Limited Time Only
So, as Miles pointed out to me, I can't have this posted for too long, so this'll be up for a maximum of two weeks. I have a few goals for this passage, and it would be great if you guys could let me know if I've achieved them, and any other tips would be great.
1) Jason should come across as somber or mostly serious.
2) Robert should be shocked, annoyed, and/or weirded out, but not a complete jerk.
3) Jenny should seem youthful, not childish.
4) I want there to be mystery, not confusion; I want people to want to know the back story, etc...
The man showed up on Saturday, the eve of their second anniversary. Robert would have been worried by the invader, accept that, at least in Fairville, you aren’t supposed to be worried about strangers knocking on your door. The first reason is because in Fairville, strangers don’t knock on your door at all and also because people in Fairville believe in doorbells.
Robert swung the pristine white door open, fully expecting Mrs. Mayberry wanting another cup of sugar, and instead was met by a man with a questionable appearance—leather jackets on anyone older than nineteen was Bad News—and, according to the half hapless, half hunted look in his eye, a questionable past, too.
At first, he didn’t realize the door had been answered and continued to stare at where the doorknob had been; only the door knob must have been very far away. Robert waited for half a moment. He cleared his throat.
“Uh—sorry,” the man started, “I was just, um, sorry—”
“Can I help you?” Robert asked politely.
“I was told she moved here. So I was wondering if you know, er, who was here last...”
“Who is you’re looking for? The only people here are myself and my—”
“Robert, who is at the door?” a voice called from within the house. Beside Robert appeared a young woman no older than twenty. Her long pale red hair was slung over her shoulder. She wiped her greasy hands on the floral apron adorning her middle. Robert attempted to hide her behind the door and away form the Stranger.
“No one, dear, it’s just—”
“Jason!” She squealed as she ducked under his arm.
Robert watched helplessly as his wife flung herself upon, hugged, and kissed (even if it is on the cheek) a complete stranger, who is obviously strange only to him.
Stunned, he exclaimed, “Jennifer!”
“You’re absolutely right Robert. Jason, come inside.”
Robert stared, his jaw lagging a little, and followed his wife as she energetically babbled to “Jason.”
He followed the intense chatter into the living room, where “Jason,” was already comfortably seated and taking up more than his fair share of couch. Jennifer, with much gusto, was sprawling a feast of snacks and appetizers on the coffee table before him.
“Really Jenny,” Jason was saying, “you don’t have to—”
“Oh!” Jennifer raced back into the kitchen, “Of course! How could I forget?”
Half a moment later, she returned bearing with great reverence, like it was Alexander the Great’s bones, a peanut butter sandwich on white, sliced diagonally.
“Jenny,” “Jason” repeated, “You don’t have to do all of this. I just came to see you again. That’s all.”
Jennifer poked him in the shoulder. “You look thinner.”
“Or you grew.”
“Just eat the sandwich, Jason. I know you want it.”
Robert watched as Jason, with mock reluctance, stuffed one entire half into his mouth at once. Satiated, Jennifer pulled up a chair opposite the man.
“So, you’re married now,” he stated.
“Yep,” Jennifer beamed, “Hitched away!”
“Yes, she’d married!” Robert almost shouted. Both looked up at him like they hadn’t noticed him until now. Jason looked like he was starting to regret ever coming—as he should! Robert thought.
“Who is this guy?” he said to his wife, “And how does he know you?”
Jason fumbled anxiously in his pockets. Jennifer blushed.
“Jason,” she said sweetly, “This is Robert. Robert, Jason”
“I heard that,” he said, eyeing Jason, “Jason who?”
Jennifer glanced questioningly at Jason, who shrugged.
“Um,” Jennifer continued, “He’s… just Jason.”
“Oh, well then!” Robert said sarcastically as he gave Jason an icy glare, which, despite his blatant nervousness, Jason met. It was like an ice cube meeting Antarctica. He looked back at Jennifer.
“And how have you come know Mr. Just Jason?” he said innocently.
“Oh, really, Robert! Stop talking about him like he isn’t here!”
“No, no,” Jason waved her off.
“But, Jason, I’m so tired off people—”
“No, he’s right, Jenny. I’ll explain.”
Robert’s wife scowled and looked back between Jason and her husband. “Fine,” she conceded, “Don’t take too long.”
Jason left his seat on the couch, walked over to the door. He gestured Robert out.
“What on Earth—”
“We’re going for a drive.”
Robert hesitated, glancing back at Jennifer, before reluctantly grabbing his jacket and car keys, and making sure to give Jason a meaningful look as he went out the door. Jason was about to follow when a thin white hand caught his shoulder.
“Now Jason,” Jennifer said, “I’m letting you do this because I trust you, but Rob’s my husband, ok? This isn’t like the other times. I’m sorry, but I need you to hand it over.” She held out her hand and waited patiently. “Come on, I know you don’t go anywhere without it.”
Jason scowled, not understanding at first. When is dawned on him, he objected, “You really think I’d—”
“Jason.”
Making a great show of his annoyance, Jason thrust deep into his pocket and yanked out a pearly white switch blade, and slapped it into her hand.
Robert blared his Cadillac’s horn. With an amused grin poking at the corner of his mouth, Jason swaggered over and tapped Robert’s windshield. “I’ll drive,” he mouthed, thumbing to a faded blue pickup truck that was blocking Robert’s driveway.
Robert tapped his knee anxiously as the truck turned left towards town. He turned off the radio and 70’s Rock Ballads with it.
“Where are we going?”
“No where. Driving helps me think.”
“Oh, really,” Robert’s nervousness turned to annoyance. “So what’s the purpose of this little cruise around town, hm? Are you some phantom of the past come to tell me my wife’s obscure teenage years?”
“Nope,” Jason said, flicking the radio back on, “Don’t even know what that means.”
“So what is it you were going to explain?”
“You tell me.”
Robert thought for a moment and then asked, “How do you know Jennifer?”
“You mean Jenny?”
“I mean Jennifer.”
Jason was visibly relieved, and said, “Oh. That.” He checked the bash board, and warned “I don’t think I have enough gas to answer that.”
1) Jason should come across as somber or mostly serious.
2) Robert should be shocked, annoyed, and/or weirded out, but not a complete jerk.
3) Jenny should seem youthful, not childish.
4) I want there to be mystery, not confusion; I want people to want to know the back story, etc...
The man showed up on Saturday, the eve of their second anniversary. Robert would have been worried by the invader, accept that, at least in Fairville, you aren’t supposed to be worried about strangers knocking on your door. The first reason is because in Fairville, strangers don’t knock on your door at all and also because people in Fairville believe in doorbells.
Robert swung the pristine white door open, fully expecting Mrs. Mayberry wanting another cup of sugar, and instead was met by a man with a questionable appearance—leather jackets on anyone older than nineteen was Bad News—and, according to the half hapless, half hunted look in his eye, a questionable past, too.
At first, he didn’t realize the door had been answered and continued to stare at where the doorknob had been; only the door knob must have been very far away. Robert waited for half a moment. He cleared his throat.
“Uh—sorry,” the man started, “I was just, um, sorry—”
“Can I help you?” Robert asked politely.
“I was told she moved here. So I was wondering if you know, er, who was here last...”
“Who is you’re looking for? The only people here are myself and my—”
“Robert, who is at the door?” a voice called from within the house. Beside Robert appeared a young woman no older than twenty. Her long pale red hair was slung over her shoulder. She wiped her greasy hands on the floral apron adorning her middle. Robert attempted to hide her behind the door and away form the Stranger.
“No one, dear, it’s just—”
“Jason!” She squealed as she ducked under his arm.
Robert watched helplessly as his wife flung herself upon, hugged, and kissed (even if it is on the cheek) a complete stranger, who is obviously strange only to him.
Stunned, he exclaimed, “Jennifer!”
“You’re absolutely right Robert. Jason, come inside.”
Robert stared, his jaw lagging a little, and followed his wife as she energetically babbled to “Jason.”
He followed the intense chatter into the living room, where “Jason,” was already comfortably seated and taking up more than his fair share of couch. Jennifer, with much gusto, was sprawling a feast of snacks and appetizers on the coffee table before him.
“Really Jenny,” Jason was saying, “you don’t have to—”
“Oh!” Jennifer raced back into the kitchen, “Of course! How could I forget?”
Half a moment later, she returned bearing with great reverence, like it was Alexander the Great’s bones, a peanut butter sandwich on white, sliced diagonally.
“Jenny,” “Jason” repeated, “You don’t have to do all of this. I just came to see you again. That’s all.”
Jennifer poked him in the shoulder. “You look thinner.”
“Or you grew.”
“Just eat the sandwich, Jason. I know you want it.”
Robert watched as Jason, with mock reluctance, stuffed one entire half into his mouth at once. Satiated, Jennifer pulled up a chair opposite the man.
“So, you’re married now,” he stated.
“Yep,” Jennifer beamed, “Hitched away!”
“Yes, she’d married!” Robert almost shouted. Both looked up at him like they hadn’t noticed him until now. Jason looked like he was starting to regret ever coming—as he should! Robert thought.
“Who is this guy?” he said to his wife, “And how does he know you?”
Jason fumbled anxiously in his pockets. Jennifer blushed.
“Jason,” she said sweetly, “This is Robert. Robert, Jason”
“I heard that,” he said, eyeing Jason, “Jason who?”
Jennifer glanced questioningly at Jason, who shrugged.
“Um,” Jennifer continued, “He’s… just Jason.”
“Oh, well then!” Robert said sarcastically as he gave Jason an icy glare, which, despite his blatant nervousness, Jason met. It was like an ice cube meeting Antarctica. He looked back at Jennifer.
“And how have you come know Mr. Just Jason?” he said innocently.
“Oh, really, Robert! Stop talking about him like he isn’t here!”
“No, no,” Jason waved her off.
“But, Jason, I’m so tired off people—”
“No, he’s right, Jenny. I’ll explain.”
Robert’s wife scowled and looked back between Jason and her husband. “Fine,” she conceded, “Don’t take too long.”
Jason left his seat on the couch, walked over to the door. He gestured Robert out.
“What on Earth—”
“We’re going for a drive.”
Robert hesitated, glancing back at Jennifer, before reluctantly grabbing his jacket and car keys, and making sure to give Jason a meaningful look as he went out the door. Jason was about to follow when a thin white hand caught his shoulder.
“Now Jason,” Jennifer said, “I’m letting you do this because I trust you, but Rob’s my husband, ok? This isn’t like the other times. I’m sorry, but I need you to hand it over.” She held out her hand and waited patiently. “Come on, I know you don’t go anywhere without it.”
Jason scowled, not understanding at first. When is dawned on him, he objected, “You really think I’d—”
“Jason.”
Making a great show of his annoyance, Jason thrust deep into his pocket and yanked out a pearly white switch blade, and slapped it into her hand.
Robert blared his Cadillac’s horn. With an amused grin poking at the corner of his mouth, Jason swaggered over and tapped Robert’s windshield. “I’ll drive,” he mouthed, thumbing to a faded blue pickup truck that was blocking Robert’s driveway.
Robert tapped his knee anxiously as the truck turned left towards town. He turned off the radio and 70’s Rock Ballads with it.
“Where are we going?”
“No where. Driving helps me think.”
“Oh, really,” Robert’s nervousness turned to annoyance. “So what’s the purpose of this little cruise around town, hm? Are you some phantom of the past come to tell me my wife’s obscure teenage years?”
“Nope,” Jason said, flicking the radio back on, “Don’t even know what that means.”
“So what is it you were going to explain?”
“You tell me.”
Robert thought for a moment and then asked, “How do you know Jennifer?”
“You mean Jenny?”
“I mean Jennifer.”
Jason was visibly relieved, and said, “Oh. That.” He checked the bash board, and warned “I don’t think I have enough gas to answer that.”
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
An Impromtu Writing By Brandon Because He Writes Best When He's Tired. And he is.
tap, tap, tap, ...
The rain heaved and sloshed its way through New York's deathly quiet streets. The winds moaned, and the shoreline shrank from the ocean. Or rather, the ocean grew onto the deserted city as though it had decided to follow the long ago evolutionary footsteps that put animals breathing air. It pushed up higher for a few seconds, than relaxed.
A man in a black suit and deep red tie walked to the bank. It had fought its way up to the nearest street and kept pressing onward- a revolutionary that believed in its cause. He approached it, looked around, and took off his shoes. Another step toward the surface and he moved to where he would have been an inch deep- but as a magnet repels, the water backed away and began to swirl around his feet. He kept walking. The storm began to swirl around him until he was completely surrounded in his bubble of air in the stormy waters.
Above where he was standing, the water churned and began to spin. It slowly, and then quickly rose in velocity to where it began to dent the water and push its way down. Underneath, the man raised his arms, and shouted- his voice lost in the noise of the sea. Eventually, the twister's spiral reached him and air from the surface, or rather the eye of the storm, opened the pocket he had kept himself in. He smiled. It once was said that the Earth would never be flooded again- but who was keeping the promise this time?
The hurricane reached it potential almost a mile from the bay and began to race to the city, bent on destruction, destruction only. The storm was hungry. It pushed it way to the nearest building when it evaporated in a haze. The waters receded. The clouds stopped raining and the wind stopped moaning. A different man, in a brilliant white robe, let down his hands. His work was not done. Other parts of the world were under attack. He left.
The rain heaved and sloshed its way through New York's deathly quiet streets. The winds moaned, and the shoreline shrank from the ocean. Or rather, the ocean grew onto the deserted city as though it had decided to follow the long ago evolutionary footsteps that put animals breathing air. It pushed up higher for a few seconds, than relaxed.
A man in a black suit and deep red tie walked to the bank. It had fought its way up to the nearest street and kept pressing onward- a revolutionary that believed in its cause. He approached it, looked around, and took off his shoes. Another step toward the surface and he moved to where he would have been an inch deep- but as a magnet repels, the water backed away and began to swirl around his feet. He kept walking. The storm began to swirl around him until he was completely surrounded in his bubble of air in the stormy waters.
Above where he was standing, the water churned and began to spin. It slowly, and then quickly rose in velocity to where it began to dent the water and push its way down. Underneath, the man raised his arms, and shouted- his voice lost in the noise of the sea. Eventually, the twister's spiral reached him and air from the surface, or rather the eye of the storm, opened the pocket he had kept himself in. He smiled. It once was said that the Earth would never be flooded again- but who was keeping the promise this time?
The hurricane reached it potential almost a mile from the bay and began to race to the city, bent on destruction, destruction only. The storm was hungry. It pushed it way to the nearest building when it evaporated in a haze. The waters receded. The clouds stopped raining and the wind stopped moaning. A different man, in a brilliant white robe, let down his hands. His work was not done. Other parts of the world were under attack. He left.
Monday, June 21, 2010
A few Ideas
My "program" I used to make these is limited, but these were just some ideas I came up with.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Company Policy
So... what's the tradition of inviting members? Can anyone join, are we allowed to just invite anybody, or is this to be a little more exclusive? I just don't want to march a parade over everyone's toes with a caravan of bookish friends.
Truth is, I had my own writing group a while back, but it died out. So now some of those old friends want to start it up again. I informed them that I'm in a different writing group, and they seem interested in joining. By the way, one is Merritt Mecham and I'm pretty floored by a lot of her work, so...
Yea or Nay?
Truth is, I had my own writing group a while back, but it died out. So now some of those old friends want to start it up again. I informed them that I'm in a different writing group, and they seem interested in joining. By the way, one is Merritt Mecham and I'm pretty floored by a lot of her work, so...
Yea or Nay?
.. Different Design?
I've been working on some peices I'd like to share. Now, I do have some skill in web designing and I want to make this blog really personal to this writing group. The current one I shamelessly stole from a designing website. So I could base it off of one of these designs, or even do something completely different, or maybe a few of you could send some art and we could work with that. I do think we need a little more color. Actually, please do send in more art. I want to see something not mine up on here. But here's some projects I did.
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